Laughing at her love the while,
Yet such softness in the smile,
As the sweet coquette would hide
Woman's love by woman's pride.
Farewell, cities ! who could bear
All your smoke and all your care,
All your pomp, when wooed away
By the azure hours of May?
Give me woodbine, scented bowers,
Blue wreaths of the violet flowers,
Clear sky, fresh air, sweet birds, and trees,
Sights and sounds, and scenes like these!

SONG OF THE WILD BUSHMAN.

BY THOMAS PRINGLE.

LET the proud white man boast his flocks,
And fields of foodfull grain;

My home is 'mid the mountain rocks,
The desert my domain.

I plant no herbs nor pleasant fruits,
I toil not for my cheer;

The desert yields me juicy roots,

And herds of bounding deer.

The countless springboks are my flock,

Spread o'er the unbounded plain ; The buffalo bendeth to my yoke, The wild horse to my rein.

My yoke is the quivering assagai,
My rein is the tough bow-string;
My bridle curb is a slender barb
Yet it quells the forest king.

The crested adder honoureth me,
And yields at my command
His poison bag like the honey bee,
When I seize him on the sand.

Yea, e'en the wasting locusts' swarm,
Which mighty nations dread,

To me nor terror brings nor harm
For I make of them my bread.

Thus I am lord of the desert land,
And I will not leave my bounds,

To crouch beneath the Christian's hand
And kennel with his hounds.

THE SLAVE SHIP.

BY THE REV. H. H. MILMAN.

The event on which the following poem is founded occurred on board the French vessel Rodeur. A dreadful ophthalmia prevailed among the slaves, which, communicating itself to the crew, left but a single man who could see to guide the ship into port.

OLD, sightless man, unwont art thou,

As blind men use, at noon

To sit and sun thy tranquil brow,
And hear the bird's sweet tune.

There's something heavy at thy heart,
Thou dost not join the prayer;

E'en at God's word thou'lt writhe and start.
"Oh! man of God, beware!

"If thou didst hear what I could say,

Twould make thee doubt of grace,
And drive me from God's house away,
Lest I infect the place.”

Say on; there's nought of human sin
Christ's blood may not atone;"

"Thou canst not read what load's within

"The skies were bright, the seas were calm,

We ran before the wind,

That, bending Afric's groves of palm,

Came fragrant from behind;

"And merry sang our crew, the cup
Was gaily drawn and quaffed,
And when the hollow groan came up
From the dark hold, we laughed.

"For deep below, and all secure,
Our living freight was laid,
And long with ample gain, and sure,
We had driven our awful trade.

"They lay, like bales, in stifling gloom,
Man, woman, nursling child,
As in some plague-struck city's tomb
The loathsome dead are piled.

"At one short gust of that close air
The sickening cheek grew pale;
We turned away —'t was all our care,
Heaven's sweet breath to inhale.

"'Mid howl, and yell, and shuddering moan The scourge, the clanking chain,

The cards were dealt, the dice were thrown We staked our share of gain.

"Soon in smooth Martinico's coves
Our welcome bark shall moor,
Or underneath the citron-groves
That wave on Cuba's shore.

"'Twas strange, ere many days were gone,
How still grew all below,
The wailing babe was heard alone,
Or some low sob of woe.

"Into the dusky hold we gazed,
In heaps we saw them lie,
And dim unmeaning looks were raised
From many a blood-red eye.

"And helpless hands were groping round
To catch their scanty meal;
Or at some voice's well-known sound,
Some well-known touch to feel.

"And still it spread, the blinding plague
That seals the orbs of sight;

The eyes were rolling, wild and vague;
Within was black as night.

"They dared not move, they could not weep, They could but die and moan; Some, not in mercy, to the deep,

Like damaged wares were thrown.