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It rested on the scene, More still and motionless than lie The clouds of summer in the sky.

Beside it stood a hoary seer,

And through my heart a whisper ran, "God, or his angel shrouded here

Holds converse with this holy man." Dark was that cloudy dwelling-place;

No glory on it seemed to dwell; Yet still on every thing around, On tree, on shrub, and heathy ground, A streaming radiance fell; And on that patriarch's awful face Glowed with intense, unearthly grace. Propped on his staff, in peace he stood,

Sandaled, and girded in his vest, And his full beard in silver flowed

Far down his pure and quiet breast; His eye was on the cloud, as one

Who listens to momentous things, And seems with reverence to hear, Yet with more confidence than fear,

What some great herald brings. But as I gazed, a little boat,

Swift, without rudder, oars, or sail, Down through the ambient air afloat,

Bore onward one who seemed to hail The patriarch, and he turned his head; He turned and saw a smiling boy, Smiling in beauty and in youth, With eyes in which eternal truth Lay with eternal joy.

He touched that old man's snowy head, And boat, youth, cloud, and patriarch fled!

A multitude of dreams have passed

Since this, and perished as they came; But in my mind imprinted fast

This lives, and still remains the same. The beauty of that gliding car;

The mystery of the cloud and sage; Those plains in arid drought so stern; That solemn hush, that seemed etern;In memory's living page,

Still stand in light, more real far
Than thousands of our day-dreams are!

THE BOY OF THE SOUTHERN ISLE.

AN OLD SEAMAN'S STORY.

PART I.

I'LL tell ye,

ye hearken now,

A thing that chanced to me

It must be fifty years agone Upon the southern sea.

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And soon we saw a mountain-top
Whereon a beacon burned;
Then as the good ship neared the land,
An answer was returned.

"Oh give to me my boat!" he cried,
And give to me mine oar!"
Just then we saw another boat
Pushed from the island-shore.

A carved boat of sandal-wood,
Its sail a silken mat,
All richly wrought in rainbow-dyes,
And three within her sat.

Down from the ship into the sea
The little boy he sprung;
And the mother gave a scream of joy,
With which the island rung.

Like some sea-creature beautiful
He swam the ocean-tide,
And ere we wondered at his skill
He clomb the shallop's side.
Next moment in his mother's arms
He lay, O sweet embrace!
Looking from her dear bosom up
Into her loving face.

The happiest and the sweetest sight
That e'er mine eyes will see,
Was the coming back of this poor child
Unto his family!

-Now wot ye of his parentage?
Sometime I'll tell you it;
Of meaner matter many a time
Has many a book been writ.

"T would make a pleasant history Of joy scarce touched by woe, Of innocence and love; but now This only must you know.

His mother was of English birth,
Well-born, and young, and fair;
In the wreck of an East-Indiaman
She had been saved there.
His father was the island's chief,
Goodly as man can be;
Adam, methinks, in Paradise
Was such a one as he.

"T is not for my weak speech to tell The joy so sweet and good,

Of these kind, simple islanders,
Nor all their gratitude.

Whate'er the island held they gave; Delicious fruits and wines,

Rich-tinted shells from out the sea, And ore from out their mines.

But I might not stay; and that same day Again we turned about,

And, with the wind that changed then Went from the harbour out.

-T is joy to do an upright deed; "T is joy to do a kind;

And the best reward of virtuous deeds Is the peace of one's own mind.

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