The unbelov'd one, for his home to gaze

Through the wild laurels back; but then a light
Broke on the stern proud sadness of his eye,
A sudden quivering light, and from his lips
A burst of passionate song.

"I hear thee, O thou rushing stream!-thou 'rt from my native

dell,

Thou 'rt bearing thence a mournful sound-a murmur of farewell! And fare thee well-flow on, my stream!-flow on, thou bright

and free!

I do but dream that in thy voice one tone laments for me;
But I have been a thing unlov'd, from childhood's loving years,
And therefore turns my soul to thee, for thou hast known my

tears;

The mountains, and the caves, and thou, my secret tears have

known:

The woods can tell where he hath wept, that ever wept alone!

"I see thee once again, my home! thou'rt there amidst thy vines,

And clear upon thy gleaming roof the light of summer shines.

It is a joyous hour when eve comes whispering through thy groves, The hour that brings the son from toil, the hour the mother

loves!

-The hour the mother loves!-for me belov'd it hath not been; Yet ever in its purple smile, thou smil'st, a blessed scene! Whose quiet beauty o'er my soul through distant years will

come

-Yet what but as the dead, to thee, shall I be then, my home?

"Not as the dead!-no, not the dead!-We speak of them—we

keep

Their names, like light that must not fade, within our bosoms

deep!

We hallow ev'n the lyre they touch'd, we love the lay they sung, We pass with softer step the place they fill'd our band among! But I depart like sound, like dew, like aught that leaves on earth No trace of sorrow or delight, no memory of its birth!

I go!-the echo of the rock a thousand songs may swell When mine is a forgotten voice.-Woods, mountains, home, farewell!

"And farewell, mother!—I have borne in lonely silence long, But now the current of my soul grows passionate and strong!

And I will speak! though but the wind that wanders through

the sky,

And but the dark deep-rustling pines and rolling streams reply. Yes! I will speak!-within my breast whate'er hath seem'd

to be,

There lay a hidden fount of love, that would have gush'd for

thee!

Brightly it would have gush'd, but thou, my mother! thou hast

thrown

Back on the forests and the wilds what should have been thine

own!

"Then fare thee well! I leave thee not in loneliness to pine, Since thou hast sons of statelier mien and fairer brow than mine! Forgive me that thou couldst not love!—it may be, that a tone Yet from my burning heart may pierce, through thine, when I am gone!

And thou perchance mayst weep for him on whom thou ne'er hast smil'd,

And the grave give his birthright back to thy neglected child! Might but my spirit then return, and 'midst its kindred dwell, And quench its thirst with love's free tears!-'tis all a dreamfarewell!"

N

"Farewell!"—the echo died with that deep word,

Yet died not so the late repentant pang

By the strain quicken'd in the mother's breast!
There had pass'd many changes o'er her brow,
And cheek, and eye; but into one bright flood
Of tears at last all melted; and she fell

On the glad bosom of her child, and cried
"Return, return, my son!"—the echo caught
A lovelier sound than song, and woke again,
Murmuring "Return, my son!".

THE SULIOTE MOTHER.

It is related in a French Life of Ali Pacha, that several of the Suliote women, on the advance of the Turkish troops into their mountain fastnesses, assembled on a lofty summit, and, after chanting a wild song, precipitated themselves, with their children, into the chasm below, to avoid becoming the slaves of the enemy.

SHE stood upon the loftiest peak,
Amidst the clear blue sky,

A bitter smile was on her cheek,
And a dark flash in her eye.

"Dost thou see them, boy?-through the dusky pines
Dost thou see where the foeman's armour shines?
Hast thou caught the gleam of the conqueror's crest?
My babe, that I cradled on my breast!

Wouldst thou spring from thy mother's arms with joy?
-That sight hath cost thee a father, boy!"