The happiest and the sweetest sight That e’er mine eyes will see, Was the coming back of this poor child Unto his family! --Now wot ye of his parentage? Sometime I’ll tell you it; Of meaner matter many a time Has many a book been writ. ’Twould make a pleasant history Of joy scarce touched by woe, Of innocence and love; but now This only must you know. His mother was of English birth, Well-born, and young, and fair; In the wreck of an East-Indiaman She had been saved there. His father was the island’s chief, Goodly as man can be; Adam, methinks, in Paradise Was such a one as he. ’Tis not for my weak speech to tell The joy so sweet and good, Of these kind, simple islanders, Nor all their gratitude. Whate’er the island held they gave; Delicious fruits and vines, Rich-tinted shells from out the sea, And ore from out their mines. But I might not stay; and that same day Again we turned about, And, with the wind that changed then Went from the harbour out. --’Tis joy to do an upright deed; ’Tis joy to do a kind; And the best rewards of virtuous deeds Is the peace of one’s own mind. But a blessing great went with the ship, And with the frieght she bore; The pearl-shells turned to great account, So did the island’s ore;-- But I someway lost my reckoning, Nor found the island more. And how the child became a man, Or what to him befel, As I never trod the island more; Is not for me to tell. EASTER HYMNS. HYMN I. THE TWO MARYS. Oh dark day of sorrow, Amazement and pain; When the promise was blighted The given was ta’en! When the master no longer A refuge should prove; And evil was stronger Than mercy and love! Oh dark day of sorrow, Abasement and dread, When the Master beloved Was one with the dead! We sate in our anguish Afar off to see, For we surely believed not This sorrow could be! But the trust of our spirits Was all overthrown; And we wept, in our anguish, Astonished, alone! At even they laid him With aloes and myrrh, In fine linen wound, in A new sepulchre. There, there will we seek him: Will wash him with care; Anoint him with spices: And mourn for him there. Oh strangest of sorrow! Oh vision of fear! New grief is around us-- The Lord is not here! HYMN II. THE ANGEL. Women, why shrink ye With wonder and dread?-- Seek not the living Where slumbers the dead! Weep not, nor tremble; And be not dismayed; The Lord hath arisen! See where he was laid! The grave-clothes, behold them; The spices; the bier; The napkin that bound him; But he is not here!