And the bright plumage of the Orient lay
On beating bosoms in her spicy trees.
It was an hour of rest; but Hagar found
No shelter in the wilderness, and on
She kept her weary way, until the boy
Hung down his head, and opened his parched lips
For water; but she could not give it him.
She laid him down beneath the sultry sky,-
For it was better than the close, hot breath
Of the thick pines,-and tried to comfort him;
But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes
Were dim and bloodshot, and he could not know
Why God denied him water in the wild.
She sat a little longer, and he grew
Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died.
It was too much for her. She lifted him,
And bore him farther on, and laid his head
Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub;
And, shrouding up her face, she went away,
And sat to watch, where he could see her not,
Till he should die; and, watching him, she mourned :
'God stay thee in thine agony, my boy;
I cannot see thee die; I cannot brook
Upon thy brow to look,
And see death settle on my cradle joy.
How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye!
And could I see thee die?
"I did not dream of this when thou wast straying,
Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers;
Or wearing rosy hours,
By the rich gush of water-sources playing,
Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep,
So beautiful and deep.
'Oh no! and when I watched by thee the while
And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream,
And thought of the dark stream
In my own land of Egypt, the deep Nile,
How prayed I that my father's land might be
An heritage for thee!
And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee, And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press; And oh my last caress
Must feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee.
How can I leave my boy, so pillowed there
Upon his clustering hair!'
She stood beside the well her God had given
To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed
The forehead of her child until he laughed
In his reviving happiness, and lisped
His infant thought of gladness at the sight
Of the cool plashing of his mother's hand.
Return of the Buccaneer.-RICHARD H. DANA.
WITHIN Our bay, one stormy night,
The isle's men saw boats make for shore,
With here and there a dancing light
That flashed on man and oar.
When hailed, the rowing stopt, and all was dark. "Ha! lantern work!-We'll home! They're playing shark!"
Next day, at noon, towards the town,
All stared and wondered much to see
Matt and his men come strolling down.
The boys shout, "Here comes Lee!"
"Thy ship, good Lee?" "Not many leagues from shore Our ship by chance took fire."-They learnt no more.
He and his crew were flush of gold.
"You did not lose your cargo, then?"
"Learn where all's fairly bought and sold."
Heaven prospers those true men.
Forsake your evil ways, as we forsook
Our ways of sin, and honest courses took!
"Wouldst see my log-book? Fairly writ,
With pen of steel, and ink like blood!
How lightly doth the conscience sit!
Learn, truth's the only good."
And thus, with flout, and cold and impious jeer,
He fled repentance, if he 'scaped not fear.
Remorse and fear he drowns in drink.
"Come, pass the bowl, my jolly crew.
It thicks the blood to mope and think.
Here's merry days, though few!"
And then he quaffs.-So riot reigns within;
So brawl and laughter shake that house of sin.
Matt lords it now throughout the isle.
His hand falls heavier than before.
All dread alike his frown or smile.
None come within his door,
Save those who dipped their hands in blood with him;
Save those who laughed to see the white horse swim.
Appearance of the Spectre Horse and the Burning Ship te the Buccaneer.-IBID.
"To-night's our anniversary;
And, mind me, lads, we'll have it kept
With royal state and special glee!
Better with those who slept
Their sleep that night, had he be now, who slinks!
And health and wealth to him who bravely drinks!"
The words they spoke we may not speak.
The tales they told we may not tell.
Mere mortal man, forbear to seek
The secrets of that hell!
Their shouts grow loud. 'Tis near mid-hour of night.
What means upon the waters that red light?
Not bigger than a star it seems;
And, now, 'tis like the bloody moon;
And, now, it shoots in hairy streams
Its light! Twill reach us soon!
A ship! and all on fire!-hull, yards and mast!
Her sheets are sheets of flame !-She's nearing fast!
And now she rides, upright and still,
Shedding a wild and lurid light
Around the cove on inland hill,
Waking the gloom of night.
All breathes of terror! Men in dumb amaze
Gaze on each other 'neath the horrid blaze.
It scares the sea-birds from their nests.
They dart and wheel with deaf'ning screams;
Now dark, and now their wings and breasts
Flash back disastrous gleams.
O, sin, what hast thou done on this fair earth?
The world, O man, is wailing o'er thy birth.
And what comes up above that wave,
So ghastly white?-A spectral head!-
A horse's head-(May heaven save
Those looking on the dead,-
The waking dead!)
There on the sea he standsThe spectre-horse!-he moves; he gains the sands!
Onward he speeds. His ghostly sides
Are streaming with a cold, blue light.
Heaven keep the wits of him who rides
The spectre-horse to-night!
His path is shining like a swift ship's wake;
He gleams before Lee's door like day's gray break.
The revel now is high within:
It breaks upon the midnight air.
They little think, midst mirth and din,
What spirit waits them there.
As if the sky became a voice, there spread
A sound to appal the living, stir the dead.
The spirit-steed sent up the neigh.
It seemed the living trump of hell,
Sounding to call the damned away,
To join the host that fell.
It rang along the vaulted sky: the shore
Jarred hard, as when the thronging surges roar.
It rang in ears that knew the sound;
And hot, flushed cheeks are blanched with fear,
And why does Lee look wildly round?
Thinks he the drowned horse near?
He drops his cup; his lips are stiff with fright.
Nay, sit thee down!-It is thy banquet night.
"I cannot sit. I needs must go :
The spell is on my spirit now.
I go to dread! I go to wo!"
O, who so weak as thou,
Strong man?-His hoofs upon the door-stone, see, The shadow stands ?-His eyes are on thee, Lee!—
Thy hair pricks up!" O, I must bear
His damp, cold breath! It chills my frame !
His eyes-their near and dreadful glare
Speak that I must not name!"
Thou'rt mad to mount that horse!" A power within,
I must obey, cries, Mount thee, man of sin !' '
He's now astride the spectre's back,
With rein of silk, and curb of gold.
'Tis fearful speed!-the rein is slack
Within his senseless hold:
Nor doth he touch the shade he strides, upborne
By an unseen power.-God help thee, man forlorn!
He goes with speed; he goes with dread!
And now they're on the hanging steep!
And, now, the living and the dead,
They'll make the horrid leap!
The horse stops short:-his feet are on the verge.
He stands, like marble, high above the surge.
And, nigh, the tall ship yet burns on,
With red, hot spars and crackling flame.
From hull to gallant, nothing's gone.
She burns, and yet's the same!
Her hot, red flame is beating, all the night,
On man and horse, in their cold, phosphor light.
Through that cold light the fearful man
Sits looking on the burning ship.
Thou ne'er again wilt curse and ban.
How fast he moves the lip!
And yet he does not speak, or make a sound!
What see you, Lee,-the bodies of the drowned?
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