CHAP. XX VIII.] MR. WILDE S POEM. 129 



Soon after this affair, Captain Basil Hall men 

 tioned in his &quot; Schloss Hainfeld&quot; (chap, x.), that the 

 Countess Purgstall had read the lines to him, and 

 would not tell him who was the author, but he had 

 little doubt that she had written them herself. The 

 verses had become so popular that they were set to 

 music, and the name of Tampa, a desolate sea-beach 

 on the coast of Florida, was changed into Tempe, 

 the loveliest of the wooded valleys of Greece, in the 

 concluding stanza : 



&quot; My life is like the prints which feet 



Have left on Tampa s desert strand ; 

 Soon as the rising tide shall beat, 



All trace will vanish from the sand. 

 Yet, as if grieving to efface 

 All vestige of the human race, 

 On that lone shore loud moans the sea, 

 But none, alas ! shall mourn for me ! &quot; 



In the Countess s version Zara had been substi 

 tuted for Tampa. 



During our stay in New Orleans, Mr. Wilde in 

 troduced us to his friend Mr. Clay, the Whig candi 

 date in the late presidential election, and I was glad 

 of the opportunity of conversing with this distin 

 guished statesman. In the principal episcopal church 

 we were very fortunate in hearing Dr. Hawkes 

 preach, and thought the matter and manner of his 

 discourse deserving of his high reputation for pulpit 

 eloquence. 



One morning we rose early to visit the market of 

 the First Municipality, and found the air on the 



G 5 



