Whence came it now? perchance from yonder dell,
  O’er which the skies, in sunny beauty fix’d,
  Their sapphire mantle hang.  Its Eden home
  Is in some beauteous place where faces beam
  In loveliness and joy!  To hail the morn,
  The infant pours it from his rosy mouth,
  Ere, o’er the fields, with blissful heart he roams,
  To watch the syren lark, or mark the sun
  Surround with golden light the rainbow clouds.

  That music-lay awak’d within my heart
  Thoughts, that had wept themselves to death, like clouds
  In summer hours.—­It brought before mine eyes
  The haunts so often worshipped, the forms
  Revealing heav’n and holiness in vain. 
  Alas, sweet lay, the freshness of the heart
  Is wasted, like an unfed stream, away;
  And dreams of Home, by Fancy treasurd up,
  Remain as wrecks around the tomb of Being!

Reginald Augustine.
Deal.

* * * * *

TYRE.

(For the Mirror.)

“And I will cause the noise of thy songs to cease, and the sound of thy harps shall be no more heard”—­Ezekiel, chap. xxvi. verse 13.

“It shall be a place for the spreading of nets in the midst of the sea.” Ezekiel, chap xxvi. verse 5.

  Thy harps are silent, mighty one! 
    Thy melody no more: 
  For ocean’s mourning dirge alone
    Breaks on thy rocky shore.

  The fisher there his net has spread,
    Thy prophecy to show;
  Nor dreams he that thy doom was read,
    Two thousand years ago.

  On Chebar’s banks the captive seer,
    Thy future ruin told: 
  Visions of woe, how true and clear,
    With power divine unroll’d!

  The tall ship there no more is riding,
    Of Lebanon’s proud cedars made;
  But the wild waves ne’er cease their chiding,
    Where Tyre’s past pomp and splendour fade.

  The traveller to thy desert shore
    No cherish’d record found of thee;
  But fragments rude are scatter’d o’er
    Thy dreary land’s blank misery.

  The sounds of busy life were hush’d,
    But still the moaning blast,
  That o’er the rocky barrier rush’d,
    Sang wildly as it pass’d:—­
  Spirit of Time, thine echoes woke,
  And thus the mighty Genius spoke:—­

  “Seek no more, seek no more,
  Splendour past and glories o’er,
  Here bleak ruin ever reigns;
  See him scatter o’er the plains,
  Arches broken, temples strew’d,
  O’er the dreary solitude! 
  Long ago the words were spoken,
  Words which never can be broken. 
  Where are now thy riches spread? 
  Where wilt thou thy commerce spread? 
  Thou shalt be sought but found no more! 
  Wanderers to thy desert shore
  Former splendours bring thee never,
  Tyre is fallen, fallen forever!”