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DEATH AND BURIAL OF A CHILD AT SEA.

At last my sisters, with humane constraint,
Held me, and I was calm as dying saint;
While that stern weeper lowered into the sea
My ill-starred boy-deep, buried deep, he slept.
And then I looked to heaven in agony,

And prayed to end my pilgrimage of pain,
That I might meet my beauteous boy again.

Ah, had he lived to reach this wretched land,

And then expired, I would have blessed the strand;
But where my poor boy lies, I may not lie;

I cannot come with broken heart to sigh

O'er his loved dust, and strew with flowers his turf ;
His pillow hath no cover but the surf;

I may not pour the tear-drop from mine eye
Near his cold bed; he slumbers in the wave;
Oh, I will love the sea because it is his grave!

ANON.

HOSE ruined shrines and towers that seem
The relics of a splendid dream,

Amid whose fairy loneliness

Nought but the lapwing's cry is heard,

Nought seen but (when the shadows flitting

Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam)

Some purple-winged sultana sitting

Upon a column motionless,

And glittering like an idol bird!

MOORE.

ORTENTOUS Egypt! I in thee behold
And studiously examine human-kind,——
In thee the exalted temple of the arts
Was founded, high in thee they rose, in thee
Long ages saw their proudest excellence.
The Persian worshipper of sun or fire.
From thee derived his creed. The arts from thee
Followed Sesostris' arms to the utmost plains

Of the scorched Orient, in caution where

Lurks the Chinese. Thou wondrous Egypt! through
Vast Hindostan thy worship and thy laws

I trace. In thee to the inquirer's gaze

Nature uncovered first the ample breast

Of science that contemplates, measuring,

Heaven's vault, and tracks the bright stars' circling course.

From out the bosom of thine opulence

And glory vast imagination spreads

Her wings. In thine immortal works I find
Proofs how sublime that human spirit is,
Which the dull atheist, depreciating,
Calls but an instinct of more perfect kind,
More active, than the never-varying brute's.
More is my being, more. Flashes in me
A ray reflected from the eternal light.
All the philosophy my verses breathe,
The imagination in their cadences,
Result not from unconscious mechanism.