From pest on land, or death on ocean,

When hurricanes its surface fan,

O object of my fond devotion!

Thou scap'st not by my Talisman.

The gem in Eastern mine which slumbers,

Or ruddy gold 'twill not bestow;

'Twill not subdue the turban'd numbers,

Before the Prophet's shrine which bow;

Nor high through air on friendly pinions

Can bear thee swift to home and clan,

From mournful climes and strange dominions -

From South to North - my Talisman.

But oh! when crafty eyes thy reason

With sorceries sudden seek to move,

And when in Night's mysterious season

Lips cling to thine, but not in love -

From proving then, dear youth, a booty

To those who falsely would trepan

From new heart wounds, and lapse from duty,

Protect thee shall my Talisman.

THE MERMAID.

Close by a lake, begirt with forest,

To save his soul, a Monk intent,

In fasting, prayer and labours sorest

His days and nights, secluded, spent;

A grave already to receive him

He fashion'd, stooping, with his spade,

And speedy, speedy death to give him,

Was all that of the Saints he pray'd.

As once in summer's time of beauty,

On bended knee, before his door,

To God he paid his fervent duty,

The woods grew more and more obscure:

Down o'er the lake a fog descended,