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“ A soldier's death thou hast boldly died,

A soldier's grave won by it :
Before I would take that sword from thine hand,

My own life's blood should dye it.
" Thou shalt not be left for the carrion crow,

Or the wolf to batten o'er thee;
Or the coward insult the gallant dead,

Who in life had trembled before thee.”
Then dug he a grave in the crimson earth,

Where his warrior foe was sleeping ; And he laid him there in honour and rest,

With his sword in his own brave keeping !


THOU, vast Ocean! Ever sounding sea ! Thou symbol of a drear immensity! Thou thing that windest round the solid world Like a huge animal, which, downward hurled From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone, Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone. Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep. Thou speakest in the East and in the West At once, and on thy heavily laden breast Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life Or motion, yet are moved and meet in strife. The earth hath nought of this: no chance nor change Ruffies its surface, and no spirits dare Give answer to the tempest-waken air ; But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range At will, and wound its bosom as they go : Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow; But in their stated rounds the seasons come, And pass like visions to their viewless home, And come again, and vanish : the young Spring Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming;

And Winter always winds his sullen horn,
When the wild Autumn with a look forlorn
Dies in his stormy manhood; and the skies
Weep, and flowers sicken when the Summer flies.
-Thou only, terrible Ocean, hast a power,
A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour,
When thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds,
A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds
Thy broad green forehead. If thy waves be driven
Backwards and forwards by the shifting wind,
How quickly dost thou thy great strength unbind,
And stretch thine arms, and war at once with Heaven !

Thou trackless and immeasurable Main !
On thee no record ever lived again
To meet the hand that writ it: line nor lead
Hath ever fathomed thy profoundest deeps
Where haply the huge monster swells and sleeps,
King of his watery limit, who, 'tis said,
Can move the mighty ocean into storm-
Oh! wonderful thou art, great element :
And fearful in thy spleeny humours bent,
And lovely in repose: thy summer form
Is beautiful, and when thy silver waves
Make music in earth's dark and winding caves,
I love to wander on thy pebbled beach,
Marking the sunlight at the evening hour,
And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach-
“ Eternity, Eternity, and Power !"


Her giant-form,
O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
Majestically calm would go
'Mid the deep darkness white as snow!
But gently now the small waves glide
Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side.

So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
The main she will traverse for ever and aye.
Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast!
Hush ! hush! thou vain dreamer ! this hour is

her last.
Five hundred souls in one instant of dread
Are hurried o'er the deck;
And fast the miserable ship
Becomes a lifeless wreck.
Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock,
Her planks are torn asunder,
And down come her masts with a reeling shock,
And a hideous crash like thunder.
Her sails are draggled in the brine
That gladdened late the skies,
And her pendant that kissed the fair moonshine
Down many a fathom lies.
Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues
Gleamed softly from below,
And flung a warm and sunny

O’er the wreaths of murmuring snow,
To the coral rocks are hurrying down
To sleep amid colours as bright as their own.

Oh! many a dream was in the ship
An hour before her death;
And sights of home with sighs disturbed
The sleepers' long-drawn breath.
Instead of the murmur of the sea,
The sailor heard the humming tree
Alive through all its leaves,
The hum of the spreading sycamore
That grows before his cottage door,
And the swallow's song in the eaves.
His arms enclosed a blooming boy,
Who listened with tears of sorrow and joy
To the dangers his father had passed;

And his wife-by turns she wept and smiled,
As she looked on the father of her child
Returned to her heart at last.

-He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll,
And the rush of waters is in his soul.-

Now is the ocean's bosom bare, Unbroken as the floating air ; The ship hath melted quite away, Like a struggling dream at break of day. No image meets my wandering eye But the new-risen sun and the sunny sky, Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapour dull Bedims the wave so beautiful; While a low and melancholy moan Mourns for the glory that hath flown.

THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. What hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells, Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious Main ? -Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-coloured shells, Bright things which gleam unrecked of, and in vain. -Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy Sea!

We ask not such from thee. Yet more, the Depths have more!--What wealth untold Far down, and shining through their stillness lies ! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal Argosies. -Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful Main;

Earth claims not these again! Yet more, the Depths have more ! Thy waves have rolled Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry! -Dash o'er them, Ocean ! in thy scornful play,

Man yields them to decay!

Yet more! the Billows and the Depths have more !
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast !
They hear not now the booming waters roar,
The battle-thunders will not break their rest,
-Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave-

Give back the true and brave !
Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long,
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,
And the vain yearning woke ʼmidst festal song !
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown,

-But all is not thine own! To thee the love of woman hath gone down, Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er youth's bright locks and beauty's flowery crown;

-Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the dead! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee,

Restore the Dead, thou Sea !


A wandering gipsy, Sirs, am I,
From Norwood, where we oft complain,
With many a tear and many a sigh,
Of blustering winds and rushing rain,

No costly rooms or gay attire
Within our humble shed appear ;
No beds of down, or blazing fire,
At night our shivering limbs to cheer.
Alas! no friend comes near our cot!
The redbreasts only find the way,
Who give their all, a simple note,
At peep of morn and parting day.

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