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In each sail that skims the horizon,
In each landward-blowing breeze,
Hear those mournful melodies
For the secret of the sea,
Sends a thrilling pulse through Le.
The wind blows wild and free,
Flash the white caps of the sea.
There shines a ruddier light,
Peers out into the night.
As if those childish eyes
To see some form arise.
Is passing to and fro,
Now bowing and bending low.
And the night-wind, bleak and wild,
Tell to that little child ?
And the night-wind, wild and bleak,
Drive the colour from her cheek?
SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT,*
SOUTHWARD with fleet of ice
Sailed the corsair Death;
And the east-wind was his breath. * "When the wind abated and the vessels were near enough, the Admiral wak seen constantly sitting in the stern, with a book in his hand. On the 9th of Sep. tember he was seen for the last time, and was heard by the peop!e of the Hind
His lordly ships of ice
Glistened in the sun;
Flashing crystal streamlets run.
Dripped with silver rain;
Leaden shadows o'er the main.
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed;
Then, alas! the land wind failed.
And ice-cold grew the night;
Should Sir Humphrey see the light.
The Book was in his hand;
He said, “ by water as by land !'
Without a signal's sound,
The fleet of Death rose all around.
Were hanging in the shrouds;
Seemed to rake the passing clouds.
At midnight black and cold!
Heavily the ground-swell rolled.
They drift in close embrace,
Yet there seems no change of place.
They drift through dark and day;
Sinking, vanish all away. to say, 'We are as near heaven by sea as by land. In the following night, the lights of the ship suddenly disappeared. The people in the other vessel kept a good look out for him during the remainder of the voyage. On the 22nd of September they arrived, through much tempest and peril, at Falmouth. But nothing more was seen or heard of the Almiral," —BELKNAP's American Biography, i. 203. THE LIGHTHOUSE.
The rocky ledge runs far into the sea,
And on its outer point, some miles away, The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. Even at this distance I can see the tides,
Upheaving, break unheard along its base, A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides
In the white lip and tremor of the face. And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,
Through the deep purple of the twilight air, Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light
With strange, unearthly splendour in its glare! Not one alone; from each projecting cape
And perilous reef along the ocean's verge, Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape,
Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. Like the great giant Christopher it stands
Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave,
The night-o'ertaken mariner to save.
Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells,
They wave their silent welcomes and farewells. They come forth from the darkness, and their sails
Gleam for a moment only in the blaze, And eager faces, as the light unveils,
Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze. The mariner remembers when a child,
On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink; And when, returning from adventures wild,
He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink. Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same
Year after year, through all the silent night
Shines on that inextinguishable light!
peace; It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp,
And hold it up, and shake it like a Aeece.
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 hurricanc. The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din
Of wings and winds and solitary cries, Blinded and maddened by the light within,
Dashes himself against the glare, and dies. A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock,
Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove, It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock,
But hails the mariner with words of love. “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 FIRE OF DRIFTWOOD.
We sat within the farmhouse old,
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold,
An easy entrance, night and day. Not far away we saw the port,-
The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,The lighthouse, -the dismantled fort,
The wooden houses, quaint and brown. We sat and talked until the night,
Descending, filled the little room; Our faces faded from the sight,
Our voices only broke the gloom. We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said, Of what had been, and might have been,
And who was changed, and who was dead; And all that fills the hearts of friends,
When first they feel, with secret pain,
And never can be one again;
That words are powerless to express,
Or say it in too great excess.
The very tones in which we spake
Had something strange, I could but mark; The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words upon our lips,
As suddenly, from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded ships,
The flames would leap and then expire. And, as their splendour flashed and failed,
We thought of wrecks upon the main,
And sent no answer back again.
The ocean, roaring up the beach,-
All mingled vaguely in our speech;
Of fancies floating through the brain, -
That send no answer back again.
They were indeeil too much akin,
The thoughts that burned and glowed within.
By the Fireside.
But one dead lamb is there !
But has one vacant chair !
And mournings for the dead;
Will not be comforted !
Not from the ground arise,
Assume this dark disguise.