Upon your heaving breast;
Leave it within yon dark rock's shade
Or weave it in an iris braid,
To crown the Christian's rest

Bloom, ocean isle, lone ocean isle!
Thou keep'st a jewel rare;
Let rugged rock, and dark defile,
Above the slumbering stranger smile
And deck her couch with care.

Weep, ye bereaved! a dearer head,
Ne'er left the pillowing breast;
The good, the pure, the lovely fled,
When mingling with the shadowy dead,
She meekly went to rest.

Mourn, Burmah, mourn! a bow which spanned
Thy cloud has passed away;
A flower has withered on thy sand,
A pitying spirit left thy strand,
A saint has ceased to pray.

Angels rejoice, another string
Has caught the strains above.
Rejoice, rejoice! a new-fledged wing
Around the Throne is hovering,
In sweet, glad, wondering love.

Blow, blow, ye gales! wild billows roll!
Unfurl the canvas wide!
O! where she labored lies our goal:
Weak, timid, frail, yet would my soul
Fain be to hers allied.

_Ship Faneuil Hall_, Sept. 1846.

On the birth of an infant, she expressed her first maternal feelings, in
verses of such exquisite beauty, that they can never be omitted in any
collection of the gems of poetry--least of all in any collection of
_her_ poems.

The following are the verses alluded to:

MY BIRD.

Ere last year's moon had left the sky,
A birdling sought my Indian nest
And folded, oh so lovingly!
Her tiny wings upon my breast.

From morn till evening's purple tinge,
In winsome helplessness she lies;
Two rose leaves, with a silken fringe,
Shut softly on her starry eyes.

There's not in Ind a lovelier bird;
Broad earth owns not a happier nest
O God, thou hast a fountain stirred,
Whose waters never more shall rest!

This beautiful, mysterious thing,
This seeming visitant from heaven,
This bird with the immortal wing,
To me--to me, thy hand has given.

The pulse first caught its tiny stroke,
The blood its crimson hue, from mine--
This life, which I have dared invoke,
Henceforth is parallel with thine.

A silent awe is in my room--
I tremble with delicious fear;
The future with its light and gloom,
Time and Eternity are here.

Doubts--hopes, in eager tumult rise;
Hear, O