The wealth they hid was never found. 
  Though often sought of men. 
’Tis where they placed it in the ground,
  Till they should come again!

The earth has seemed by Heaven constrained. 
  The treasures to withhold
That price of blood has none obtained,
  Or used the pirate’s gold!

=The Dying Storm=.

I am feeble, pale and weary,
  And my wings are nearly furled. 
I have caused a scene so dreary,
  I am glad to quit the world. 
While with bitterness I’m thinking
  On the evil I have done,
To my caverns deep I’m sinking
  From the coming of the sun.

Oh! the heart of man will sicken
  In that pure and holy light,
When he feels the hopes I’ve stricken
  With an everlasting blight! 
For, so wildly in my madness
  Have I poured abroad my wrath,
I’ve been changing joy to sadness;
  And with ruins strewed my path.

Earth has shuddered at my motion:—­
  She my power in silence owns;
While the troubled, roaring ocean
  O’er my deeds of horror moans. 
I have sunk the dearest treasure—­
  I’ve destroyed the fairest form: 
Sadly have I filled my measure;
  And I’m now a dying Storm!

Yet, to man among the living,
  With my final gasp and sigh,
I, a solemn caution giving,
  Fain would serve him while I die. 
Not like me, shall he, descending
  Swift to death, from being cease. 
He’s a spirit!—­fleetly tending
  To eternal pain or peace!

=The Little Traveller=.

I am the tiniest child of earth! 
  But still, I would like to be known to fame;
Though next to nothing I had my birth,
  And lowest of all in my lowly name.

Yet, if so humble my native place,
  This I can say, in family pride—­
That I’m of the world’s most numerous race,
  And made by the Maker of all beside.

Although I’m so poor, I naught to lose;
  Still I’m so little I can’t be lost! 
I journey about, wherever I choose,
  And those who carry me bear the cost.

The most forgiving of earthly things,
  I often cling to my deadly foe;
And, spite of the cruellest flirts and flings,
  Arise by the force that has cast me low.

When beauty has trodden me under foot,
  I’ve quietly risen, her face to seek,—­
Embraced her forehead, and calmly put
  Myself to rest in her dimpled cheek.

I’ve ridden to war on the soldier’s plume;
  But startled and sprung, at the wild affray,—­
The sights of horror—­of fire and fume;
  And fled on the wings of the wind away.

I’ve visited courts, and been ushered in
  By the proudest guest of the stately scene;
I’ve touched his majesty’s bosom-pin,
  And the nuptial ring of his lofty queen.

At the royal board, in the grand parade,
  I’ve oft been one familiar and free: 
The fairest lady has smiled, and laid
  Her delicate, gloveless hand on me.