Mr. DEAKIN has far more successfully proved his poetical powers
in his Portraits °like Dead, than in his drama of the Deli- verance of Switzerland. These poems are written with some ten- derness and feeling, and in many passages indicate the susceptibility of the poetical temperament. The following lines are taken from the portrait called "The Last Look,"—a composition on the death of the poet's mother, which is extremely touching.
"I mark'd my mother's years decline : Trembled her lips when press'd to mine ; Her brow grew pale as twilight's hue ;
Her eye had a more brilliant blue, - Approaching nearer in its tone To what above we look upon; The bloom was perishing on her cheek, Like evening's last tint, but more meek ; Yet, ah! as fell the shades of night Her soul's twin stars were full of light, Burning more'brightly every hour, Like glow-worms by a withering flower. 0 how she look'd upon her child, How beautifully upon him smiled I- A look fill'd with a thousand rays Of thought, which voice in vain essays To utter, as the stars on high Shed speechless glory round the sky. At times upon her cheeks there came The warmth of the internal flame, Bringing a sacred crimson there, From ardour of unceasing prayer.
She had the hue, the holy gloom, The depth of evening's final bloom, Telling of glory in its wane, Here never to return again. Oft would she place her hand in mine, Speaking to me of things divine, And words which from her lips were given Like scatteren rays of light from Heaven. She said, 'As flowers were valued less For their external gaudiness Than for their perfume pure and rare,--- So man's external, proudest air, Were unto Him who wings the storm, As worthless as the poorest worm.
The humble, modest flower,' she said, That hides beneath the leaf its head, And sheds upon the evening skies, Unseen, its sweet retiring sighs, Will sooner far the heart possess,
E'en for its very bashfulness'—
So He who in his power unrols His glory to the distant poles, Accepts on His benignant part The offerings of a humble heart.'
Such and the like blest sounds I heard From her, like charmed waters piled, Rolling their golden tribute rife To the ocean of eternal life !
My mother died! and could it be That I was all alone on earth ; Cold was the dear parental knee, That nursed me at my hour of birth ; Closed were those eyes that were so blue, So fondly, brightly, on me shone; Wither'd those lips of ruby hue That oft had bless'd me with their tone ?
Alas ! the world was left behind, But she who was my world had gone To where the first creation shone, Where first was felt th' Eternal's mind.
What were the song of birds to me? She lived not now their songs to share ; My heart was full of misery, I had no joy for grief to share. I was a thing apart from all, Desolate as a Polar isle, Whose sky is but a frozen pall, Whose smile is not a sunny smile; My heart was barren as its shore, With grief's salt sea-weed cover'd o'er. I spurn'd the emerald plain, I spurn'd The flower that in the garden grew, My soul at sight of all things mourn'd, They brought my mother to my view. I sat me by the river side, I saw it run like hope away; I sought the green wood's branching pride, I was too miserable to pray.
My heart was like a heart of stone, That has a fire within it nurst, Boils the hot blood, the pulse beats on, And hard it tries to weep or burst; But 'tis so desolate, so curst, It cannot weep, it cannot burst. Ere silently the dark train took My mother to her lowly rest, They told me I must take one look, One last long look upon the blest. They led me, for I did not care How much I revell'd with despair ; They led me, and they left me there.
I look'd within my heart for prayer; My heart was in a dark eclipse, No prayer came murmuring through my lips; My face it had a stagnant mood, 'Twas like the moon changed into blood, Red, frozen red, as if the heart Had changed its place to act its part. I tried to kneel me down ; I fell Upon my knees, I could not stand, Nor e'en with one look dared to dwell Upon the dead. The icy hand Then tremblingly I strove to touch : Great God! so coldly did it meet My own that had loved it so much, I started upright on my feet, And my fix'd look of voiceless wo Fell on my mother's form below, Looking so sweetly as she slept, I fell upon her face and wept ; Wept the loud grief pent up so long, And to her pale lips wildly clung, That almost the tears as they dropp'd below Were frozen upon her cheeks of snow. Calmly as in the evening hours The sunshine looks upon the flowers, Peace look'd into my heart, and brought The tranquil and the holy thought, Dissolved the ice around my heart ; Those tears had made my feelings start To life, and I was almost blest To find sweet Nature in my breast, Arching her Iris bright and fair Through all its showery atmosphere."
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