THE ISLAND From The Buccaneer> HE Island lies nine leagues away; THE Along its solitary shore. Of craggy rock and sandy bay, No sound but ocean's roar, Save where the bold wild sea-bird makes her home, But when the light winds lie at rest, How beautiful! no ripples break the reach, And inland rests the green, warm dell; Rings cheerful, far and wide, Mingling its sound with bleatings of the flocks Nor holy bell nor pastoral bleat In former days within the vale; Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men: But calm, low voices, words of grace, A quiet look is in each face, Subdued and holy fear. Each motion gentle; all is kindly done Come, listen how from crime this Isle was won. WHO'S THE DOOM OF LEE From The Buccaneer> THO'S sitting on that long black ledge. Poor idle Matthew Lee! So weak and pale? A year and little more. And on the shingles now he sits, And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands; Then tries each cliff and cove and jut that bounds They ask him why he wanders so, From day to day, the uneven strand? "I wish, I wish that I might go! But I would go by land; And there's no way that I can find. I've tried It brought the tear to many an eye He shook. "You know the Spirit Horse I ride! He views the ships that come and go, O! 'tis a proud and gallant show Of bright and broad-spread wings, Making it light around them, as they keep Their course right onward through the unsounded deep. And where the far-off sand-bars lift Their backs in long and narrow line, Into the air, then rush to mimic strife: Glad creatures of the sea, and full of life! But not to Lee. He sits alone; No fellowship nor joy for him. That asking eye-oh, how his worn thoughts crave - To-night the charmèd number's told. "Twice have I come for thee," it said. So hears his soul, and fears the coming night; Again he sits within that room; All day he leans at that still board; Weakened with fear, lone, haunted by remorse, Not long he waits. Where now are gone And bathed them in his flood Of airy glory!- Sudden darkness fell; - And down they went,-peak, tower, citadel. The darkness, like a dome of stone, Ceils up the heavens. 'Tis hush as death - 'Tis close at hand; for there, once more, But now she rolls a naked hulk, and throws And where she sank, up slowly came The Spectre Horse from out the sea. VII-269 He treads the waters as a solid floor: He's moving on. Lee waits him at the door. They're met. "I know thou com'st for me," "I know that I must go with thee Take me not to the dead. It was not I alone that did the deed!" Dreadful the eye of that still, spectral Steed! Lee cannot turn. There is a force In that fixed eye which holds him fast. How still they stand!-the man and horse. "Thine hour is almost past." "Oh, spare me," cries the wretch, "thou fearful one!» "My time is full-I must not go alone." "I'm weak and faint. Oh let me stay!" "Nay, murderer, rest nor stay for thee!" Hark! how the Spectre breathes through this still night! He's on the beach, but stops not there; Holds him by fearful spell; he cannot leap. It lights the sea around their track- Gone! gone! and none to save! They're seen no more; the night has shut them in. The earth has washed away its stain; From the far south and north; The climbing moon plays on the rippling sea.- PAUL AND ABEL From Paul Felton> HR E TOOK a path which led through the fields back of his house, and wound among the steep rocks part way up the range of high hills, till it reached a small locust grove, where it ended. He began climbing a ridge near him, and reaching the top of it, beheld all around him a scene desolate and broken as the ocean. It looked for miles as if one immense gray rock had been heaved up and shattered by an earthquake. Here and there might be seen shooting out of the clefts, old trees, like masts at sea. It was as if the sea in a storm had become suddenly fixed, with all its ships upon it. The sun shone glaring and hot on it, but there was neither life, nor motion, nor sound; the spirit of desolation had gone over it, and it had become the place of death. His heart sunk within him, and something like a superstitious dread entered him. He tried to rouse himself, and look about with a composed mind. It was in vain he felt as if some dreadful unseen power stood near him. He would have spoken, but he dared not in such a place. To shake this off, he began clambering over one ridge after another, till, passing cautiously round a beetling rock, a sharp cry from out it shot through him. Every small jut and precipice sent it back with a Satanic taunt; and the crowd of hollows and points seemed for the instant alive with thousands of fiends. Paul's blood ran cold, and he scarcely breathed as he waited for their cry again; but all was still. Though his mind was of a superstitious cast, he had courage and fortitude; and ashamed of his weakness, he reached forward, and stooping down looked into the cavity. He started as his eye fell on the object within it. ་ Who and what are you?" cried he. "Come out, and let me see whether you are man or devil." And out crawled a miserable boy, looking as if shrunk up with fear and famine. "Speak, and tell me who you are, and what you do here," said Paul. The poor fellow's jaws moved and quivered, but he did not utter a sound. His spare frame shook, and his knees knocked against each other as in an ague fit. Paul looked at him for a moment. His loose shambly frame was nearly bare to the bones, his light sunburnt hair hung long and straight round his thin jaws and white eyes, that shone with a delirious glare, as if his mind had been terror-struck. There was a sickly, beseeching smile about |