The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1833-01-11 00:00:00

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THE AWAKENING OF 'THE WIND.

(From Tait's Magazine for January.

! the wind, the mighty wind,
Like lion from his lair up sprung,
llath lefthis Arctic home behind,
And off his slumbers flung ;
While over lake and peaceful sea.
With track of crested foam, sweeps hp
.1

Hurrah t the wind, the mighty wind,
Hath o'er the deep his chariot driven,
Whose waters that in peace reclined.
Uplash the roof of heaven ;
Then on the quaking cliff-bound shore
They foaming dash with deafening roar.

The ship loom'd on the waveless sea,
Her form was imaged in its breast,
And beauteous of proportion she,
As ever billow prest ;
And graceful there as stately palm,
She toWer'd &bald, the sultry calm.

Her flag hung moveless 'by the mist,
Her sails droop'd breezeless and unbent,
And oft the seaman's glance was cast
Along the firmament,
To note if there he might descry
The wakening gale approaching nigh.

On came the wind, the reckless wind,
Fast sweeping on his furious way,
His tempest-rushing pinions brined
In wrathful ocean's spray.
On came the wind, and, as he past,
The shriek of death was in the blast!

The tall ship by the shrouds he took,
To shivering shreds her canvass rent,
Then like a reed her mast he shook,
And by the board it went,
While-yawn'd the deep with hideous din,
As if prepared to gulf her in.

With fruitless effort on she reels,
The giant wind is in her wake,
The mountain billows' coil she feels
Around her like a snake ;
Lock'd in that unrelenting grasp,

She struggling sinks with stilled gasp.

Hurrah ! hurrah I the victor wind

Bath swept the ocean rover down,
And left a shipless sea behind,
With many a corse bestrewn;
And swift, unfetter'd, strong and free,
Like eagle on his path, speeds he!

THE TRAVELLER'S EVENING SONG.

BY MRS. ÜBMANS.

(From Blackwood's Magazine.)

FATHER, guide me I Day declines,
Hollow winds are in the pines ;
Darkly waves each giant-bough
O'er the sky's last crimson glow :
Hush'd is now the convent's bell,
Which erewhile with breezy swell
From the purple mountains bore
Greeting to the sun-set shore.
Isiow the sailor's vesper-hymn

Dies away.
Father ! in the forest dim

Be my stay I

In the low and shivering thrill
Of the leaves gut late hung still ;
In the dull and muffled tone
Of the sea-wave's distant moan ;
In the deep tints of the sky,
There are signs of tempest nigh.
Ominous, with sullen sound,
Falls the closing dusk around.
Father i through the storm and shade
O'er the wild,

Oh t be Thou the lone one's aid—

Save thy child !

Many a swift and sounding plume
Homewards, through the boding gloom,
O'er my way hath flitted fast,
Since the farewell sun-beam passed
From the ehesnut's ruddy bark,
And the polls, now low and dark,
Where the weakening night-winds sigh
Through the long reeds mournfully.
Homeward, home Ward, all things haste—
God of might !
Shield the homeless midst the waste,
Be his light!

In his distant cradle-nest
-Sow my babe is laid to rest :
Beautiful his slumber seems
With a glow of heavenly dreams ;
Beautiful o'er that bright sleep,
Hang soft eyes, of fondness deep,
Where his mother bends to pray,
For the loved and far away.—
Father I guard that household bower,
Hear that prayer !

Back, through thine all -guiding power.

Lead me there ?

Darker, wilder, grows the night—
Not a star sends quivering light
Through the massy arch of shade
By the stern old forest made,
Thou! to whose unslumbering eyes
All my pathway open lies.
By the Son, who knew distress
In the lonely wilderness,
Where no roof to that blest head

Shelter gave—

Father! through the time of dread,

Save, oh ! save !

THE WARRIOR BARD.

(From the Monthly Magazine.)

The bugle's voice had set the watch of night,
And silence walk'd the carnage-cover'd plain.
When sad, beneath the dying.,• embers' light,
The warrior bard watch'd o'er th' unburied slain,
Ere war's soul-stirring blast had rung,
His harp the charms of beauty sung.
But when his country's voice was heard,
And freedom was the rallying word,
The minstrel's soul through all its depths was stirr'd.
lle sought the fleld—the battle led—
And soothed the pains of those who bled—
While thus he sung the fame that crown'd the dead :
Ye glorious spirits of the mighty dead,

Whose cold remains on victory's bosom rest,
When hist'ry tells the cause for which ye bled,
Your name shall he by freedom's.children blest.
To you the ruling hand of heaven,
The noblest proudest fate hath given.
Your sons shall (lash the tear aside,
And show the field with manly pride,
(in which, in freedom's cause, their fathers died ;
Then should oppression break her chain ;
In them your souls shall breathe again ;
And tame their pride, or life's last current drain.