silent flow,
    Appear more beautiful below;
    While their large leaves the lilies lave,
    Or plash upon the shadow'd wave;
    While birds, with darken'd pinions, fly
    Across that still intenser sky;
    Fish, with cold plunge, with startling leap,
    Or arrow-flight across the deep;
    And stilted insects, light-o-limb,
    Would dimple o'er the even brim;
    If, with my hand, in play, I chose
    The cold, smooth current to oppose,
    As fine a spell my senses bound
    As vacant bosom ever found!

      "And when I took my proudest post,
    Near him on earth I valued most,
    (No after-time could banish thence
    A father's dear pre-eminence,)
    And felt the kind, protecting charm,
    The clasp of a paternal arm;
    Felt, as instinctively it prest,
    The sacred magnet of his breast,
    'Gainst which I lean'd, and seem'd to grow,
    With that deep fondness none can know,
    Whom Providence does not assign
    A parent excellent as mine!
    That faith beyond, above mistrust,
    That gratitude, so wholly just,
    Each several, crowding claim forgot,
    Whose source was light, without a blot;
    No moment of unkindness shrouding,
    No speck of anger overclouding:
    An awful and a sweet controul,
    A rainbow arching o'er the soul;
    A soothing, tender thrill, which clung
    Around the heart, while, all unstrung,
    The thought was still, and mute the tongue!

    "O! in that morn of life is given
      To one so tun'd, a sumptuous dower!
    Joys, which have flown direct from heaven,
      And Graces, captive in her bower.

    "Thoughts which can sail along the skies,
      Or poise upon the buoyant air;
    And make a peasant's soul arise
      A monarch's mighty power to share.

    "When all that we perceive below,
      By land or sea, by night or day,
    The past, the future, and the flow
      Of present times, their tribute pay.

    "Each bird, from cleft, from brake, or bower,
      Bears her a blessing on its wings;
    And every rich and precious flower
      Its fragrance on her spirit flings.

    "There's not a star that shines above
      But pours on her a partial ray;
    Endearments, like maternal love,
      Her love to Nature's self repay.

    "Faith, Hope, and Joy about her heart,
      Close interlace the angel arm;
    And with caresses heal the smart
      Of every care, and every harm.

    "Amid the wealth, amid the blaze
      Of luxury and pomp around,
    How poor is all the eye surveys
      To what we know of fairy ground!"

    She ceases, and her tears flow fast—
    O! can this fit of softness last,
    Which, so unlook'd for, comes to share
    The sickly triumph of despair?
    Upon the harp her head is thrown,
    All round is like a vision flown;
    And o'er a billowy surge her mind
    Views lost delight left far behind.

THE LAY OF MARIE.

CANTO SECOND.

    Some, fearing Marie's tale was o'er,
    Lamented that they heard no more;
    While Brehan, from her broken lay,
    Portended what she yet might say.
    As the untarrying minutes flew,
    More anxious and alarm'd he grew.
    At length he spake:—"We wait too long
    The remnant of this wilder'd song!
    And too tenaciously we press
    Upon the languor of distress!
    'Twere better, sure that hence convey'd,
    And in some noiseless chamber laid,
    Attentive care, and soothing rest,
    Appeas'd the anguish of her breast."

    Low was his voice, but Marie heard:
    He hasten'd on the thing he fear'd.
    She rais'd her head, and, with deep sighs,
    Shook the large tear-drops from her eyes;
    And, ere they dried upon her cheek,
    Before she gather'd force to speak,
    Convulsively her fingers play'd,
      While his proud heart the prelude met,
    Aiming at calmness, though dismay'd,
      A loud, high measure, like a threat;
    Soon sinking to that lower [Errata: slower] swell
    Which love and sorrow know so well.

    "How solemn is the sick man's room
      To friends or kindred lingering near!
    Poring on that uncertain gloom
      In silent heaviness and fear!

    "How sad, his feeble hand in thine,
      The start of every pulse to share!
    With painful haste each wish divine,
      Yet fed the hopelessness of care!

    "To turn aside the full-fraught eye,
      Lest those faint orbs perceive the tear!
    To bear the weight of every sigh,
      Lest it should reach that wakeful ear!

    "In the dread stillness of the night,
      To lose the faint, faint sound of breath!
    To listen in restrain'd affright,
      To deprecate each thought of death!

    "And, when a movement chas'd that fear,
      And gave thy heart-blood leave to flow,
    In thrilling awe the prayer to hear
      Through the clos'd curtain murmur'd low!

    "The prayer of him whose holy tongue
      Had never yet exceeded truth!
    Upon whose guardian care had hung
      The whole dependence of thy youth!

    "Who, noble, dauntless, frank and mild,
      Was, for his very goodness, fear'd;
    Belov'd with fondness like a child,
      And like a blessed saint rever'd!

    "I have known friends—but who can feel
      The kindness such a father knew?
    I serv'd him still with tender zeal,
      But knew not then how much was due!

    "And did not Providence ordain
      That we should soon be laid as low,
    No heart could such a stroke sustain,—
      No reason could survive the blow!

    "After that fatal trial came,
    The world no longer was the same.
    I still had pleasures:—who could live
    Without the healing aid they give?
    But, as a plant surcharg'd with rain,
    When radiant sunshine comes again,
    Just wakes from a benumbing trance,
    I caught a feverish, fitful glance.
    The dove, that for a weary time
    Had mourn'd the rigour of the clime,
    And, with its head beneath its wing,
    Awaited a more genial spring,
    Went forth again to search around,
    And some few leaves of olive found,
    But not a bower which could impart
      Its interchange of light and shade;
    Not that soft down, to