The dew, the blossoms of the tree,

With charms inconstant shine:

Their charms were his; but, woe to me,

Their constancy was mine.

For still I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain ;

And while his passion touch'd my heart,
I triumph'd in his pain:

Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride,
And sought a solitude forlorn,

In secret, where he died.

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault!
And well my life shall pay ;

I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay !

And there forlorn, despairing hid,
I'll lay me down and die;
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I!"

"Forbid it, heaven !" the Hermit cried,
And clasp'd her to his breast:

The wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide-
"Twas Edwin's self that press'd.
"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see

Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restored to love and thee.

Thus let me hold thee to my heart
And every care resign,

And shall we never, never part,
My life-my all that's mine!

No, never from this hour to part;
We'll live and love so true,

The sigh that rends thy constant heart
Shall break thy Edwin's too."

THE MARINER'S DREAM.-Dimond.

In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay,

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,

And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn;
While memory stood side-ways, half covered with flowers,
And restored every rose, but secreted the thorn.

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide,
And bade the young dreamer in ecstacy rise;
Now, far, far behind him the green waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.

The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall;
All trembling with transport he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight,
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear;
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,

Joy quickens his pulse—all his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest

"Oh God! thou hast blest me, I ask for no more."

Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye!
Ah! what is that sound that now 'larums his ear?
'Tis the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky!
'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere!
He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck;
Amazement confronts him with images dire;-
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck,
The masts fly in splinters—the shrouds are on fire!

Like mountains the billows tumultuously swell,

In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ;— Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,

And the death-angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave. Oh, sailor boy! wo to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ;Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright, Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss?

Oh, sailor boy! sailor boy! never again

Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Unblessed and unhonoured, down deep in the main Full many a score fathom thy frame shall decay.

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,

Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding sheet be, And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge.

On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid,
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow ;
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below.

Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll;
Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye-

Oh, sailor boy! sailor boy! peace to thy soul!

A SHIP SINKING.-Wilson.

Her giant-form,

O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm
Majestically calm would go

'Mid the deep darkness white as snow!
But gently now the small waves glide
Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side.
So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
The main she will traverse for ever and aye.

Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast!

-Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last. Five hundred souls in one instant of dread

Are hurried o'er the deck;

And fast the miserable ship

Becomes a lifeless wreck.

Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock,

Her planks are torn asunder,

And down come her masts with a reeling shock,

And a hideous crash like thunder.

Her sails are draggled in the brine

That gladdened late the skies,

And her pendant, that kissed the fair moonshine,

Down many a fathom lies.

Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues
Gleamed softly from below,

And flung a warm and sunny flash

O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow,
To the coral rocks are hurrying down
To sleep amid colours as bright as their own.
Oh! many a dream was in the ship

An hour before her death;

And sights of home with sighs disturbed
The sleepers' long-drawn breath.
Instead of the murmur of the sea,
The sailor heard the humming tree
Alive through all its leaves,

The hum of the spreading sycamore
That grows before his cottage door,
And the swallow's song in the eaves.
His arms enclosed a blooming boy,
Who listened with tears of sorrow and joy

To the dangers his father had passed;

And his wife by turns she wept and smiled.
As she looked on the father of her child

Returned to her heart at last.

-He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll,
And the rush of waters is in his soul.
Now is the ocean's bosom bare,
Unbroken as the floating air;

The ship hath melted quite away,
Like a struggling dream at break of day.

No image meets my wandering eye

But the new-risen sun and the sunny sky.

Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapour dull Bedims the wave so beautiful;

While a low and melancholy moan

Mourns for the glory that hath flown.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.-Campbell.

A chieftain, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now, who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle,
This dark and stormy water ?"
"O! I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle,
And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

"And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.

"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who would cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover ?"

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
"I'll go, my chief—I'm ready :

It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady :

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