Only were told there stood a lonely cot A long mile thence, While thither they pursued

And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong) That I, at last, a resting-place had found: 'Here will I dwell,' said I, my whole life Roaming the illimitable waters round; long,

Here will I live, of all but heaven disowned, And end my days upon the peaceful flood.'To break my dream the vessel reached its bound;

tale renewed.

XXXVIII.

'Peaceful as this immeasurable plain.
Is now, by beams of dawning light imprest,
In the calm sunshine slept the glittering
main:

The very ocean hath its hour of rest.
I too forgot the heavings of my breast.
How quiet 'round me ship and ocean were!
As quiet all within me. was blest,
And looked, and fed upon the silent air
Until it seemed to bring a joy to my despair.

XXXIX.

Ah! how unlike those late terrific sleeps, And groans that rage of racking famine spoke ;

The unburied dead that lay in festering heaps,

The breathing pestilence that rose like smoke,

The shriek that from the distant battle broke,

The mine's dire earthquake, and the pallid

host

Driven by the bomb's incessant thunderstroke

To loathsome vaults, where heart-sick anguish tossed,

Hope died, and fear itself in agony was lost!!

stood,

may

As if he saw-there and upon that ground-
Strange repetition of the deadly wound
He had himself inflicted. Through his
brain

At once the griding iron passage found; Deluge of tender thoughts then rushed amain,

Nor could his sunken eyes the starting tear

restrain.

LVI.

Within himself he said-What hearts have wel

The blessing this a father gives his child! Yet happy thou, poor boy! compared with

me,

Suffering, not doing ill-fate far more mild. The stranger's looks and tears of wrath beguiled

The father, and relenting thoughts woke: He kissed his son-so all was reconciled. Then, with a voice which inward trouble broke

Ere to his lips it came, the Sailor them bespoke.

LVII.

"Bad is the world, and hard is the world's law

fleece;

LIV.

His voice with indignation rising high
Such further deed in manhood's name for-
bade;

The peasant, wild in passion, made reply
With bitter insult and revilings sad;

Asked him in scorn what business there he had;

What kind of plunder he was hunting now; The gallows would one day of him be glad;

Though inward anguish damped the Sailor's brow,

Yet calm he seemed as thoughts so poignant would allow.

LV.

Softly he stroked the child, who lay outstretched

With face to earth; and, as the boy turned round

His battered head, a groan the Sailor fetched

draw

The bond of nature, all unkindness cease, And that among so few there still be peace: Else can ye hope but with such numerous foes

Your pains shall ever with your years increase?"

While from his heart the appropriate lesson flows,

A correspondent calm stole gently o'er his

woes,

LVIII.

Forthwith the pair passed on; and down they look

Into a narrow valley's pleasant scene; Where wreaths of vapor tracked a winding brook,

That babbled on through groves and meadows green;

A low-roofed house peeped out the trees between ;

The dripping groves resound with cheerful lays,

And melancholy lowings intervene