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 'midst 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.
But fortunes here I come to tell—
Then yield me, gentle Sir, your hand :-
Within these lines what thousands dwell-
And, bless me, what a heap of land!
It surely, Sir, must pleasing be
To hold such wealth in every line-
Try, pray now try, if you can see
A little treasure lodged in mine.
"HAIL, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast, And woo the weary to profound repose! Can Passion's wildest uproar lay to rest, And whisper comfort to the man of woes? Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes, And Contemplation soar on seraph wings. O Solitude! the man who thee foregoes, When lucre lures him, or ambition stings, Shall never know the source whence real grandeur springs. "Vain man! is grandeur given to gay attire? Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid :To friends, attendants, armies, bought with hire? It is thy weakness that requires their aid :To palaces, with gold and gems inlaid? They fear the thief, and tremble in the storm :— To hosts, through carnage who to conquest wade? Behold the victor vanquished by the worm! Behold what deeds of woe the locust can perform!
"True dignity is his, whose tranquil mind
Virtue has raised above the things below;
Who, every hope and fear to Heaven resigned,
Shrinks not, though Fortune aim herdeadliest blow!"-
This strain from 'midst the rocks was heard to flow, In solemn sounds. Now beamed the evening star; And from embattled clouds, emerging slow,
Cynthia came riding on her silver car;
And hoary mountain-cliffs shone faintly from afar.
HAST thou not seen, impatient boy,
Hast thou not read the solemn truth,
That gray experience writes for giddy youth
On every mortal joy?
Pleasure must be dashed with pain :
And yet, with heedless haste,
The thirsty boy repeats the taste,
Nor hearkens to despair, but tries the bowl again.
The rills of pleasure never run sincere :
Earth has no unpolluted spring,
From the cursed soil some dangerous taint they bear;
So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting.
In vain we seek a heaven below the sky;
The world has false but flattering charms:
Its distant joys show big in our esteem,
But lessen still as they draw near the eye;
In our embrace the visions die :
And when we grasp the airy forms,
We lose the pleasing dream.
Earth, with her scenes of gay delight,
Is but a landscape rudely drawn,
With glaring colours, and false light;
Distance commends it to the sight,
For fools to gaze upon;
But bring the nauseous daubing nigh,
Coarse and confused the hideous figures lie,
Dissolve the pleasure, and offend the eye.
Look up, my soul, pant toward th' eternal hills;
Those heavens are fairer than they seem;
There pleasures all sincere glide on in crystal rills,
There not a dreg of guilt defiles,
Nor grief disturbs the stream.
That Canaan knows no noxious thing,
No cursed soil, no tainted spring,
Nor roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting.
HEAVENLY MINSTREL.
ENTHRONED upon a hill of light,
A heavenly minstrel sings;
And sounds, unutterably bright,
Spring from the golden strings.
Who would have thought so fair a form
Once bent beneath an earthly storm!
Yet was he sad and lonely here;
Of low and humble birth;
And mingled, while in this dark sphere,
With meanest sons of earth.
In spirit poor, in look forlorn,
The jest of mortals, and the scorn.
A crown of heavenly radiance now,
A harp of golden strings,
Glitters upon his deathless brow,
And to his hymn-note rings.
The bower of interwoven light
Seems, at the sound, to grow more bright.
Then, while with visage blank and sear,
The poor in soul we see,
Let us not think what he is here,
But what he soon will be ;
And look beyond this earthly night,
To crowns of gold, and bowers of light.
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