O'er the deep! o'er the deep! Where the whale and the shark and the swordfish sleep; Outflying the blast and the driving rain, Ah! thus does the prophet of good or ill THE ABSENT. Reo. B.. Thompson. LONELY-nay, that I am not! Happy-nay, that I am not! Mournful-nay, that I am not! Hopeful-yes, that mood is mine! THE TRAVELS OF THE LEAF. Anon. FROM the hill to the valley, the grove to the plain, From the branch where thou never wilt blossom again; Thy green beauties faded, sere, wither'd, and dying, Brown leaf of the forest! oh, where art thou flying? 'I know not, I heed not, I go with the blast, Which swept me away with the bough as it passed; The storm-gust, which shattered the oak where I hung, Had ruth for the feeble, but none for the strong. It has rent the tough branch, once my glory and stay, And the wind for my wild mate-I'm whirled away. What rede I, or reek? On its cold bosom lying, I haste to where all things in nature are hieing. And the sweet garden rose-leaf floats off with the breeze, Where the zephyr wafts blossoms and buds from the trees, So lightly I drive to my destiny too; And it may be to glad me-it may be to rueMy companions the ilex, the ash, the bright laurel, And the beech, with its death-bloom as ruddy as coral. Now read my sad riddle, Sir Seer, and its moral.' THE SEA DIVER. Longfellow. My way is o'er the bright blue sea, My plumage bears the crimson blush, Full many a fathom down beneath They rested by the coral throne, Where the pale sea-grape had o'ergrown At night upon my storm-drenched wing, And when the wind and storm had done, I saw the pomp of day depart, The cloud resign its golden crown; When to the ocean's beating heart The sailor's wasted corpse went down. Peace be to those whose graves are made Beneath the bright and silver sea; Peace that their relics there were laid, With no vain pride and pageantry. THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. THEY grew in beauty side by side, The same fond mother bent at night One 'midst the forest of the west, The Indian knows his place of rest, The sea a-the blue lone sea hath one, One sleeps where southern vines are drest, He wrapt his colors on his breast, And one-on her the myrtle showers |