Then what is Life ?-When stripp'd of its disguise,
A thing to be desired it cannot be;
Since every thing that meets our foolish eyes
Gives proof sufficient of its vanity.
"Tis but a trial all must undergo;
To teach unthankful mortals how to prize
That happiness vain man's denied to know,
Until he's call'd to claim it in the skies.
THE SPIRIT'S PRAYER.
A Spirit, whom the voice of death
Had call'd from this cold sphere,
Paused for a moment on her path,
To look at scenes once dear.
The frozen tinge that shadow'd o'er
Her face had died away;
The shroud she wore an hour before,
She left beside her clay.
Her eye beheld, with strange delight,
The systems round her roll;
A thousand things, unknown and bright,
Broke on her wondering soul.
She saw the Earth hang dim and far
Beneath her airy tread,
Lit by each solitary star
That round her calmly spread.
She saw the city of her birth
Beneath the moonshine lie:
She saw the thousands of the earth
Unheeded, fall and die;
Smote by the giant arm of death,
They fell, and left no trace;
Their spirits pass'd her on their path,
Through the wild fields of space.
She gazed through the unclouded air,
Where once her mansion lay;
Her children still were weeping there,
Beside her tombless clay.
She saw them in their loneliness,
Unheeded, round her bow,
And, in their sorrow, kiss each tress
That hid her lifeless brow!
They were in want-none came to cheer;
Even hope in darkness slept!
The spirit saw each burning tear,
And as she saw she wept;
And bending then her deathless eye
Far through the slumbering air,
Where God sat in the starry sky,
She breathed a mother's prayer:
"Eternal Spirit! comfort now
Yon mourners in their dark abode;
They have no parent-oh! be thou
Their guardian and their God.
Cold is the breast where they have clung
And prattled in their infant glee;
Closed are the lips, and mute the tongue,
That would have turn'd their hearts to thee.
Then, oh, bind up the broken heart,
Which few in yon cold world will heal, Where is the shield to break the dart
That misery's victims feel?
Yes, thou shalt plume the spirit's wing
That bends on thee faith's trusting eye;
Though tempests gather, she shall spring
In sunshine to the sky.
Then smile upon their opening bloom;
Let virtue lead their hearts above;
Till, past the darkness of the tomb,
They share once more a mother's love!"
She ceased-an arch of light appeared,
Love's brightening banner to her given :-
The spirit knew her prayer was heard,
And bore away for heaven.
SEA-SIDE THOUGHTS.
Beautiful, sublime, and glorious,
Mild, majestic, foaming, free;
Over time itself victorious;
Image of Eternity.
Sun, and moon, and stars, shine o'er thee,
See thy surface ebb and flow,
Yet attempt not to explore thee
In thy soundless depths below.
Whether morning's splendours steep thee
With the rainbow's glowing grace,
Tempests rouse, or navies sweep thee,
"Tis but for a moment's space.
Earth-her valleys, and her mountains,
Mortal man's behest obey:
Thy unfathomable fountains
Scoff his search and scorn his
Such art thou, stupendous ocean!
But if overwhelm'd by thee,
Can we think, without emotion,
What must thy Creator be?
THE SHIP AT SEA.
A white sail gleaming on the flood,
And the bright orb'd sun on high,
Are all that break the solitude
Of the circling sea and sky;-
Nor cloud nor cape is imaged there,
Nor isle of ocean, nor of air.
Led by the magnet o'er the tides,
That bark her path explores:
Sure as unerring instinct guides
The birds to unseen shores.
With wings, that o'er the waves expand,
She wanders to a viewless land.
Yet not alone, on ocean's breast,
Though no green islet glows,
No sweet refreshing spot of rest
Where fancy may repose,
Nor rock, nor hill, nor tower, nor tree
Breaks the blank solitude of sea.
No! not alone; her beauteous shade
Attends her noiseless way,
As some sweet memory, undecay'd,
Clings to the heart for aye,
And haunts it, wheresoe'er we go,
Through every scene of joy and woe.
And not alone;-for day and night
Escort her o'er the deep,
And round her solitary flight
The stars their vigils keep;
Above, below, are circling skies,
And heaven around her pathway lies.
And not alone;-for hopes and fears
Go with her wandering sail;
And bright eyes watch, through gathering tears,
The distant cloud to hail;
And prayers for her, at midnight lone,
Ascend, unheard by all, save One.
And not alone; with her bright dreams
Are on the pathless main ;
And o'er its moan-earth's woods and streams Put forth their choral strain;
When sweetly are her slumberers blest
With visions of the land of rest.
And not alone;-for round her glow
The vital light and air,
And something that, in whispers low,
Tells to man's spirit there,
Upon her waste and weary road,
A present, all-pervading God!
MY NATIVE LAND.
Where'er we wander, still we find
A thousand cares on either hand;
But none can feel true grief of mind,
Unless far from his native land.
When to invoke the future, high
The Captive lifts his chain-gall'd hand;
That chain-alas!-he heaves so high,
Reminds him of his native land.
If borne by fancy, while he sleeps,
To where his cottage used to stand,
With joy he wakes, but waking weeps,
To find no more his native land.
If, kindly, to relieve his pain,
Some friendly, generous hearts expand,
He would be happy, but in vain,
It minds him of his native land.
Should e'er it be my lot to stray,
To be by southern breezes fann'd,
I'll ne'er forget, though far away,
How much I love thee, native land!
Or, if to climes enrobed in snow,
And lock'd in winter's icy band,
By adamantine fate obliged to go,
I'll think of thee, my native land.
Time shakes his glass, and swiftly run
Life's sands, still ebbing grain by grain,—
For weary, wan, autumnal sun,
Brings round my birth-day once again;
And lights me, like the fading bloom
Of pale October, to the tomb.
My birth-day! Each revolving year-
It seems to me a darker day;
Whose dying flowers, and leaflets sere,
With solemn warning, seem to say,
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