Save what the ocean and the winds And now the cliff is seen no more: O Hope! thou little airy form, Thou thing of nothing; subtlest thing That dances up and down the beam When was the smile of human bliss So fair as fiction'd forth by thee? Thy phantom gives a sweeter kiss Than e'en the lover's fairest she! Illusion bless'd! how many a son Of rude and wayward destiny, Whom fortune never smiled upon, Has yet been taught to smile by thee! Now, with thy little golden wand, Perch'd on the smuggler's helm, the wild And savage sea thou wouldst command, And make it merciful and mild: But, 'tis a black and squally sky, A restless, rough, and raging sea, Whose saucy waves thy power defy, And make their moody mock of thee: Yet, nothing moved, thou keep'st thy place Beside the stern and hardy wight, Who looks thee cheerly in the face, And little apprehends thy flight; Till, through the war of waves and winds, Regardless of their threatening roar, Thou guidest the smuggler, till he finds The port, and treads the sunny shore! " The traffic's made, the treasure stow'd, The armed sail; and strive to reach For some safe creek, or shelter'd beach; Which soon, at night, they near; and then Laugh at their fears and perils o'er!When, lo! the wary beacon's seen To blaze!-An enemy's ashore Down goes the helm, about the sheetThe little bark obeys; and now, To clear the fatal land, must beat The heavy surge with labouring prow. She weathers it, when, lo! a sail, By the faint star-light gleam, they find Has left the shore: as they can tell, She is about a league behind, In chase of them!-Along the shore-- Well sails the little skiff! but vain The smuggler thinks 'tis over now; Thrice has he left the rudder, and Just as the heavy tears begin, Upon the smuggler's cheek, to roll The husband's and the father's soul- While the staunch skiff her wrath defies, But look!-what threatens yet behind? The wrath-fraught waves swell high and proud, It 'gins to grow a squally wind, With many a little ragged cloud Sailing before the muffled storm, Wrapp'd in a hundred clouds, with frown In lightnings, and in deluge!--Now The flashes thick as the big rain, With dauntless arm the rudder rules, All night it rages on: but now, That opes its glittering eye; and oh! How radiantly it shines!-it shines Upon the smuggler's cliff!-'tis so! Yet how 'tis so he scarce divines! And, look! who stands upon the beach, Its father from the nearing land? Now tell me not, but, in my mind, Whate'er the smooth and sophist tongue Of luxury may sing,-you'll find Our sweetest joys from pain have sprung! Outalissi. Knowles. NIGHT came, and in their lighted bower, full late, As ever shipwreck'd wretch lone left on desert shore. And long his filmed eye is red and dim; At length, the pity-proffer'd cup his thirst Had half assuaged, and nerved his shuddering limb, When Albert's hand he grasp'd—but Albert knew not hin. 'And hast thou then forgot,"--he cried forlorn, - And eyed the group with half indignant air, When I with thee the of cup peace did share? ག Then stately was this head, and dark this hair, It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame, Bless thee, my guide!"-but, backward, as he came, And grasp'd his arm, and look'd and look'd him through. At last, delight o'er all his features stole, "It is my own!" he cried, and clasp'd him to his soul.- : "Yes! thou recall'st my pride of years, for then The bow-string of my spirit was not slack, When, spite of woods, and floods, and ambush'd men, I bore thee like the quiver on my back, Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack; And dost thou not remember how we cheer'd, "Then welcome be my death-song, and my death! Was every arm outstretch'd around their guest, On wounds, with fever'd joy, that more profusely bled. "But this is not a time," he started up, And smote his breast with wo-denouncing hand 'This is no time to fill the joyous cup! The Mammoth comes!-the foe!-the monster Brandt!- These eyes have seen their blade and burning pine |