POETRY. 59^ 



Swiftly descending on a ray 



Of morning light, she caught the last — 

 Last glorious drop his heart had shed. 

 Before its free-born spirit fled ! 



" Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight, 

 " My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. 

 " Though foul are the drops that oft distil 



" On the field of warfare, blood like this, 



" For Liberty shed, so holy is, 

 " It would not stain the purest rill, 



" That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss ! 

 " Oh ! if there be, on this earthly sphere, 

 '^ A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, 

 ' ' ' Tis the last libation Liberty draws 

 " From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause !' 



" Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave 



The gift into his radiant hand, 

 " Sweet is our welcome of the Brave 



" Who die thus for their native Land. — 

 " But see — alas 1-^the crystal bar 

 " Of Eden moves not — holier far 

 " Than ev'n this drop the boon must be, 

 " That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee ! " 



Her first fond hope of Eden blighted. 



Now among Afric's Lunar Mountains, 

 Far to the South, the Peri lighted ; 



And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains 

 Of that Egyptian tide,— whose birth 

 Is hidden from the sons of earth. 

 Deep in those solitary woods. 

 Where oft the Genii of the Floods 

 Dance round the cradle of their Nile, 

 And hail the new-born Giant's smile ! 

 Thence, over Egypt's palmy groves. 



Her grots, and sepulchres of Kings 

 The exil'd Spirit sighing roves ; 

 And now hangs listening to the doves 

 In warm Rosetta's vale — now loves 



To watch the moonlight on the wings 

 Of the white pelicans that break 

 The azure calm of Moeris' Lake. 

 'Twas a fair scene — a Land more bright 



Never did mortal eye behold ! 

 Who could have thought, that saw this niglit 



Those valleys and their fruits of gold 



2 Q ^ Basking 



