THE CRUSADER'S RETURN. REST, pilgrim, rest!-thou 'rt from the Syrian land, So full of hope, for that far country's bourne ! Thou 'rt faint stay, rest thee from thy toils at last : Through the high chesnuts lightly plays the breeze, The stars gleam out, the Ave hour is past, The sailor's hymn hath died along the seas. Thou art faint and worn hear'st thou the fountain welling Seest thou the dewy grapes before thee swelling? - He that hath left me train'd that loaded vine! He was a child when thus the bower he wove, Beneath its shade-the convent's vesper-chime. If I could hear that laughing voice again, The dark, clear, lightning eye!-on heaven and earth And I—my heart grew young before my child! yet he Fill'd all my home even with o'erflowing joy, Sweet laughter, and wild song, and footstep freeWhere is he now ?-my pride, my flower, my boy! His sunny childhood melted from my sight, Like a spring dew drop then his forehead wore I knew these woods might be his world no more! He loved me but he left me!-thus they go Whom we have rear'd, watch'd, bless'd, too much adored! He heard the trumpet of the Red-Cross blow, And bounded from with his father's sword! Thou weep'st! I tremble - thou hast seen the slain With their pale beauty strewing o'er the plain Where hosts have met-speak! answer!- was he there? Oh! hath his smile departed?-- Could the grave Shut o'er those bursts of bright and tameless glee?No! I shall yet behold his dark locks wave — That look gives hope-I knew it could not be ! Still weep'st thou, wanderer? some fond mother's glance O'er thee, too, brooded in thine early years Think'st thou of her, whose gentle eye, perchance, Bathed all thy faded hair, with parting tears? Speak, for thy tears disturb me ! what art thou? Why dost thou hide thy face, yet weeping on? Look up!-oh! is it—that wan cheek and brow! Is italas! yet joy!-my son, my son! CASABIANCA. THE boy stood on the burning deck The flame that lit the battle's wreck, Yet beautiful and bright he stood, A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though child-like form. The flames roll'd on- - he would not go Without his Father's word; That Father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. He call'd aloud: -"Say, Father, say He knew not that the chieftain lay "Speak, Father!" once again he cried, And but the booming shots replied, Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair, And look'd from that lone post of death, In still, yet brave despair. And shouted but once more aloud, "My Father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, There came a burst of thunder sound - Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strew'd the sea! With mast and helm, and pennon fair, But the noblest thing which perish'd there THE HEBREW MOTHER. THE rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain, As at a red flower's heart. And where a fount And softly parting clusters of jet curls |