WHOSE MOTHER DIED A FEW HOURS AFTER ITS BIRTH.
TENDER infant, sorrow greets thee,
Sad affliction waits thee here;
No glad mother's smile can meet thee,
No fond mother check the tear.
Here maternal love can never
Watch thy steps with anxious care;
Ne'er with sweet emotions ever,
In thy artless raptures share.
Cold she sleeps, nor heeds thy plaining,
Heeds not sorrows which we see;
Dull the ear that heard thee moaning,
Closed the eyes that wept on thee.
Scarce thy tender form caressing,
"Tis a voice that calls away,-
Calls her from the new-born blessing,
To eternal blooming day.
But, though thus by her forsaken,
God thy parent still will be;
With support, and love unshaken,
He will prove a friend to thee.
And though now the happy spirit,
Through affliction's stormy flood,
Hath, pure glories to inherit,
Fled away and met its God:
Yet, what consolation given,
Let us for the hope adore,
On the peaceful shores of heaven,
We shall meet to part no more.
There, in sweet communion ever,
Shall we taste celestial joy;
Joined again, no more to sever,
Love and praise our blest employ.
O'ER Islands of the Southern Sea,
Long had the night of discord hung;
Atooi wept, and cruelty
Her mantle o'er Owhyhee flung;
Till HE whose right it is to reign,
Arose and walked the heathen shore;
Destroyed the Taboo's bloody stain,
And bade the Moreeah be no more.
The priest the broken shrine hath left,
Enchantment's fearful spell hath gone;
The pagan, of his god bereft,
Worships Akoaah alone;
What arm the Moreeah shall renew,
With temples to the living God?
The sacrifice is o'er, but who
Shall tell the wretch of pardoning blood?
Lo! on the bosom of the wave,
A barque appears; in gallant state
She comes, from guilt and thrall to save, Redemption is her precious freight; Rejoice, Pacific! for the day
Hath beamed on those that woke to weep, Thine islands burn, beneath the ray,
Bright gems upon the circling deep.
BESIDE the stream, the grief-worn pilgrim stood,
Dark care had marked the stranger for its own;
His saddened glance surveyed the murmuring flood,
And now forgot, the wanderer wept alone.
The scenes of childhood met his wistful gaze,
'Twas recollection bade the tear to flow,-
His harp that slumbered long, rewoke its lays,
And thus the wild note breathed the minstrel's wo.
"Where dark-waved SANTEE winds its devious way,
In rural grandeur 'mid the verdant lawn;
Where heath-bells bloom, and ivied tendrils stray,
And flowerets glisten with the tears of morn:
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