Oh no! not such! that lingering spell

Would lure me back to life,

When my weaned heart hath said farewell,

And passed the gates of strife.

Let not a sigh of human love

Blend with the song its tone!

Let no disturbing echo move

One that must die alone!

But pour a solemn-breathing strain
Filled with the soul of prayer;

Let a life's conflict, fear, and pain,
And trembling hope be there.

Deeper, yet deeper! in my thought
Lies more prevailing sound,

A harmony intensely fraught

With pleading more profound

MUSIC AT A DEATH-BED.

149

A passion unto music given,

A sweet, yet piercing cry :

A breaking heart's appeal to heaven,
A bright faith's victory!

Deeper! Oh! may no richer power
Be in those notes enshrined?

Can all which crowds on earth's last hour

No fuller language find?

Away! and hush the feeble song,

And let the chord be stilled!

Far in another land ere long

My dream shall be fulfilled.

WHERE IS THE SEA?

SONG OF THE GREEK ISLANDER IN EXILE.

A Greek Islander, being taken to the Vale of Tempé, and called upon to admire its beauty, only replied-" The sea

where is it?"

WHERE IS THE SEA?

WHERE is the sea?-I languish here-

Where is my own blue sea?

With all its barks in fleet career,
And flags, and breezes free.

I miss that voice of waves which first

Awoke my childhood's glee ;

The measured chime—the thundering burst—

Where is my own blue sea?

Oh! rich your myrtle's breath may rise,

Soft, soft your winds may

be;

Yet my sick heart within me dies

Where is my own blue sea?