« PreviousContinue »
It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp
The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace; It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp,
And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece. The startled waves leap over it; the storm
Smites it with all the scourges of the rain, And steadily against its solid form
Press the great shoulders of the hurricane.
“ Sail on!" it says, “ sail on, ye stately ships !
And with your floating bridge the ocean span ; Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse, Be yours to bring man nearer unto man !
THE STORMY PETREL. A THOUSAND miles from land are we Tossing about on the roaring sea ; From billow to bounding billow cast, Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast: The sails are scatter'd about like weeds, The strong masts shake like quivering reeds; The mighty cables and iron chains, The huil, which all earthly strength disdains, They strain and they crack; and hearts of stone, Their natural hard, proud strength disown.
Up and down! up and down! From the base of the wave to the billow's crown, Amidst the flashing and feathery foam, The stormy petrel finds a home ; A home,-if such a place can be For her who lives on the wide wide sea, On the craggy ice, in the frozen air, And only seeking her rocky lair To warn her young, and teach them to spring At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing!
O'er the deep ! o'er the deep! Where the whale, and the shark, and the swordfish sleep! Outfiying the blast and the driving rain, The petrel telleth her tale in vain : For the mariner curseth the warning bird, Who bringeth him news of the storm unheard: Ah! thus does the prophet of good or ill Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still ; Yet, he never falters ;-80, petrel! spring Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing.
THE OLD ABBEY.
This ancient ruin'd pile,
And midst desertion smile.
Their patriarchal shade;
That mock the verdant glade.
Within those cloisters gray,
Of ages pass’d away,–
The seeds of bounteous good ;
In this green solitude.
The monarch, trembling on his throne
For some unballow'd deed,
The pious monks to heed.
Would change for priestly cowl
To save his sinful soul.
Whose hearts were sorrow-riven;
In trustful hope of heaven.
When crush'd by tyranny,
The abbey's sanctity.
No spoliating band
CAARMING little valley,
Like an angel's brow ;
Innocent as thou.
Skies are bright above thee,
Tranquil little dell ;
Love and friendship dwell.
Tranquil and serene ;
Ever bright and green.
You haste array so soon;
Will go with you along.
We bave as short a spring;
ARE there who, always fond of changing,
Still in quest of pleasures roam P From scene to scene for ever ranging,
Unconscious of the sweets of Home? Oh! what a thousand tender pleasures,
To the wanderer quite unknown, Lurk in the winning sphere she measures,
And number the delights of Home. There the heart congenial meets you,
There affection's sunbeams play, Dear domestic duties greet you
In this spot where'er you stray. Tuned to love's delightful measure,
There you hear the soothing tone, And the rosy smile of pleasure
Lights a welcome to your Home. Free from vain or pert intrusion,
The swiftly circling minutes fly, And within this dear seclusion
Ambush'd joys and pleasures lie. Droops the heart with pain or anguish,
Do the spirits feel a gloom ?
How endearing then is Home!