From Macmillan's Magazine.
ALL'S WELL.

THE long night-watch is over; fresh and chill
Comes in the air of morn; he slumbers still.
Each hour more calm his labored breathings
grew.

"O God! may he awaken free from ill;
May this supreme repose dear life renew!"
She rose and to the casement came,
The curtain drew, and blank, gray morn
Looked pitiless on eyes grief-worn,
On the dying lamp's red, flickering flame,
And, slowly through the wavering gloom
Searching out the shaded room,
Fell on a form-the pillowed head
So motionless, supinely laid.
Oh, was it death, or trance, or sleep,
Had power his sense thus locked to keep?
She turned, that woman wan and mild;
She gazed through tears, yet hope-beguiled;
He was her son, her first-born child,—
Ah, hush! she may not weep.
Many a night, with patient eye,
Had sho watched him-sight of woe!
Fever-chained, unconscious lic;
Many a day passed heavily,
Since met, in glad expectancy
Round the cheerful hearth below,
Young and old, a goodly show,

To welcome from the wondrous main,
Their wanderer home returned again.
Tho father's careful brow unbent,
The mother happily intent
That nothing should be left undone
To greet him best; the youngest one
In childish, bright bewilderment,
Longed, curious, to look upon
Her own, strange sailor brother sent
Afar, before she could remember;
While elder sons and daughters thought
What change in the playmate unforgotten
Time and foreign skies had wrought.
Could he be like that fair-haired boy,
With curly hair of golden hue,
And merry twinkling eye of blue,
Whose tones were musical with joy?
For he had sailed all round the world,
In China's scas our flag unfurled,
On Borneo's coast with pirates fought,
From famed spice-islands treasure brought,
Had been where the Upas grew !

But the long June day was closing fast,
And yet he did not come;
And anxious looks and murmurs passed.
Some gazed without, sat listless some;
Down the hill-side, across the vale,
Night-mists are rising, sweeps the gale;
But naught can we see through the gloom;
When, hark! a step at the wicket-gato,
And the brothers rushed out with call and shout.
Welcome, at last, though late!
And round him hurriedly they press,
And bring him in to the warm-lit room,
To his mother's fond caress.

"But how is this? dear son, thy lips are pale;
And thy brow burneth, and thy speech doth
fail.

Hath some sore sickness thus thy frame op-
pressed,

Or sinkest thou for want of food and rest?"
"All's well-I am at home; but make my bed
soon,

For I am weary, mother, and fain would lay me
down."

Even while he spake, he tottered, fell;
The heavy lid reluctantly

Shrouded the glazing, love-strained eye.
They tenderly raised him; who may tell,
What anguish theirs? That smothered cry!
They bore him up the narrow stair;
They laid him on his bed with care;
On snowy pillow,-flower-besprent
(Ah! for lighter slumber meant).
They knew some pestilential blight
Lurked in his blood with deadly might,
And they trembled for the morrow.
Thus in the smitten house that night,

All joy was changed to sorrow.

Yea, swift and near, the fever-fiend
Had dogged the mariner's homeward way.
One ocean south, one ocean north,
The ship from red Lymoon sailed forth,
But fast in her hold the dark curse lay;
In vain blew the cool west wind.
Week after week, he now, in vain,
Had breathed his pleasant native air;
For still with restless, burning brain,
He seemed to toss on a fiery main,
'Neath a sky of copper glare.
Under his window a sweetbrier grew,
And fragrance his boyhood full well knew,
In at the open lattice flung;

The thrush in his own old pear-tree sung.
Young voices from the distance borne,
Or mower's scythe at dewy morn,
Cock's shrill crowing, all around
Sweet, familiar scent or sound,
None could bring his spirit peace;
None from wandering dreams release.
He heard an angry surf still thunder,
Crashing planks beneath him sunder,
Tumults that, ever changing, never cease.

"Look, look! what glides and glitters in the
brake?

Is it a panther, or green-crested snake?
Ah! cursed Malay-I see his cruel eye;
His hissing arrows pierce me? Must I lie,
Weltering in torture on this hell-hot brine;
Not one cool drop my parching throat to slake?
Jesu have mercy! what a fate is mine!"

Yet ever his mother's yearning gaze,
Saintly sad, was on him dwelling;
Could it not penetrate the haze
Of fantasy, and, frenzy-quelling
His sister came with noiseless tread,
In heart and brain, soft-healing flow?
And, bending o'er the sufferer's bed,
Lightly laid her smooth, cold palm
Upon the throbbing brow;
And with the touchi a gradual calm
Stole quietly, diffusing slow
Sleep's anguish-soothing balm.
Pain's iron links, a little while

Relaxing, let his spirit rave
In vision some Atlantic isle,
Where waved the tall Areca palm;
Fresh breezes fanned, and gushing rills
Murmured, as in green English grove
They, winding, deepen from the hills.
And momentary smiled, perchance,
Dear faces thro' the shadowy trance,
His unclosed eye saw not, though near;
Dear voices reached the spell-bound ear,
His waking sense had failed to hear.
Only a little space too soon
The fiery scourge from slumber burst,
Swept like the tyrannous typhoon,
Gathering new rage, the last the worst;
Till the pulse ebbed low, and life
Shrank wasted from the strife.
At length a dreamless stupor deep
Fell on him, liker death than sleep.
At eve the grave physician said:
"No more availeth human aid;
Nature will thus his powers restore,
Or else he sleeps to wake no more."
Alone his mother watched all night,
In silent agony of prayer.

When dimly gleamed the dawning light,
She thought, "Its ghastly, spectral stare
Makes his huc so ashen white."

But, when broadening day shone bright,
Froze to despair her shivering dread.
None who have seen that leaden mask
Over loved features grayly spread,
"Whose superscription this?" need ask.
Soft she unclosed the door, and said,.
"Come," in whisper hoarse and low;
And silently they came,

One by one, the same

Who had joyous met by the hearth below,

Only three short weeks ago.

They looked, "Is it life, or death?”

shear

Athwart, on either side, its blackness,
Sweeping the empyrean clear;
So, from the stony visage rent,
Instantaneously withdrew
The heaviness, the livid hue;
And the inward spirit shining through,
Serene, ethereal brightness lent.
His eyes unclosed; their gaze intent
No narrow, stifling limits saw,

No aspects blanched by love and awe-
Far, far on the eternal bent.

Hark! from his lips the seamen's cheer,
Sudden, deep-thrilling, did they hear,
"Land ahead!" The words of welcome rose;
Then he sank back in isolate repose.

What land? Oh, say, thou tempest-tost!
Whither hath thy worn bark drifted,
Seest thou thine own dear native coast-
Vision by strong desire uplifted-
Britain's white cliffs afar appearing;
Or art thou not, full surely, nearing
That unknown strand, that furthest shore,
Whence wanderer never saileth more ?

But hush! again he speaks with steadfast tone,
"Let go the anchor." Now, the port is won.
O happy mariner! at last,

Ocean storms and perils past,

Past treacherous rock and shelving shoal,

She beckoned them in, and, with hushed breath And the ravening breakers' roll,

Standing around, they saw dismayed

That living soul already laid

The shadow of the grave beneath.

Kneeling beside his hope, his pride,
Felled in youth's prime, his sea-worn son,
Aloud the reverend father cried:
"Submissive Lord, we bow; Thy will be done;
Yet grant some token ere my child depart,
Thy love hath ever dwelt within his heart,
And through the vale of darkness safe will guide."
"Amen, amen," in faltering response sighed
Mother and children, watchers woe-begone.
Oh, mournful vigils, lingering long!
Oh, agonies of hope, that wrong
Solemn prayer for swift release,
And the soul's eternal peace!
Now holy calm, now wild desire
With sick suspense alternate tire,
Till very consciousness must cease.
Faint the reluctant hours expire;
The mind flows back; as in a dream
Trivial imaginations stream

Over the blank of grief,
Bringing no relief.

Haply some sudden sound without

A sheep-dog's bark, or schoolboy's shout,

Securely moored in haven blest,
Thy weary soul hath found its rest,
Touching now the golden strand !
Before thee lies the promised land,
To thy raptured eyes revealed
(Eyes on earth forever scaled).
Eternity's reflected splendor
Transfigureth the hollow brow
And the shattered hull must render,
Landed, the free spirit now.
Wayfarers we, on a homeless sea,
Bid thee not return, delay;

But oh! one word of parting say!

Sweet, solemn, full, those final accents fell,
Pledge of undying peaco: he spake,

well."

Yea, all is well; that last adieu
Opened Paradise to view;

While, on tremulous passing sigh,
The happy spirit floated by.

O'er mourning hearts in anguish hushed,
Effluence ecstatic gushed;

They saw heaven's gates of pearl unfold
Paven courts of purest gold,

The glorious city on a height

Lost in distances of light;

"All's

No. 845.-11 August, 1860.

CONTENTS.

1. The Four Georges: George the First,

2. Concerning the Dignity of Dulness, 3. The Fair at Keady,

4. Ho! For the North Pole,

5. Edmond About,

National Review,

357

369

6. Claremont, and the Princess Charlotte. Part 2, Eclectic,

7. Lady Morgan,

8. Found at Sea,

9. Memorials of Thomas Hood,

10. Angling at Home and Abroad,

POETRY.-The Happy Valley, 322.

SHORT ARTICLES.-Mammoth Cave in Missouri, 334. The Farallones, 344. Return of the Jews to Palestine, 350. Generosity of G. P. R. James, 356. Matrimonial Union of Prince Peter of Arenberg, 376. Mahomedan Funerals, 376. Dumas Robbing Garibaldi, 379. A Celtic Dictionary, 384.

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