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And I have seen the bark, that braved

Unhurt the waves and billows round it, As if when near the tempest raved,

Some hallowed spell of safety bound it,

Gliding along in summer days,

Upon a fair and stormless ocean,

Its full sails set, and the white maze
Of foam it left, in trembling motion,

Still closing o'er its briny track ;

But I have seen its glory failing,

While through the sunny air came back
Unto the shore the sound of wailing ;-
The leak was sprung! in that dread hour
The noble vessel lost its power.

Are not these things like to the heart,

That feels 'tis on the way to heaven?

That thinks it never can depart

From its bright course ?-that heart has striven

With vast temptations,-conquered all,

And proud of its own power to crush them, Believes that it can never fall;

And strives not in its depths to hush them,

And knows not they are whispering

Delusively, till they have bound it,

So that it fails to use its wing,—

So that the crimes of earth may wound it; And then the dream so long it cherished,

Its pride, its glory,-all are perished!

THE DREAM OF THE DYING.

Our life is twofold: sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence; sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,

And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy. they become

A portion of ourselves as of our time,

And look like heralds of eternity!

NAY, tell me not of life!

I know it may not be;

And it is such a scene of strife,
Oh, wish it not for me!

Is not my cheek fast fading,
As evening's crimson flies?

Is not a dimness shading

The lustre of mine eyes?

BYRON.

Nay, pray not I may yet

Rejoin the world again;

Gladly would I at once forget

Life and its galling chain!

And I have seen a vision,—

And I have dreamed a dream,

And sure that hour Elysian

Was no deceiving beam!

There stood a spirit there,

Before my sleeping sight,

And her voice had not a tone of care,

And her form was pure and bright: "Rejoice thee !" said the stranger,

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Thy friends are free from danger,

And soon I come for thee!

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And lift, like them, a seraph's voice,

Amidst heaven's holy host;

There, fadeless flowers are blooming,

Fruits hang on every tree;

Then mourn not-I am coming,

Ay-coming soon for thee!"

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