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But not to Lybia's barren climes alone,

Earth, and her trembling isles in Ocean's bed, To Chili, or the wild Siberian zone,

Are shook; and Nature rocks beneath his tread! Belong the wretched heart and haggard eye,

"To pour redress on India's injured realm, Degraded worth, and poor misfortune's sigh Ye orient realms, where Ganges' waters run!

The oppressor to dethrone, the proud to whelm;

To chase destruction from her plunder'd shore
Prolific fields! dominions of the sun!
How long your tribes have trembled and obey'd!

With arts and arms that triumph d once before,

The tenth Avatar comes! at Heaven's command How long was Timour's iron sceptre sway'd, (11)

Shall Seriswattee wave her hallow'd wand! Whose marshall'd hosts, the lions of the plain,

And Camdeo brighi, and Ganesa sublime,(15) From Scythia's northern mountains to the main,

Shall bless with joy their own propitious clime Raged o'er your plunder'd sbriues and altars bare, With blazing torch and gory cimeter,-

Come, Heavenly Powers! primeval peace restore! Stunn'd with the cries of death each gentle gale,

Love!—Mercy :-Wisdom !-rule for evermore!"
And bathed in blood the verdure of the vale!
Yet could no pangs the immortal spirit tame,
When Brama's children perish'd for his name;

The martyr smiled beneath avenging power,
And braved the tyrant in his torturing hour!

When Europe sought your subject realms to gain, connexion with generous and social sensibility

APOSTROPHE to the power of Love—its intimate And stretch'd her giant sceptre o'er the main, Taught her proud barks the winding way to shape, the book of Genesis, which represents the happiness

allusion to that beautiful passage in the beginning of And braved the stormy spirit of the Cape ;(12)

of Paradise itself incomplete, till Love was superChildren of Brama! then was Mercy nigh

added to its other blessings—the dreams of future To wash the stain of blood's eternal dye?

felicity which a lively imagination is apt to cherish, Did Peace descend, to triumph and to save,

when Hope is animated by refined attachment_ihis When freeborn Britons cross'd the Indian wave?

disposition to combine, in one imaginary scene of Ah, no! - to more than Rome's ambition true,

residence, all that is pleasing in our estimate of hap. The nurse of Freedom gave it not to you!

piness, compared to the skill of the great artist who She the bold route of Europe's guilt began,

personified perfect beauty, in the picture of Venus, by And, in the march of nations, led the van!

an assemblage of the most beautiful features he

could find—a summer and winter evening described, Rich in the gems of India's gaudy zone,

as they may be supposed to arise in the mind of one And plunder piled from kingdoms not their own,

who wishes, with enthusiasm, for the union of friend. Degenerate trade! thy minions could despise

ship and retirement. The heart-born anguish of a thousand cries;

Hope and Imagination inseparable agents—even Could lock, with impious hands, their teeming store, in those contemplative moments when our imaginaWhile famish'd nations died along the shore :(13)

tion wanders beyond the boundaries of this world, Could mock the groans of fellow-men, and bear

our minds are not unattended with an impression The curse of kingdoms peopled with despair ;

that we shall some day have a wider and distinct Could stamp disgrace on man's polluted name,

prospect of the universe, instead of the partial glimpse And barter, with their gold, eternal shame!

we now enjoy. But hark! as bow'd to earth the Bramin kneels

, concluding topic of the poem—the predominance of

The last and most sublime influence of Hope is the From heavenly climes propitious thunder peals ;

a belief in a future state over the terrors attendant Of India's fate her guardian spirits tell,

on dissolution--the baneful influence of that scep Prophetic murmurs breathing on the shell,

tical philosophy which bars us from such comforts And solemn sounds, that awe the list'ning mind,

allusion to the fate of a suicide-episode of Conrad Roll on the azure paths of every wind.

and Ellinore conclusion. “ Foes of mankind! (her guardian spirits say,)

In joyous youth, what soul hath never known Revolving ages bring the bitter day,

Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own? When Heaven's unerring arm shall fall on you,

Who hath not paused while Beauty’s pensive eye And blood for blood these Indian plains bedew; Nine times have Brama 's wheels of lightning hurl'd who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame

Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh? His awful presence o'er the alarmed world ;(14)


grace, the magic of a name? Nine times hath Guilt, through all his giant frame, Convulsive trembled, as the Mighty came;

There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow Nine times hath suffering Mercy spared in vain- Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow! But Heaven shall burst her starry gates again! There be, whose loveless wisdom never failid, He comes ! dread Brama shakes the sunless sky In self-adoring pride sccurely mail'd :With murmuring wrath, and thunders from on high, But, triumph not, ye peace-enamour'd few! Ileaven's fiery horse, beneath his warrior form, Fire, Nature, Genius, never dwelt with you! Paws the light clouds, and gallops on the storm! For you no fancy consecrates the scene Wide waves his flickering sword; his bright arms Where rapture uiter'd vows, and wept between; glow

"T is yours, unmoved, to sever and to meet; Like summer suns, and light the world below! No pledge is sacred, and no home is sweet!

The power

Who that would ask a heart to dullness wed, And as he sojournd on the Ægean isles, The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead ? Woo'd all their love, and treasured all their smiles; No; the wild bliss of Nature needs alloy,

Then glow'd the tints, pure, precious, and refined, And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy!

And mortal charms seem'd heavenly, when combined And say, without our hopes, without our fears, Love on the picture smiled! Expression pour'd Without the home that plighted love endears, Her mingling spirit there—and Greece adored! Without the smile from partial beauty won, Oh! what were man?-a world without a sun. So thy fair hand, enamour'd Fancy! gleans

The treasured pictures of a thousand scenes; Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour,

Thy pencil traces on the lover's thought There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower!

Some cottage-home, from towns and toil remote, In vain the viewless seraph lingering there,

Where love and lore may claim alternate hours, At starry midnight charm'd the silent air,

With Peace embosom'd in Idalian bowers ! In vain the wild-bird carollid on the steep,

Remote from busy Life's bewilder'd way, To hail the sun, slow wheeling from the deep;

O'er all his heart shall Taste and Beauty sway! In vain, to soothe the solitary shade,

Free on the sunny slope, or winding shore, Aërial notes in mingling measure play'd ;

With hermit steps to wander and adore ! The summer wind that shook the spangled tree,

There shall he love, when genial morn appears, The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee;- Like pensive Beauty smiling in her tears, Suill slowly pass'd the melancholy day,

To watch the brightening roses of the sky, And still the stranger wist not where to stray.

And muse on Nature with a Poet's eye! The world was sad !—the garden was a wild;

And when the sun's l'ast splendor lights the deep, And man, the hermit, sighd_till woman smiled!

The woods and waves, and murmuring winds asleep,

When fairy harps th' Hesperian planet hail,
True, the sad power to generous hearts may bring His path shall be where streamy mountains swell

And the lone cuckoo sighs along the vale,
Delirious anguish on his fiery wing ;
Barr'd from delight by fate's untimely hand,

Their shadowy grandeur o'er the narrow dell, By wealthless lot, or pitiless command;

Where mouldering piles and forests intervene,

Mingling with darker tints the living green;
Or door'd to gaze on beauties that adorn
The smile of triumph, or the frown of scorn ;

No circling hills his ravish'd eye to bound,

Heaven, Earth, and Ocean, blazing all around. While Memory watches o'er the sad review, Of joys that faded like the morning dew;

The moon is up—the watch-tower dimly burns Peace may depart—and life and nature seem

And down the vale his sober step returns ; A barren path, a wildness, and a dream!

But pauses oft, as winding rocks convey

The still sweet fall of music far away ; But can the noble mind for ever brood,

And oft he lingers from his home awhile The willing victim of a weary mood,

To watch the dying notes and start, and smile! On heartless cares that squander life away, And cloud young Genius brightening into day?- Let Winter come! let polar spirits sweep Shame to the coward thought that e'er belray'd

The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep! The noon of manhood to a myrıle shade (16)

Though boundless snows the wither'd heath deform If Hope's creative spirit cannot raise

And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm One trophy sacred to thy future days,

Yet shall the smile of social love repay, Scorn the dull crowd that haunt the gloomy shrine, With mental light, the melancholy day! Of hopeless love to murmur and repine !

And, when its short and sullen noon is o'er, But, should a sigh of milder mood express

The ice-chain'd waters slumbering on the shore, Thy heart-warm wishes, true to happiness,

How bright the fagots in his little hall Should Heaven's fair harbinger delight to pour Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall! Her blissful visions on thy pensive hour, No tear to blot thy memory's pictured page,

How blest he names, in Love's familiar tone, No fears but such as fancy can assuage:

The kind, fair friend, by Nature mark'd his own; Though thy wild heart some hapless hour may miss And, in the waveless mirror of his mind, The peaceful tenor of unvaried bliss

Views the fleet years of pleasure left behind, (For love pursues an ever-devious race,

Since Anna's empire o'er his heart began! True to the winding lineaments of grace); Since first he call’d her his before the holy man. Yet still may Hope her talisman employ To snatch from Heaven anticipated joy,

Trim the gay taper in his rustic dome, And all her kindred energies impart

And light the wintry paradise of home; That burn the brightest in the purest heart.

And let the half-uncurtain'd window hail

Some way-worn man benighted in the vale! When first the Rhodian's mimic art array'd Now, while the moaning night-wind rages high, The queen of Beauty in her Cyprian shade, As sweep the shof-stars down the troubled sky The happy master mingled on his piece

While fiery hosts in Heaven's wide circle play, Each look that charm'd him in the fair of Greece. And baihe in lurid lighi the milky-way, To faultless Nature true, he stole a grace

Safe from the storm, the meteor, and the shower, From every finer form and sweeter face;

Some pleasing page shall charm the solemn hour

With pathos shall command, with wit beguile, The vesper-clock tolls mournful to the wind),
A generous tear of anguish, or a smile-

Counts every wave-worn isle, and mountain hoar Thy woes, Arion!(17) and thy simple tale,

From Kilda to the green lerne's shore ; O'er all the heart shall triumph and prevail ! So, when thy pure and renovated mind Charm'd as they read the verse too sadly true, This perishable dust hath left behind, How gallant Albert, and his weary crew,

Thy seraph eye shall count the starry train, Heaved all their guns, their foundering bark to save, Like distant isles embosom'd in the main; And toild-and shriek'd-and perish'd on the wave! Rapt to the shrine where motion first began,

And light and life in mingling torrent ran; Yes, at the dead of night, by Lonna's steep, From whence each bright rotundity was hurld, The seaman's cry was heard along the deep; The throne of God—the centre of the world! There, on his funeral waters, dark and wild, The dying father blest his darling child !

Oh! vainly wise, the moral muse hath sung Oh! Mercy, shield her innocence, he cried, That suasive Hope hath but a Syren longue ! Spent on the prayer his bursting heart, and died ! True; she may sport with life's untutor'd day

Nor heed the solace of its last decay,
Or they will learn how generous worth sublimes The guileless heart her happy mansion spurn,
The robber Moor, (18) and pleads for all his crimes ! And part, like Ajut-never to return!(22)
How poor Amelia kiss'd, with many a tear,
His hand blood-stain'd, but ever, ever dear!

But yet, methinks, when Wisdom shall assuage Hung on the tortured bosom of her lord,

The grief and passions of our greener age, And wept and pray'd perdition from his sword! Though dull the close of life, and far away Nor sought in vain! at that heart-piercing cry Each flower that hail'd the dawning of the day; The strings of Nature crack'd with agony ! Yet o'er her lovely hopes, that once were dear, lle, with delirious laugh, the dagger hurld, The time-taught spirit, pensive, not severe, And burst the lies thai bound him to the world! With milder griefs her aged eye shall fill,

And weep their falsehood, though she love them still! Turn from his dying words, that smite with steel The shuddering thoughts, or wind them on the wheel- Thus, with forgiving tears, and reconciled, Turn to the gentler melodies that suit

The king of Judah mourn'd his rebel child! 'Thalia's harp, or Pan's Arcadian lute:

Musing on days, when yet the guiltless boy Or, down the stream of Truth's historic page, Smiled on his sire, and fill'd his heart with joy! From clime to clime descend, from age to age ! My Absalom! the voice of Nature cried :

Oh! that for thee thy father could have died ! Yet there, perhaps, may darker scenes obtrude For bloody was the deed, and rashly done, Than Fancy fashions in her wildest mood;

That slew my Absalom !--my son !--my son! There shall he pause with horrent brow, to rate What millions died—that Cæsar might be great!(19) Unfading Hope! when life's last embers burn Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, When soul to soul, and dust to dust return! March'd by their Charles to Dnieper's swampy Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour; shore ; (20)

Oh! then, thy kingdom comes ! immortal Power! Faint in his wounds, and shivering in the blast, What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly The Swedish soldier sunk—and groan'd his last! The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye! File after file the stormy showers benumb,

Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey
Freeze every standard-sheet, and hush the drum! The morning dream of life's eternal day—
Horseman and horse confess'd the bitter pang, Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin,
And arms and warriors fell with hollow clang! And all the phanix spirit burns within!
Yet, ere he sunk in Nature's last repose,
Ere life's warm torrent to the fountain froze,

Oh! deep-enchanting prelude to repose,
The dying man to Sweden turn'd his eye,

The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes!
Thought of his home, and closed it with a sigh! Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh,
Imperial Pride look'd sullen on his plight,

It is a dread and awful thing to die!
And Charles beheld-nor shudder'd at the sight! Mysterious worlds, untravell’d by the sun,

Where Time's far-wandering tide has never run, Above, below, in Ocean, Earth, and Sky, From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres, Thy fairy worlds, Imagination, lie,

A warning comes, unheard by other ears. And Hope aliends, companion of the way,

'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud. Thy dream by night, thy visions of the day! Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! In yonder pensile orb, and every sphere

While Nature hears, with terror-iningled trust, That gems the starry girdle of the year;

The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust; In those unmeasured worlds, she bids thee tell, And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod Pure from their God, created millions dwell, The roaring waves, and call'd upon his God, Whose names and natures, unreveal'd below, With mortal terrors clouds immorial bliss, We yet shall learn, and wonder as we know; And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss ! For, as Iona's saint, (21) a giant form, Throned on her towers, conversing with the storm Daughter of Faith! awake, arise, illume (When o'er each Runic allar, weed-entwined, The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb;

Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll Oh! star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there, Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul!

To waft us home the message of despair? Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay, Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to suit, Chased on his night-steed by the star of day! Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit! The strife is o'er—ihe pangs of Nature close, Ah me! the laurell'd wreath that Murder rears, And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. Blood-nursed, and water'd by the widow's tears, Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,

Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, The noon of Heaven undazzled by the blaze, As waves the night-shade round the sceptic head. On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky, What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant’s chain? Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;

I smile on death, if Ileaven-ward Hope remain ! Wild as that hallow'd anthem sent to hail

But, if the warring winds of Nature's strife Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale,

Be all the faithless charter of my life, When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still If Chance awaked, inexorable power, Watch'd on the holy towers of Zion hill!

This frail and feverish being of an hour;

Doom'd o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep, Soul of the just! companion of the dead!

Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled ?

To know Delight but by her parting smile, Back to its heavenly source thy being goes,

And toil, and wish, and weep a little while; Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose ;

Then melt, ye elements, that form'd in vain Doom'd on his airy path awhile to burn,

This troubled pulse, and visionary brain ! And doom'd, like thee, to travel, and return.

Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom, Hark! from the world's exploding centre driven,

And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb! With sounds that shook the firmament of Heaven,

Truth, ever lovely,--since the world began, Careers the fiery giant, fast and far,

The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man,On bickering wheels, and adamantine car;

How can thy words from balmy slumber start From planet whirld to planet more remote,

Reposing Virtue, pillow'd on the heart ! He visits realms beyond the reach of thought;

Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rollid, But wheeling homeward, when his course is run,

And that were true which Nature never told, Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun!

Let Wisdom smile not on her conquer'd field; So hath the traveller of earth unfurld

No rapture dawns, no treasure is reveald! Her trembling wings, emerging from the world;

Oh! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate,

The doom that bars us from a better fate;
And o'er the path by mortal never trod,
Sprung to her source, the hosum of her God! But, sad as angels for the good man's sin,

Weep to record, and blush to give it in!
Oh! lives there, Heaven! beneath thy dread expanse,

And well may Doubt, the mother of Dismay, One hopeless, dark idolater of Chance,

Pause at her martyr's tomb, and read the lay. Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined,

Down by the wilds of yon deserled vale, The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind;

It darkly hints a melancholy tale! Whu, mouldering earthward, 'reft of every trust,

There, as the homeless madman sits alone, In joyless union wedded to the dust,

In hollow winds he hears a spirit moan! Could all his parting energy dismiss,

And there, they say, a wizard orgie crowds, And call this barren world sufficient bliss ?

When the Moon lights her watch-tower in the clouds There live, alas! of heaven-directed mien,

Poor lost Alonzo! Fate's neglected child ! Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene,

Mild be the doom of Ileaven-as thou wert mild! Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of a day,

For oh! thy heart in holy mould was cast, Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay,

And all thy deeds were blameless, but the last. Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower,

Poor lost Alonzo! still I seem to hear Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower;

The clod that struck thy hollow-sounding bier! A friendless slave, a child without a sire,

When Friendship raid, in speechless sorrow drown'd, Whose mortal life, and momentary fire,

Thy midnight riles, but not on hallow'd ground ! Lights to the grave his chance-created form, As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm;

Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind, And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er,

But leave-oh! leave the lighi of Hope behind! To night and silence sink for evermore!

What though my winged hours of bliss have been,

Like angel-visits, few and far beru cen, Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, Her musing mood shall every pang appease, Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame ? And charm-when pleasures lose the power to please! Is this your triumph-this your proud applause, Yes, let each rapture, dear to Nature, flee: Children of Truth, and champions of her cause ? Close not the light of Fortune's stormy seaFor this has Science search’d, on weary wing, Mirth, Music, Friendship, Love's propitious smile, By shore and sea—each mute and living thing! Chase every care, and charm a líule while, Launch'd with Iberia's pilot from the steep,

Ecstatic throbs the filtering heart employ, To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep? And all her strings are harmonized 10 joy Or round the cope her living chariot driven, But why so short is Love's delighied hour? And wheel'd in triumph through the signs of Heaven? Why fades the dew on Beauty's sweetest flower

Why can no hymned charm of music heal Shall secret scenes thy filial sorrows hide,
The sleepless woes impassion'd spirits feel ? Scorn'd by the world, to factious guilt allied ?
Can Fancy's fairy hands no veil create,

Ah! no: methinks the generous and the good
To hide the sad realities of fate?

Will woo thee from the shades of solitude !

O'er friendless grief compassion shall awake,
No! not the quaint remark, the sapient rule,

And smile on Innocence, for Mercy's sake!"
Nor all the pride of Wisdom's worldly school,
Have power to soothe, unaided and alone,

Inspiring thought of rapture yet to be,
The heart that vibrates to a feeling tone!

The tears of Love were hopeless, but for thee! When stepdame Nature every bliss recalls,

If in that frame no deathless spirit dwell,
Fleet as the meteor o'er the desert falls ;

If that faint murmur be the last farewell,
When, 'reft of all, yon widow'd sire appears If Fate unite the faithful but to part,
A lonely hermit in the vale of years ;

Why is their memory sacred to the heart ?
Say, can the world one joyous thought bestow Why does the brother of my childhood seem
To Friendship, weeping at the couch of Woe? Restored awhile in every pleasing dream!
No! but a brighter soothes the last adieu, Why do I joy the lonely spot to view,
Souls of impassion'd mould, she speaks to you ! By artless friendship bless'd when life was new?
Weep not, she says, at Nature's transient pain,
Congenial spirits part to meet again!

Eternal Hope! when yonder spheres sublime

Peald their first notes to sound the march of Time
What plaintive sobs thy filial spirit drew, Thy joyous youth began-but not to fade.-
What sorrow choked thy long and last adieu! When all the sister planets have decay’d;
Daughter of Conrad! when he heard his knell, When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow,
And bade his country and his child farewell! And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below
Doom'd the long isles of Sydney-cove to see, Thou, undismay'd, shalt o'er the ruins smile,
The martyr of his crimes, but true to thee? And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile!
Thrice the sad father tore thee from his heart,
And thrice return'd, to bless thee, and to part;
Thrice from his trembling lips he murmur'd low
The plaint that own'd unutterable woe;
Till Faith, prevailing o'er his sullen doom,

As bursts the morn on night's unfathom'd gloom,
Lured his dim eye to deathless hopes sublime,
Beyond the realms of Nature and of Time!

Note 1, page 2, col. 1

And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore “And weep not thus," he eried, “young Ellenore, The hardy Byron to his native shore. My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more!

The following picture of his own distress, given Short shall this half-extinguish'd spirit burn,

by Byron in his simple and interesting narrative And soon these limbs to kindred dust return!

justifies the description in page 2. But not, my child, with life's precarious fire,

After relating the barbarity of the Indian cacique The immortal ties of nature shall expire ;

to his child, he proceeds thus :-“A day or two after. These shall resist the triumph of decay,

we put to sea again, and crossed the great bay I men. When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away! tioned we had been at the bottom of when we first Cold in the dust this perish'd heart may lie, hauled away to the westward. The land here was But that which warm'd it once shall never die;

very low and sandy, and something like the mouth That spark unburied in its mortal frame

of a river which discharged itself into the sea, and With living light, eternal, and the same,

which had been taken no notice of by us before, as Shall beam on Joy's interminable years,

it was so shallow that the Indians were obliged to Unveil'd by darkness—unassuaged by tears ! take everything out of their canoes, and carry them “ Yet on the barren shore and stormy deep,

over land. We rowed up the river four or five leagues, One tedious watch is Conrad doom'd to weep;

and then took into a branch of it that ran first to the But when I gain the home without a friend,

eastward, and then to the northward : here it became And press the uneasy couch where none attend,

much narrower, and the stream excessively rapid, so This last embrace, still cherish'd in my heart,

that we gained but little way, though we wrought Shall calm the struggling spirit ere it part!

very hard. At night we landed upon its banks, and Thy darling form shall seem to hover nigh,

had a most uncomfortable lodging, it being a perfect And hush the groan of life's last agony!

swamp, and we had nothing to cover us, though it rain.

ed excessively. The Indians were little better off than " Farewell! when strangers lift thy father's bier, we, as there was no wood here to make their wigwams; And place my nameless stone without a tear; so that all they could do was to prop up the bark, When each returning pledge hath told my child which they carry in the bottom of their canoes, and That Conrad's tomb is on the desert piled;

shelter themselves as well as they could to the leeward And when the dream of troubled Fancy sees

of it. Knowing the difficulties they had to encounter Its lonely rank grass waving in the breeze; here, they had provided themselves with some seal ; Who then will soothe thy grief, when mine is o'er? but we had not a morsel to eat, afier the heavy faWho will protect thee, helpless Ellenore ? rigues of the day, excepting a sort of root we saw tho

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