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All spoke a language which he understood,

All warned him of his way.

But most he feels Upon the hallowed morn, the saddening change: No more he hears the gladsome village bell Ring the blest summons to the house of God: And,-for the voice of psalms, loud, solemn, grand, That cheered his darkling path, as, with slow step And feeble, he toiled up the spire-topt hill,A few faint notes ascend among the trees.

What though the clustered vine there hardly tempts The traveller's hand; though birds of dazzling plume Perch on the loaded boughs; "Give me thy woods, (Exclaims the banished man) thy barren woods, Poor SCOTLAND! sweeter there the reddening haw, The sloe, or rowan's* bitter bunch, than here The purple grape; dearer the redbreast's note, That mourns the fading year in SCOTIA's vales, Than Philomel's, where spring is ever new; More dear to me the redbreast's sober suit, So like a withered leaflet, than the glare Of gaudy wings, that make the Iris dim."

Nor is regret exclusive to the old:

The boy, whose birth was midway o'er the main,

* Mountain-ash.

A ship his cradle, by the billows rocked,—
"The nursling of the storm,”—although he claims
No native land, yet does he wistful hear

Of some far distant country, still called home,
Where lambs of whitest fleece sport on the hills;
Where gold-specked fishes wanton in the streams;
Where little birds, when snow-flakes dim the air,
Light on the floor, and peck the table-crumbs,
And with their singing cheer the winter day.

But what the loss of country to the woes
Of banishment and solitude combined!

Oh! my heart bleeds to think there now may live
One hapless man, the remnant of a wreck,
Cast on some desart island of that main
Immense, which stretches from the Cochin shore
To Acapulco. Motionless he sits,

As is the rock his seat, gazing whole days,
With wandering eye, o'er all the watery waste;
Now striving to believe the albatross

A sail appearing on the horizon's verge;
Now vowing ne'er to cherish other hope

Than hope of death. Thus pass his weary hours,
Till welcome evening warn him that 'tis time
Upon the shell-notched calendar to mark

Another day, another dreary day,

Changeless, for in these regions of the sun,
The wholesome law that dooms mankind to toil,
Bestowing grateful interchange of rest

And labour, is annulled; for there the trees,
Adorned at once with bud, and flower, and fruit,
Drop, as the breezes blow, a shower of bread
And blossoms on the ground: But yet by him,
The Hermit of the Deep, not unobserved
The Sabbath passes.-'Tis his great delight.
Each seventh eve he marks the farewell ray,
And loves, and sighs to think,-that setting sun
Is now empurpling SCOTLAND's mountain-tops,
Or, higher risen, slants athwart her vales,
Tinting with yellow light the quivering throat
Of day-spring lark, while woodland birds below
Chaunt in the dewy shade. Thus, all night long
He watches, while the rising moon describes
The progress of the day in happier lands.
And now he almost fancies that he hears
The chiming from his native village church:
And now he sings, and fondly hopes the strain
May be the same, that sweet ascends at home
In congregation full,-where, not without a tear,
They are remembered who in ships behold

The wonders of the deep: * he sees the hand,
The widowed hand, that veils the eye suffused;
He sees his orphan'd boy look up, and strive
The widowed heart to sooth. His spirit leans
On God. Nor does he leave his weekly vigil,
Though tempests ride o'er welkin-lashing waves
On winds of cloudless wing; † though lightnings burst
So vivid, that the stars are hid and seen
In awful alternation: Calm he views
The far-exploding firmament, and dares
To hope-one bolt in mercy is reserved
For his release; and yet he is resigned
To live because full well he is assured,

Thy hand does lead him, thy right hand upholds. ‡

And thy right hand does lead him. Lo! at last, One sacred eve, he hears, faint from the deep, Music remote, swelling at intervals,

"

They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep."-PSAL. cvii.

+ In the tropical regions, the sky during storms is often without a cloud.

"If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me."-PSAL. cxxxix.

As if the embodied spirit of sweet sounds
Came slowly floating on the shoreward wave:
The cadence well he knows,-a hymn of old,
Where sweetly is rehearsed the lowly state
Of Jesus, when his birth was first announced,
In midnight music, by an angel choir,
ToBethlehem's shepherds,* as they watch'd their flocks.
Breathless, the man forlorn listens, and thinks
It is a dream. Fuller the voices swell.
He looks, and starts to see, moving along,
A fiery wave, † (so seems it) crescent formed,

"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And, lo! the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not, for, behold! I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you, Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."-LUKE, ii. 8.-14.

"In some seas, as particularly about the coast of Malabar, as a ship floats along, it seems during the night to be surrounded with fire, and to leave a long tract of light behind it.

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