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204

STANZAS.

STANZAS.

BY J. G. C. BRAINARD.

THE dead leaves strew the forest walk,
And withered are the pale wild flowers;
The frost hangs black'ning on the stalk,
The dew drops fall in frozen showers.
Gone are the Spring's green sprouting bowers,
Gone Summer's rich and mantling vines.
And Autumn with her yellow hours,
On hill and plain no longer shines.

I learned a clear and wild toned note,
That rose and swelled from yonder tree-
A gay bird, with too sweet a throat,

There perched and raised her song for me.
The Winter comes, and where is she?
Away-where summer wings will rove,
Where buds are fresh, and every tree
Is vocal with the notes of love.

Too mild the breath of southern sky,
Too fresh the flower that blushes there,
The northern breeze that rustles by

Finds leaves too green, and buds too fair;
No forest tree stands stript and bare,
No stream beneath the ice is dead,

No mountain top with sleety hair

Bends o'er the snow its reverend head.

THE DEAD MARINER.

Go there with all the birds, and seek
A happier clime, with livelier flight,
Kiss, with the sun, the evening's cheek,
And leave me lonely with the night.
I'll gaze upon the cold north light,

And mark where all its glories shone→→→
See-that it all is fair and bright,
Feel-that it all is cold and gone.

THE DEAD MARINER.

BY GEORGE D. PRENTICE.

SLEEP on-sleep on-above thy corse
The winds their sabbath keep,-
The wave is round thee-and thy breast
Heaves with the heaving deep;

O'er thee, mild eve her beauty flings,
And there the white gull lifts her wings;

And the blue halcyon loves to lave
Her plumage in the holy wave.

Sleep on-no willow o'er thee bends

With melancholy air,

No violet springs, nor dewy rose,

Its sou of love lays bare ;

But there the sea-flower bright and young
Is sweetly o'er thy slumbers flung;

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206

THE DEAD MARINER

And, like a weeping mourner fair,

The pale flag hangs its tresses there.

Sleep on-sleep on-the glittering depths
Of ocean's coral waves
Are thy bright urn-thy requiem
The music of its waves;—
The purple gems forever burn
In fadeless beauty round thy urn;
And, pure and deep as infant love,
The blue sea rolls its waves above.

Sleep on-sleep on-the fearful wrath
Of mingling cloud and deep,
May leave its wild and stormy track
Above thy place of sleep.

But when the wave has sunk to rest,

As now 't will murmur o'er thy breast;

And the bright victims of the sea

Perchance will make their home with thee.

Sleep on-thy corse is far away,

But love bewails thee yet,

For thee the heart-wrung sigh is breathed,

And lovely eyes are wet:

And she, the young and beauteous bride,
Her thoughts are hovering by thy side;
As oft she turns to view with tears
The Eden of departed years.

TO THE DAUGHTER OF A FRIEND.

20'1

TO THE DAUGHTER OF A FRIEND.

BY J. G. C. BRAINARD.

I PRAY thee by thy mother's face
And by her look and by her eye,
By every decent matron grace

That hovered round the resting place
Where thy young head did lie ;

And by the voice that soothed thine ear,
The hymn, the smile, the sigh, the tear,
That matched thy changeful mood ;'
By every prayer thy mother taught—
By every blessing that she sought,
I pray thee to be good.

Is not the nestling, when it wakes Its eye upon the wood around,

And on its new fledged, pinions takes Its taste of leaves and boughs and brakesOf motion slight and sound,

Is it not like the parent? Then

Be like thy mother, child, and when

Thy wing is bold and strong;

As pure and steady be thy lightAs high and heavenly be thy flight— As holy be thy song.

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THE SEA BOY TO HIS BARQUE.

THE SEA BOY TO HIS BARQUE.

BY GEORGE D. STRONG.

GLIDE gaily forth, my gallant barque!
Thy canvass proudly swell;
Above thee is the glorious sky,
Beneath, the mermaid's cell.
The gems of ocean court thy smile,
Then speed thee o'er the main,
Free as the Arab courser's tread
Upon his native plain.

The dolphin sports along thy track
In many a graceful bound,
And from yon beetling cliff is heard
The sea-gull's mournful sound:
Thy pennon from its airy couch
Unfolds its crimson dress,

Then launch upon thy watery way,

The amorous waves to press.

How beauteous floats thy swan like form

Along the mighty deep,

While the moon's rays in silent pomp

Upon the billows sleep!

To rival thee, earth's loveliest charms

In vain display their store,

As from thy prow in sparkling gems
The liquid treasures pour.

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