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To bear the bark of others' happiness,

Nor feel a sorrow till their joy grew


Her wild and warm yet faithful bosom knew
No joy like what it gave; her hopes ne'er drew
Aught from experience, that chill touchstone, whose
Sad proof reduces all things from their hues :
She fear'd no ill, because she knew it not,

Or what she knew was soon-too soon-forgot: 150
Her smiles and tears had pass'd, as light winds pass
O'er lakes, to ruffle, not destroy, their glass,
Whose depths unsearch'd, and fountains from the hill,
Restore their surface, in itself so still,

Until the earthquake tear the Naïad's cave,
Root up the spring and trample on the wave,
And cruch the living waters to a mass,
The amphibious desart of the dank morass !
And must their fate be hers? Th' eternal change
But grasps humanity with quicker range;
And they who fall, but fall as worlds will fall,
To rise, if just, a spirit o'er them all.



And who is he? the blue-eyed northern child
Of isles more known to man, but scarce less wild;
The fair-hair'd offspring of the Hebrides,
Where roars the Pentland with its whirling seas;
Rock'd in his cradle by the roaring wind,
The tempest-born in body and in mind,
His young eyes opening on the ocean foam,
Had from that moment deem'd the deep his home,
The giant comrade of his pensive moods,

The sharer of his craggy solitudes,
The only Mentor of his youth, where'er



His bark was borne; the sport of wave and air;
A careless thing, who placed his choice in chance,
Nursed by the legends of his land's romance;
Eager to hope, but not less firm to bear,
Acquainted with all feelings save despair.
Placed in the Arab's cliine, he would have been
As bold a rover as the sands have seen,
And braved their thirst with as enduring lip
As Ishmael, wafted on his desart-ship;
Fix'd upon Chili's shore, a proud Cacique;
On Hellas' mountains, a rebellious Greek;
Born in a tent, perhaps a Tamerlane;
Bred to a throne, perhaps unfit to reign.
For the same soul that rends its path to sway,
If reard' to such, can find no further prey
Beyond itself, and must retrace its way,
Plunging for pleasure into pain; the same
Spirit which made a Nero, Rome's worst shame,
A humbler state and discipline of heart
Had form'd his glorious namesake's counterpart:*




* The « ship of the desart» is the Oriental figure for the camel or dromedary, and they deserve the metaphor well; the former for his endurance, the latter for his swiftness.



Lucullus, when frugality could charm,

Had wasted turnips in his Sabine farm. »>-POPE.

*** The Consul Nero, who made the unequalled march which deceived Hannibal, and defeated Asdrubal; thereby accomplishing an achievement almost unrivalled in military annals. The first intelligence of his return to Hannibal was the sight of Asdrubal's head thrown into his camp When Hannibal saw this, he exclaimed, with a sigh, that « Rome would now be the mistress of the world. » And yet to this victory of Nero's it might be owing that his imperia namesake reigned at all! But the infamy of the one has

But grant his vices, grant them all his own,
How small their theatre without a throne!


Thou smilest, these comparisons seem high
To those who scan all things with dazzled eye;
Link'd with the unknown name of one whose doom
Has nought to do with glory or with Rome,
With Chili, Hellas, or with Araby.

Thou smilest?-Smile; 'tis better thus than sigh:
Yet such he might have been; he was a man,

A soaring spirit ever in the van,
A patriot hero or despotic chief,

To form a nation's glory or its grief,
Born under auspices which make us more
Or less than we delight to ponder o'er.

But these are visions; say, what was he here?

A blooming boy, a truant mutineer,


The fair-hair'd Torquil, free as Ocean's spray, 210 The husband of the bride of Toobonai.


By Neuha's side he sate, and watch'd the waters,-
Neuha, the sun-flower of the Island daughters,
Highborn (a birth at which the herald smiles,
Without a scutcheon for these secret isles)
Of a long race, the valiant and the free,
The naked knights of savage chivalry,

Whose grassy cairns ascend along the shore,

eclipsed the glory of the other. When the name of « Nero » is heard, who thinks of the Consul? But such are human things.

And thine,-I've seen,-Achilles ! do no more.
She, when the thunder-bearing strangers came 220
In vast canoes, begirt with bolts of flame,

Topp'd with tall trees, which, loftier than the palm;
Seem'd rooted in the deep amidst its calm;
But, when the winds awaken'd shot forth wings
Broad as the cloud along the horizon flings,
And sway'd the waves, like cities of the sea,
Making the very billows look less free;-

She, with her paddling oar and dancing prow,
Shot through the surf, like rein-deer through the snow;
Swift-gliding o'er the breaker's whitening edge, 230
Light as a Nereid in her ocean-sledge,

And gazed and wonder'd at the giant hulk

Which heaved from wave to wave its trampling bulk :
The anchor dropp'd, it lay along the deep,
Like a huge lion in the sun asleep,

While round it swarm'd the proas' flitting chain,
Like summer-bees that hum around his mane.


The white man landed;— need the rest be told?
The New World stretch'd its dusk hand to the Old;

Each was to each a marvel, and the tie

Of wonder warm'd to better sympathy.


Kind was the welcome of the sun-born sires,
And kinder still their daughters' gentler fires.
Their union grew: the children of the storm
Found beauty link'd with many a dusky form;
While these in turn admired the paler glow,

Which seem'd so white in climes that knew no snow.
The chase, the race, the liberty to roam,

The soil where every cottage show'd a home;

The sea-spread net, the lightly-launch'd canoe, 250
Which stemm'd the studded Archipelago,
O'er whose blue bosom rose the starry isles;
The healthy slumber, earn'd by sportive toils;
The palin, the loftiest Dryad of the woods,
Within whose bosom infant Bacchus broods,
While eagles scarce build higher than the crest
Which shadows o'er the vineyard in her breast;
The cava feast, the yam,
the cocoa's root,
Which bears at once the cup, and milk, and fruit ;
The bread-tree, which, without the ploughshare,


The unreap'd harvest of unfurrow'd fields,
And bakes its unadulterated loaves

Without a furnace in unpurchased groves,
And flings off famine from its fertile breast,
A priceless market for the gathering guest ;-
These, with the luxuries of seas and woods,
The airy joys of social solitudes,

Tamed each rude wanderer to the sympathies
Of those who were more happy if less wise,
Did more than Europe's discipline had done,
And civilized civilization's son!


Of these, and there was many a willing pair,
Neuha and Torquil were not the least fair:
Both children of the isles, though distant far;
Both born beneath a sea-presiding star;
Both nourish'd amidst Nature's native scenes,
Loved to the last whatever intervenes
Between us and our childhood's sympathy,
Which still reverts to what first caught the eye.



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