As they approach the shores hallowed by so many early associations and of which they have thought and dreamt for so many years, with what tumultuous eagerness they crowd into the first boat that reaches the vessel's side! At last they leap upon their native earth; and they who mix reflection with their transport, look back with grateful wonder at their escapes by land and sea, and rejoice in the consummation of their long cherished hopes. No language could paint the feelings with which those Indian parents who have sent children home at an early age hurry from the sea-port town at which they land, to embrace again their living treasures! The first excess of joy at such a meeting may border upon pain; but when the deep and wild emotion begins to moderate, there is no earthly felicity with which it could be compared. It is almost a compensation for the pangs of parting, and the miseries of exile. SONNET-WRITTEN IN INDIA. THE scene is sweetly changed! The lord of day That seared the green earth's breast! A veil doth hide As some fond lover's smile that melts away O'er the rapt soul in visionary hours, Meek Twilight comes! From zephyr-haunted bowers Arise the tuneful Shama's evening peals, Blent with the far wave's murmur, and the songs Of village maids, that Echo's voice prolongs. [68] LINES TO A LADY WHO PRESENTED THE AUTHOR WITH SOME ENGLISH FRUITS AND FLOWERS. GREEN herbs and gushing springs in some hot waste, Though grateful to the traveller's sight and taste, Seem far less fair and fresh than fruits and flowers That breathe, in foreign lands, of English bowers. Thy gracious gift, dear Lady, well recalls Sweet scenes of home,-the white cot's trellised walls-- The jasmine-covered arbour, fit retreat For hearts that love repose. Each spot displays I feel as one who from a weary dream Of exile wakes, and sees the morning beam That float o'er fields his happy childhood knew. How small a spark may kindle fancy's flame, And light up all the past! The very same Glad sounds and sights that charmed my heart of old, Arrest me now-I hear them and behold. Ah! yonder is the happy circle seated Within the favourite bower! I am greeted With joyous shouts; my rosy boys have heard With eager hope of some new toy or treat, * Gone is the sweet illusion-like a scene Formed by the western vapours, when between The dusky earth and day's departing light, The curtain falls of India's sudden night. MENTAL CHANGES. As o'er the fairest skies The dream-like shadows steal, So dim mysterious cares surprize The heart whose human weal Would seem secure from aught less bright As when this outward world Attracts the mortal eye, A vapour on the light air curled Between us and the sky May make its blue depths cold and dun, And place in brief eclipse the sun ; So in the realms of mind, The meanest things have power, With thoughts as wayward as the wind When fitful tempests lour, The loveliest hues of life to cloud, And Hope's resplendent orb enshroud. SONNETS-WRITTEN AT SEA. [FINE WEATHER.] THE plain of ocean 'neath the crystal air Clouds, like hills that wear The winter's snow-wrought mantle, brightly fair, Quickly play The small crisp waves that musically break Their shining peaks. And now, if aught can make Celestial spirits wing their downward way, Methinks they glitter in the proud sun's wake, And breathe a glorious beauty on the day! [A CALM, AFTER A GALE.] LIKE mountain-mists that roll on sultry airs, That lately roared in wrath. The storm-fiend, bound The vexed and wearied main. The moon appears, Is memory's lingering echo. Ocean's zone And home's dear forms are like departed dreams! ON THE FREQUENT COMPLAINT OF A WANT OF MEMORY. NOTHING is more common than the confession of a defect of memory, which may be taken as a proof that it is not generally considered one of the nobler faculties of the mind. Men rarely acknowledge, even to themselves, a deficiency in any quality which ranks highly in their own estimation, or which they suppose to be essential to the dignity or grace of their intellectual character. People sometimes complain of the want of extrinsic advantages, such as a large income or a handsome equipage, because these things form no portion of their own moral or mental being. They conceive that they have higher and less equivocal claims to the respect of their fellow creatures; and while railing at Fortune, enjoy a secret consciousness, and sometimes even venture on a pretty open implication, that their merit is deserving of a better fate. Men are discontented with every thing but their own minds and persons. They never complain that nature has made them silly or ill-featured. In some respects what a happy circumstance is that law of our nature by which, with the clearest eyes for the defects of others, we are blinded to our own! The feeble-minded and the deformed in body would shrink into themselves with bitter shame and forlorn despondency, if they were to see their own deficiencies as they appear to others. The perpetual mirror of self-reflection would drive them to despair. It is remarkable that in proportion as nature is niggard in real gifts, she is liberal in those of fancy. Fools and dwarfs are proverbially vain. When we consider how much of the happiness of life depends upon our being well deceived, it is perhaps scarcely |