Alas! the fowls of heaven have wings,

And blasts of heaven will aid their flight;
They mount, how short a voyage brings
The wanderers back to their delight!
Chains tie us down by land and sea;
And wishes, vain as mine, may be
All that is left to comfort thee.

Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan,
Maimed, mangled by inhuman men;
Or thou upon a desert thrown
Inheritest the lion's den;

Or hast been summoned to the deep,
Thou, thou, and all thy mates, to keep
An incommnnicable sleep.

I look for ghosts; but none will force
Their way to me:-'tis falsely said
That there was ever intercourse
Betwixt the living and the dead;
For, surely, then I should have sight
Of him I wait for day and night,
With love and longings infinite.
My apprehensions come in crowds;
I dread the rustling of the grass;
The very shadows of the clouds
Have power to shake me as they pass:
I question things and do not find
One that will answer to my mind;
And all the world appears unkind.

Beyond participation lie
My troubles, and beyond relief:
If any chance to heave a sigh,
They pity me and not my grief.
Then come to me, my son, or send
Some tidings that my woes may end ;
I have no other earthly friend.

THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT.

BY A FEMALE FRIEND.

THE days are cold, the nights are long,
The north wind sings a doleful song;
Then hush again upon my breast;
All merry things are now at rest,

Save thee, my pretty love!

The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
The crickets long have ceased their mirth;
There's nothing stirring in the house
Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse,
Then why so busy thou?

Nay! start not at that sparkling light;
"Tis but the moon that shines so bright

On the window-pane bedropped with rain. Then, little darling! sleep again!

And wake when it is day.

THE SAILOR'S MOTHER.

ONE morning (raw it was and wet,
A foggy day in winter time)

A woman on the road I met,

Not old, though something past her prime: Majestic in her person, tall and straight; And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.

The ancient spirit is not dead;

Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred
Such strength, a dignity so fair:

She begged an alms, like one in poor estate; I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.

When from those lofty thoughts I woke, 'What treasure," said I, do you bear, Beneath the covert of your cloak, Protected from the cold damp air ?" She answered, soon as she the question heard,

"A simple burden, sir, a little singingbird.

"I had a son,-the waves might roar,

He feared them not, a sailor gay!

But he will cross the deep no more:
In Denmark he was cast away:

And I have travelled weary miles to see
If aught which he had owned might still
remain for me.

"The bird and cage they both were his: 'Twas my son's bird; and neat and trim He kept it: many voyages

This singing-bird had gone with him; When last he sailed, he left the bird behind:

From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind.

"He to a fellow-lodger's care Had left it, to be watched and fed, And pipe its song in safety;-there I found it when my son was dead; And now, God help me for my little wit! I bear it with me, sir! he took so much delight in it."

Across the waters I am come,
And I have left a babe at home:
A long, long way of land and sea!
Come to me-I'm no enemy:
I am the same who at thy side
Sate yesterday, and made a nest
For thee, sweet baby!-thou hast tried,
Thou know'st the pillow of my breast;
Good, good art thou;-alas to me
Far more than I can be to thee.

"Here, little darling, dost thou lie ;
An infant thou, a mother I!
Mine wilt thou be, thou hast no fears;
Mine art thou-spite of these my tears.
Alas! before I left the spot,
My baby and its dwelling-place:
The nurse said to me, 'Tears should not
Be shed upon an infant's face,
No truth is in them who say so!
It was unlucky '-no, no, no;

"My own dear little one will sigh,
Sweet babe! and they will let him die.
And you may see his hour is come.'
He pines,' they'll say, it is his doom.
Oh! had he but thy cheerful smiles,
Limbs stout as thine, and lips as gay,
And countenance like a summer's day,
Thy looks, thy cunning, and thy wiles,
They would have hopes of him-and then
I should behold his face again!

There was a smile or two-yet-yet
""Tis gone-like dreams that we forget;
I can remember them, I see
The smile worth all the world to me.

Dear baby! I must lay thee down;

Thou troublest me with strange alarms;
Smiles hast thou, bright ones of thy own;
I cannot keep thee in my arms,
By those bewildering glances crost
In which the light of his is lost.

"Oh! how I love thee!-we still stay
Together here this one half day.

My sister's child, who bears my name,
From France to sheltering England came;
She with her mother crossed the sea;
The babe and mother near me dwell:
My darling, she is not to me
What thou art! though I love her well:
Rest, little stranger, rest thee here!
Never was any child more dear!

sprung:

Plebeian, though ingenuous, the stock, From which her graces and her honours [youth, And hence the father of the enamoured With haughty indignation, spurned the thought

Of such alliance.-From their cradles up.
With but a step between their several
homes,
[strife
Twins had they been in pleasure; after
And petty quarrels, had grown fond again;
Each other's advocate, each other's stay;
And strangers to content if long apart,
Or more divided than a sportive pair
Of sea-fowl, conscious both that they are
hovering

Within the eddy of a common blast,
Or hidden only by the concave depth
Of neighbouring billows from each other's
sight.

E

By ready nature, for a life of love,
For endless constancy, and placid truth;
But whatsoever of such rare treasure lay
Reserved, had fate permitted, for support
Of their maturer years, his present mind
Was under fascination;-he beheld
A vision, and adored the thing he saw.
Arabian fiction never filled the world
With half the wonders that were wrought
for him.
Earth breathed in one great presence of the
[spring,
Life turned the meanest of her implements,
Before his eyes, to price above all gold;
The house she dwelt in was a sainted
shrine:

Her chamber window did surpass in glory
The portals of the dawn; all paradise
Could, by the simple opening of a door,
Let itself in upon him: pathways, walks,
Swarmed with enchantment, till his spirit
sank,

Surcharged, within him,-overblest to move
Beneath a sun that wakes a weary world

Is busy at her casement as the swallow Fluttering its pinions, almost within reach, About the pendent nest, did thus espy Her lover thence a stolen interview,

Accomplished under friendly shade of night.

To some remote and solitary place,
Shady as night, and beautiful as heaven,
Their happiness, or to disturb their love.
Where they may live, with no one to behold
But now of this no whisper; not the less,
If ever an obtrusive word were dropped
Touching the matter of his passion, still,
In his stern father's hearing, Vaudracour
Persisted openly that death alone
Should abrogate his human privilege
Upon the altar. to the maid he loved.
Divine, of swearing everlasting truth,

"You shall be baffled in your mad intent If there be justice in the court of France," Muttered the father.-From these words the youth

Conceived a terror,—and, by night or day, Stirred nowhere without weapons-that full soon

Found dreadful provocation: for at night When to his chamber he retired, attempt Was made to seize him by three armed

men,

Is, by innumerable poets, touched

In more delightful verse than skill of mine
Could fashion, chiefly by that darling bard
Who told of Juliet and her Romeo,
And of the lark's note heard before its time,
And of the streaks that laced the severing
clouds

signed

His person to the law, was lodged in prison, And wore the fetters of a criminal.

Have you beheld a tuft of winged seed That, from the dandelion's naked stalk, Mounted aloft, is suffered not to use Its natural gifts for purposes of rest,

Doomed to a third and last captivity, His freedom he recovered on the eve Of Julia's travail. When the babe was born, Its presence tempted him to cherish schemes Of future happiness. "You shall return. Julia," said he, "and to your father's house Go with the child. You have been wretched; yet [then weighs The silver shower, whose reckless burToo heavily upon the lily's head, Oft leaves a saving moisture at its root. Malice, beholding you, will melt away. Go!-'tis a town where both of us were None will reproach you, for our truth is born; [known; And if, amidst those once-bright bowers, Remain unpitied, pity is not in man. Or art can fashion, shall you deck your With ornaments-the prettiest nature yields And feed his countenance with your own boy, [sweet looks I see him sporting on the sunny lawn; Till no one can resist him.-Now, even now, My father from the window sees him too:

our fate

Startled, as if some new-created thing
Enriched the earth, or faery of the woods
Bounded before him ;-but the unweeting
child
Shall by his beauty win his grandsire's
[heart
So that it shall be softened, and our loves
End happily-as they began!"

Appeared but seldom : oftener was he seen
These gleams
Propping a pale and melancholy face
Upon the mother's bosom; resting thus
His head upon one breast, while from the

other

Who

lord