And glowing into day: we may resume The march of our existence: and thus I,

Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find room And food for meditation, nor pass by

Much that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly.

THE SHIPWRECK.

'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down
Over the waste of waters; like a veil,
Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown
Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail.
Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown,
And dimly darkled o'er the faces pale,

And the dim desolate deep; twelve days had Fear
Been their familiar, and now Death was here.

At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars, And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, That still could keep afloat the struggling tars,

For yet they strove, although of no great use: There was no light in heaven but a few stars, The boats put off, o'ercrowded with their crews; She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, And, going down head foremost,—sunk, in short.

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell;

Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave; Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave ;

And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell,

And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,

Like one who grapples with his enemy,

And strives to strangle him before he die.

And first one universal shriek there rush'd,
Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd,
Save the wild wind, and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd,

Accompanied with a convulsive splash,
A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

There were two fathers in that ghastly crew,

And with them their two sons, of whom the one Was more robust and hardy to the view,

But he died early; and when he was gone,

His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw

One glance on him, and said, "Heaven's will be done!

I can do nothing." And he saw him thrown
Into the deep without a tear or groan.

The other father had a weaklier child,

Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate:
But the boy bore up long, and with a mild
And patient spirit held aloof his fate;
Little he said, and now and then he smiled,
As if to win a part from off the weight

He saw increasing on his father's heart,

With the deep deadly thought, that they must part.

And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised

His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed;

And when the wish'd-for shower at length was come,

And the boy's eyes, which the dull film had glazed,
Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam,
He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain
Into the dying child's mouth,—but in vain.

The boy expired: the father held the clay,

And look'd upon it long; and when at last Death left no doubt, and the dead burden lay Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past, He watch'd it wistfully, until away

'Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast; Then he himself sunk down, all dumb and shivering, And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering.

THOMAS PRINGLE.

Born, 1788; Died, 1834.

AFAR IN THE DESERT.

AFAR in the Desert I love to ride,

With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side :-
When the ways of the world oppress the heart,
And I'm tired of its vanity, vileness, and art ;
When the eye is suffused with regretful tears,
From the fond recollections of former years;
And the shadows of things that have long since fled
Flit over the brain like the ghosts of the dead-

Bright visions of glory that vanish'd too soon-
Day-dreams that departed ere manhood's noon-
Attachments by Fate or by Falsehood reft-
Companions of early days lost or left-

And my native land! whose magical name
Thrills to my heart like electric flame;

The home of my childhood; the haunts of my prime;
All the passions and scenes of that rapturous time
When the feelings were young, and the world was

new,

Like the fresh bowers of Paradise opening to view !— All, all, now forsaken, forgotten, or gone

And I a lone exile, remember'd of none

My high aims abandon'd, and good acts undone !
Aweary of all that is under the sun-

With that sadness of heart which no stranger may

scan,

I fly to the deserts afar from man.

Afar in the Desert I love to ride,

With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side-
When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life,

With its scenes of oppression, corruption, and strife ;
And the proud man's frown, and the base man's fear,
And the scorner's laugh, and the sufferer's tear;
And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, and folly,
Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy;—
When my bosom is full, and my thoughts are high,
And my soul is sick with the bondsman's sigh,—
O, then, there is freedom, and joy, and pride,
Afar in the Desert alone to ride!

There is rapture to vault on the champing steed,
And to bound away with the eagle's speed,
With the death-fraught firelock in my hand
(The only law of the Desert land);

But 'tis not the innocent to destroy,
For I hate the huntsman's savage joy.
Afar in the Desert I love to ride,

With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side-
Away, away, from the dwellings of men,

By the wild deer's haunt, and the buffalo's glen;
By valleys remote where the Oribi plays,
Where the nhu, the gazelle, and the hartebeest graze,
Where the gemsbok and eland unhunted recline
By the skirts of grey forest o'ergrown with wild vine;
And the elephant browses at peace in his wood;
And the river-horse gambols unscared in the flood;
And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at will
In the Vley where the wild ass is drinking his fill.
Afar in the Desert I love to ride,

With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side-
O'er the brown karroo, where the bleating cry
Of the springbok's fawn sounds plaintively;
Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane
In fields seldom freshen'd by moisture or rain;
And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste
Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste;
And the vulture in circles wheels high overhead,
Greedy to scent and to gorge on the dead;
And the grisly wolf and the shrieking jackall
Howl for their prey at the evening fall;
And the fiend-like laugh of hyænas grim
Fearfully startles the twilight dim.

Afar in the Desert I love to ride,

With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side

Away, away, in the wilderness vast,

Where the White Man's foot hath never pass'd,

And the restless Coranna or Bechuan

Hath rarely cross'd with his roving clan ;