Poems for the Sea

Front matter

POEMS

FOR

THE SEA.

Preface

PREFACE

This little book is the result of some personal acquaintance with the element whose name it bears. Might it go forth with the voyager, over the path-less waters, and perchance, tenderly deepen the image of the friend who had made it a parting gift, it would fulfil a pleasant destiny.

Its closing portion, commencing with "The Mother's blessing on her Sailor Son," is more particularly adapted to those, whose life is on the sea. In the dim forecastle, may it be as a sunbeam, brightening the memory of home, and its loved ones, and the hope of that better home, where no storm shall drive the bark astray, or divide the true-hearted.

L.H.S.

Hartford, Dec., 1849.

Parting

PARTING.

Not of the boisterous wave, Not of the tempest's power, Not of the tossed and cleaving bark, Speak at this sacred hour.

God of the trusting soul! God of the wanderer, hear! And from our parting cup of love Wring out the dregs of fear.

Art Thou a God at home, Where the bright fireside smiles, And not abroad, upon the deep, Mid danger's deadliest wiles?

What though the eyes so dear To distant regions turn, Their tender language in our hearts Like cherished flame shall burn.

What though the voice beloved Reply not to our pain, We'll keep its music in our souls, Until we meet again.

Farewell!—May angel-guards Protect thy wave-rocked sleep, Nor shall our nightly prayers forget The loved one on the deep.

Our Ships

OUR SHIPS.

The ships from young Columbia's shore, As fleet they are and free, As those from haughtier realms, that boast Dominion o'er the sea. As gallantly their banners float, As keen their lightning's fly, And braver hearts than there are found Beat not beneath the sky.

White as the glancing sea-bird's wing Their swelling sails expand, Beside the bright Egean isles, Or green Formosa's strand, Or where the sparse Norwegian pine A sudden summer shares, Or Terra del Fuego's torch Amid the tempest glares.

Unmoved, their trackless course they hold Though vengeful Boreas roars, And make their port on stranger coasts Or undiscovered shores, Rude people of a foreign speech, Have learned their cheering cry, "Land-ho! Aloft!" and "Bear-a-hand!" With the ready tar's reply.

From zone to zone,—from pole to pole, Where'er in swift career The venturous keel a path explores, Our Yankee sailors steer.

The white bear, on his field of ice Hath seen their signals tossed, And the great whale,—old Ocean's king, Doth know them to his cost.

The spices from the Indian isles, The plant of China's care, The cane's sweet blood from tropic climes Their merchant-vessels bear, Wherever Commerce points his wand, They mount the crested waves, And link together every sea The rolling globe that laves.

Still nearest to the Antarctic gale Our daring seamen press, Where storm-wrapped Nature thought to dwell In hermit-loneliness; "Whose masts are these, so white with frost, Where fearful icebergs shine?" My country from her watch-tower looked And answered,—"They are mine!"

Columbia's ships!—With dauntless prow The tossing deep they tread; The pirates of the Libyan sands Have felt their prowess dread; And the British lion's lordly mane Their victor might confessed, For well their nation's faith and pride They guard on Ocean's breast.

When strong Oppression fiercely frowns, Her eagle rears its crest, And means no bird of air shall pluck His pinions, or his breast; And brightest on the threatening cloud Gleam out her stars of gold; Huzza! for young Columbia's ships— And for her seamen bold!

The Two Teachers

THE TWO TEACHERS.

Earth hath her firesides, where the truant heart Comes back, to be forgiven, where the soft touch Of mother, or of sister, lures the boy, And tames his fierceness, where the unshap'd sound From infancy's fair lip, doth move the soul With thrill unspeakable. But the strong Sea Beareth no hearth-stone on his giant waves. He scorns the cadence of the nursery song, Nor with his erring children leaves a fault For Love's fond kiss to shrive. The hoarse reproof, The chronicle of wrecks; the lash of storms,

Are his appliances. No echoing voice Of Sabbath-bell, across the billowy waste Calleth the peasant, with his little ones Up to God's courts; no chant of tuneful choir Softeneth his pupils, and no fervent prayer For their misdeeds, from interceding Love Outlasts the night-watch. Oft indulgent Earth Fits her frail child for Death's most fear'd embrace, By holiest ministries around his bed, Until her loosening links unclasp and fall, In scarce perceptible, and calm decline, Without a murmuring moan. And then she opes Her matron breast, for his long, dreamless sleep, And covers him with flowers. It is not so With Ocean, in his sterner discipline. His tender mercies, are the sad, lone plunge Down to his caves, where scaly monsters gaze A moment on the guest, with stony eyes, Then leave him to an unwept sepulchre, Until the day of doom.

Oh, gentle Earth! Gird thy son well, ere thou dost cast him forth To Ocean's iron rule. Give him the shield Of God's true fear, —that tho' he turn away From charities of home, and hallow'd bell Warning to Church, and turf-bound, tear-wet tomb, It may be well with him.

My First Sabbath at Sea

MY FIRST SABBATH AT SEA

Swift gliding o'er the deep, As woke the hallow'd day, With snowy sails, and favoring gales, Our ship pursued her way,— When lo! a gush of music sweet, Swelled from her heaving breast, A holy voice of hymns, that seem'd To lull the wave to rest.

For on the sheltered deck Uprose a sacred rite, The worship of old Ocean's King, The Lord of power and might;

Who with a simple line of sand Restrains its wrathful tide, And lays his finger on its mane, To quell its fiercest pride.

High words of solemn prayer Each listening spirit stir, And by the fair young babe knelt down The wrinkled mariner, On couch and mattrass rang'd around, The sick forgot their grief, And caught the lore of Heaven, as drinks Its dew, the thirsting leaf.

Sad Erin's ardent sons Up from the steerage came, And in their warm response invoked Jehovah's awful name; And little children gathered near, Blest in their guileless years, Hands folded close, and lips apart, And thoughts that move to tears.

Filled with the scene sublime, The priestly heart grew bold, To speak with eloquence of Him, Who the great deep controlled; And loftier was his youthful brow, And deep his tuneful voice, That warned the sinner to repent, And bade the saint rejoice.

A spell was on the heart, That bowed the proudest head, Above us the eternal skies, Beneath our feet the dead; The dead who knew no burial rite, Save storm, or battle cry, Whose tombs are where the coral grows, And the sea-monsters lie.

It is a blessed thing In God's own courts to stand, And hear the pealing organ swell, And join the prayerful band;

Yet who in full dependence feels That One alone can save, Until his fleeting life he throws Upon the troubled wave?

It is a blessed thing To heed the Sabbath chime, And on 'neath summer foliage walk To keep the holy time; Yet who hath all devoutly praised The Hand his breath that kept, Until the strong unpitying surge Raged round him while he slept?

Earth the indulgent nurse, With love her son doth guide, His safety on her quiet breast Begets an inborn pride; But Ocean, king austere, Doth mock his trusting gaze, And try the fabric of the faith, By which on Heaven he stays.

Again that tuneful sound Swells o'er the watery plain; How passing sweet are Zion's songs Amid the stranger-main: Our vessel taught them to the winds Along her venturous way, And bade the lawless billows hush In their tremendous play.

Throughout the broad expanse No living thing is seen, Except the stormy petrel's wing, That flecks the blue serene; Praise! Praise! methinks the hoariest surge Might learn that lesson well, Which even the infant zephyr's breath To earth's frail flowers doth tell.

What though the tender thought Of loved ones far away Steals lingering to the moistened eye, Mid prayer and chanted lay,

Yet trust in a Redeemer's word, And hopes that blossom free, And hallowed memories cling around This Sabbath on the sea.

Song of the Icelandic Fishermen

SONG OF THE ICELANDIC FISHERMEN.

Yield our bark to the breezes free,— Point its helm to the far, deep Sea, Where Heckla's red volcanic light Like a watch-fire gilds the night, Where in foaming baths, strange monsters play, Down to the deep sea—launch away!

Gay over coral reefs we steer, Where moulder the bones of the brave, Where the beautiful sleep on their humid bier, And the pale pearl gleams in its quenchless sphere,

The lamp of their Ocean grave; Swift o'er the crested surge we row; Down to the fathomless sea we so.

King of Day! to thee we turn, May our course be blest by thee, Eyes bright as thine in our homes shall burn, When again our hearths we see; When the scaly throng, to our skill a prey At the feet of our fur-clad maids we lay.

Thou art mighty in wrath, devouring tide! The strong ship loves o'er thy foam to ride, Her banner by bending clouds carest, The waves at her keel, and a world in her breast; Thou biddest the blast of thy billows sweep, Her tall masts bow to the cleaving deep, And seal'd in thy cells her proud ones sleep.

Our sails are as chaff, when the tempest raves, And our boat a speck on the mountain waves: Yet we pour not to thee, the imploring strain, We soothe not thy anger, relentless Main!

Libation we pour not, nor vow, nor prayer, Our hope is in thee, God of the sea! The deep is thy path, and the soul thy care.

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"Reef Sails"

"REEF SAILS."

I saw a bark, with streamers gay O'er Hymen's waters sweep, Profusion dancing at the helm, And Prudence fast asleep,— Yet not by Labour's ancient chart A steady course it bent, But fed the waves with ether's gold When all its own was spent. Reef sails! Reef sails!—a whirlpool's nigh The thundering rapids sound,— Ho!—change your reckoning, ere ye sink In gulfs profound.

Young Beauty, in her gilded barge Like Egypt's haughty queen, For whom, 'tis said, the world was lost, With graceful form is seen; The morn is fair, the breeze is rare, And gliding on her way, She deems each billow's flashing crest To her, doth homage pay. Reef sails! Reef sails!—I see a cloud Athwart the noontide skies,— A lonely strand, a wreck-strewn sand,— Be timely wise.

Pride steers ahead, with canvas spread, And top-mast towering high, Regardless of the warning winds That thro' the shrouds do sigh. Reef sails!—'tis not for him of dust For whom the worm doth wait, To magnify the fleeting trust Of wealth, or high estate.

Reef sails! Reef sails!—time's bubble breaks, The dark grave claims its part, And Heaven's acceptance only crowns The lowly heart.

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Icebergs

ICEBERGS

The setting Sun, with glorious smile Illumed the Atlantic main, And sweetly cheer'd a noble bark That rode the surging plain; And from its deck, the voyagers That cloudless radiance blest, When lo! a huge, portentous form Appear'd on Ocean's breast,

Just at the far horizon's verge, A mountain mid the main, As erst Philistia's giant tower'd O'er Israel's tented plain, While hoarsely o'er the wave, it seemed A threat of terror sped, "Who thus, with foot of fire, hath dar'd My realm of frost to tread?"

Yet on, the gallant steam-ship press'd Her flaming heart beat high, And boldly flow'd her fervid breath, In volumes o'er the sky, Though gathering at their chieftain's nod A monster-train drew near, With frowning helms, by Winter forg'd, In panoply severe.

Then, as the watchful stars looked down From their untroubled throne, A rushing flood of crimson light Spread forth from zone to zone,—

Aurora Borealis bent Her arch around the skies, And up the wondering billows gazed With phosphorescent eyes.

The sleepless Captain at his post Firm and undaunted stood, Though ice was thickening round his keel, To chill the seamens' blood. How tardily that fearful night, Told out each measured hour, While many a prayerful heart invoked The Great Deliverer's power.

Up rose the morn, and touched the crowns Of all those arctic kings, With lustre of a thousand rays That the rich diamond flings; And flashing from their vitreous shields Reflected colors streamed, While towers and miniarets of pearl, In fearful brilliance gleamed.

Who led us through that fierce array Of foes, so stern and dark, The buffet of whose iron hands Could crush the strongest bark? Who brought us from their fearful realm Unscathed, the tale to tell, At home, amid a listening group, While tears of rapture swell?

Forget Him not,—that God of love, But pay the worship due, And on the altar of the soul The incense-flame renew, To Him, who foiled that frigid host Who on their Ocean path, So terrible in beauty frowned, So pitiless in wrath.

The scene here described occurred to the steamship "Great Western," which on her voyage between Europe and the United States, in 1841, passed through a fleet of icebergs, reported by Capt. Hoskins, as between three and four hundred in number, headed by one larger than the rest, whose length was computed at three quarters of a mile, and its entire altitude, above and below the surface, at four hundred feet.

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Prayers at Sea

PRAYERS AT SEA.

Prayer may be sweet in cottage homes, Where sire and child devoutly kneel, And through the open casement nigh The vernal blossoms gently steal.

Prayer may be sweet in stately halls, Where heart with kindred heart is blent, And upward to the Eternal Throne The hymn of praise melodious sent.

But he, who fain would know how strong, The soul's appeal to God may be,

From friends and native land should turn, A wanderer o'er the faithless sea;

Should hear its deep imploring tone Rise upward o'er the thundering surge, When breakers threat the reeling bark. And winds with waves their conflict urge.

No spot on which his foot can rest, No refuge where his form may flee, How will he turn, O Rock Divine! And bind his anchoring soul to Thee.

Oracle for Seamen

ORACLE FOR SEAMEN.

[It is a fable of heathen mythology, that the ship Argo was built of oaks from the sacred groves of Dodonia, which were endowed with the gift of prophecy; so that the masts and timbers gave oracular advice to the Argonautic adventurers, and saved them from many threatening calamities.]

Dodonian Oaks were those, ye say That warn'd the sailor on his way, When in old time, with peril fraught. The Argonautic fleece he saught. For still prophetic impulse wove Those sever'd trunks from sacred grove,

And mystic voices here and there From mast and rudder—cried "beware!" And boast ye nought of spell or charm, Your wanderer o'er the deep to arm? No shield or panoply to cast Around his breast mid danger's blast? A Book ye have, of wondrous power, Go, press it on his parting hour, And make the Bible's voice divine His pilot, while he ploughs the brine. So shall an Oracle be near, Like angel-whisper in his ear, From swelling sail, from humble chest Where home's lov'd tokens garner'd rest, From dim forecastle's crowded throng Mid oath and bacchanalian song, From breaking dawn's uncertain light, From lonely watch, at dead of night, Even from the tempest's blackening cloud, The iceberg dread, the shatter'd shroud, The whelming surge, that voice shall be A guide to immortality.

The Trusting Child

THE TRUSTING CHILD.

The good ship o'er the Ocean, Glides on, where skies are bright, And rolling waves right merrily Propel her homeward flight; But lo! the blast and tempest Rush from their prisoning cell, The rocky coast, frowns dark and dread, The wintry surges swell.

'Tis night! Amid the breakers The headlong vessel goes, And shrieking, like a wounded man, Strives with her vengeful foes; Pale grows the boldest mariner, For scarce the trumpet's cry Is heard amid contending blasts, Whose warfare shakes the sky.

How fearful is the tumult! Hark, to the wailing prayer That mingles with the deafening storm Like hope amid despair; Yet in the darken'd cabin Rocked by the raging sea, There calmly sat a beauteous boy, Upon his mother's knee.

He sang a hymn of heaven, Then spoke so sweetly mild, "The Bible saith our Savior dear Doth love the little child;

It telleth of a happy home Beyond the stormy sky; Mother! He'll take us there to dwell, We're not afraid to die."

His brow was pure and peaceful As the pearl beneath the deep, When the booming battle thunders, Across its bosom sweep; Hoarse came the words of horror From men of sinful life, But innocence, with soul serene, Beheld the appalling strife.

Lo! the black clouds are breaking, The winds remit their force, The shatterd bark retrims her sails And slowly holds her course; The wearied men are faint, as they Who with giant foes have striven, But the trusting child, as he gently smiled Seem'd like a guest from Heaven.

Laura

LAURA.

Laura was fair, and of a tender heart, And lov'd a son of Neptune. Nought to her That toils of Ocean bronz'd his brow, or gave A roughness to his manners, for she priz'd His generous nature,—full of noble thoughts, And warm devotedness to every friend.

Cold winter fled away, and gentle Spring From its low bed the earliest snow-drop call'd, And then the holy marriage-vow they spake, And were made one. Yet scarce the fleeting moon Had marked her change of crescent, orb and wane,

Ere came the parting hour: for he was bound Upon a three years' cruise.

He cheer'd his bride, With promises to tempt the sea no more, But after this, one farewell voyage, to rear A cottage mid their native hills, where all Her favorite flowers might grow, and dwell content Forever at her side.

So, forth he went, The dauntless Captain of a hardy crew, To barb the monarch whale, mid arctic floods. 'Twere hard to tell, how loneliness and woe, Chill'd her young breast, and how thro' midnight storms She sleepless wept—or from some broken dream Of shipwreck, and the swimmer spent with toil, Sprang up, affrighted.

But with that good sense Which marks a well-train'd mind, she quell'd her grief By industry, and kindliest sympathies In other's woe. Still for her parent's weal, Both hand and heart were busy,—by the bed Of the poor sick she sate, or fed the young

With dews of knowledge; for the love of books And the pure faith of Christ, refined her soul.

Thus, well-employ'd, tho' with a tardy flight Revolv'd the months and years,—while anxious care For the long absent husband, gave a cast Of pensive beauty to her youthful brow. At length, the blessed telegraph announc'd His laden ship,—and soon her weary days Of widowhood, were ended. But the voice That to her ear like richest music seem'd, Announc'd sad tidings. He must tempt again The treacherous deep. "Ah, not again! No! No! Think of your promise, never more to roam! The humblest cot, where I might work for you, And hear your voice, and be your comforter, Is all my heart's ambition." "Laura, love, Fain would I place you in a loftier home, Such as your merits claim.

When first our flag Was rear'd o'er Mexico,—the land of gold, I touch'd upon that wondrous coast, and there Invested all my gains. So, I must go Thither and be made rich! Hear me, my wife. 'Tis but this once, and then I shall return With wealth untold." "Oh! let us be content," She fain had said, but saw it was in vain. A marble paleness o'er her features stole, And when it fled, left a fix'd purpose there To go with him. Though earnestly he strove To paint the hardships of the sea, fierce storms, Privations, nameless dangers, all unfit For one so delicate; yet still the wife Clave to her husband. Mournful kindred spake Dissuasively of peril, and the pang Of dire sea-sickness, far away from all Her sympathising sex; and of the life,

So uncongenial to her gentle soul In California. But she only said, "My husband will be there." Brief space was given For parting words, and then the tossing deck With slender foot she trod, resting unmoved Upon her husband's arm, and her blue eye Rais'd calmly to the skies. Tempest and blast And mountain-billow marked their dreary change On Ocean's face; yet mid their darkest wrath 'Twas beautiful to see how woman's love O'ermastered fear, keeping the sunbeam bright In the transparent heart, to light the brow With cheering smiles. Once more upon the land, Across the dreary wilds of Panama, The place of skulls, they took their pilgrim way. Strange hardships came upon them,—rugged men Fell down and died. Yet still her course she held. Her strength was in the heart.

The raging main Again was tempted, ere upon the shore Of San Francisco, with a motley throng From every clime, she stood. Death met her there, And with cold grasp, his fatal welcome seal'd. Faintly, her pale lips sigh'd, "The vale is dark, But Jesus is beside me." There she lay Breathless, and wasted as a skeleton, Yet, on her brow a smile. Amid the pangs With which that stricken husband bow'd him down, Was no remorseful sorrow o'er his haste To gather gold?—no painful imagery Of a sweet cottage mid New England's hills With her, who would have solace'd all his care, Yet, neath his feet, now found a stranger's grave?

Teachings of the Sea

TEACHINGS OF THE SEA.

Go, muse beside the Sea Where white-winged navies ride, While its highest pulse is beating free, In strong mysterious tide: Where deep in coral cells The sunless forests weep, And many a wandering child of earth Hath laid him down to sleep.

Go forth upon the Sea At the first break of morn, And bless it with the words of prayer Ere the young day is born.

And when the night grows dim, Beguile the billows wild, With the holy breath of thine evening hymn, As the Mother lulls her child.

Go, listen to the Sea When its thundering breakers roar, And a meek hearted pupil be Of their terrific lore. Hark! while the tempests lower, To the lessons of the wave, "One Voice alone, can curb our power, One Hand alone, can save."

Go homeward from the Sea, With a treasure in thy hand, A stronger trust in Him who curbs Its might, with reins of sand. And mid earth's darkest snare, Safe in thy bosom keep The pearl-drops thou didst gather there, The wisdom of the Deep.

Drink, Friends

DRINK, FRIENDS.

Drink, friends!—the parting hour draws nigh, Drink and forget your care, The sultry summer-noon is high, Drink, and your strength repair; The farmer with his toil-brown hands, The soldier, tired of slaughter, The camel mid the burning sands, Drink deep the crystal water.

Our father Sun the example gives, Our mother Earth also; He, jocund drinks, above the cloud, She, thirsting, drinks below:

Drink friends, drink deep, before we part, To loving wife, or daughter, Or bright-eyed maid who rules your heart, Drink deep, but only water.

Homeward Bound

HOMEWARD BOUND.

Hail, distant mountain! rearing dim O'er my loved land, thy lofty head, How welcome is thy sight to him So long by chart and compass led; Speck though thou art, and wrapped in haze, Right pleasant 'tis on thee to gaze.

I've masked the lordly Teneriffe Rise with rough forehead from the sea, Gay songsters warbling round the cliff, Rich strains of dulcet melody; Yet rather would my listening ear The wild birds of my country hear.

I've sailed where Chimborazo towers Amid old Andes' giant chain, And where the bright Brazilian flowers Pour living fragrance o'er the plain; But sweeter is the clustering vine That doth my home's lov'd porch entwine.

I've roamed where Himmaleh aspires With snowy crest o'er Indian vales, And where perfumed from spicy groves The freighted vessel fills her sails; But dearer far, yon mountain hoar, Blest herald of my native shore.

The Prophet's Vision

THE PROPHET'S VISION.

EZEKIEL XLVII.

He look'd, and from the Temple gate Where the bright orient glow'd, Fast by the altar's hallow'd base A stream like chrystal flow'd.

Bathing the feet, that limpid spring With gentlest murmur crept, Then deepening to a bolder flood In fearless current swept.

Till, spreading out, a river broad In strong, translucent tide,

Those mighty waters, rushing, roll'd, And foil'd the swimmer's pride.

Oh! vision of the glorious fount Which the meek Hand that fell Transpierc'd, on Calvary's fatal cross, Brought forth a living well,

True symbol of the Gospel's course, Didst thou that Prophet cheer, Who erst on Chebar's lonely banks Shed the pale captive's tear?

On that blest river's banks we dwell, We drink its healing tide, So, like the trees Ezekiel saw His vision'd flood beside,

May we with fresh, unfading leaf Each changeful season dare, And still the fruits of faith renew Till Heaven's pure clime we share.

Midnight Thoughts at Sea

MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS AT SEA.

Like a speck mid ocean's foam Far from native land and home, Midnight's cloud without a ray, Darkening o'er our venturous way, While the mountain wave is rolling, And the ship's bell faintly tolling, Helpless, Lord, and weak are we, Let us turn for strength to Thee.

Blast and surge, contending hoarse, Drive us on with headlong force, And the ship, while tempests urge, Groans and shivers at their scourge;

Yet should wildest tempests swell, Be thou near, and all is well; Saviour! on this tossing Sea Let us find repose in Thee.

Countless wrecks are spread below, Where with daring keel we go; Gentle forms, and bosoms brave, Ocean's floor, like jewels pave; If with them in briny deep It should be our lot to sleep, Saviour! from the whelming sea Take our ransomed souls to Thee.

The Angel of the Waters

THE ANGEL OF THE WATERS.

Full flow'd Bethesda's mantling pool While forth from hall and bower, Throng'd the wan victims of disease To test its healing power, Yet still, in calm repose it lay, Though many a straining eye For its first, infant ripple watch'd, With pain's impatient sigh.

'Tis troubled!—Man of science say, What moves its mystic tide?

Doth some strange planet from its throne Attract yon heaving tide? Thou answerest not. The christian sees An Angel break its rest, And bring the renovating flood, O'er each sad sufferer's breast.

Oh! if the fever of the heart, Or palsy of the brain, Should smite us, Father! till we find All earthly helpers vain, Send forth thine Angel to the stream That holy health can give; And bid him stir its blessed wave, That we may bathe, and live.

And for our brethren of the Sea, Who oft neglected pine, Incite our sympathizing care And wake a zeal divine,

Till we, their penury enrich With Heaven's eternal gem, And what the Angel did for us, Delighted, do for them.

To the Ocean

TO THE OCEAN

Ah! let me be thy pupil, mighty Deep! Yet speak thou gently to me, for I fear Thy voice of terror, nor desire to learn Those lessons that do make the mariner Shrink in his dreams. My Mother Earth imparts An easier lore. She talketh of her sons. Her level'd mountains, and her corn-clad vales, Town, tower, and temple, and triumphal arch, All speak of man, and moulder while they speak. But, of whose architecture, and design, Tell thine eternal fountains, when they rise To combat with the clouds, or when they fall?

Of whose strong culture, speak thy sunless plants? And groves of coral, which no mortal guest Hath visited, and liv'd? What sculptor wrought These monuments of amber, and of pearl, Where sleeps the sea-boy, in a pomp, that earth Denies her buried kings? Who strangely stretch'd A line of sand to curb thy monstrous tide, And writing "Hitherto!"—bade the mad surge Respect the silent mandate? From whose loom Came forth thy drapery, that ne'er waxeth old? No fallen leaf, or withering floweret marks Thy sere decadence of autumnal time. Who hath thy keys, Oh Deep? Who taketh note Of all thy wealth? Who numbereth the host That spread their tent amid thy cells, and sleep Unwaken'd, unreturning? Who doth scan The secret annal, from Creation lock'd In thy dark cabinet? Still, one reply! Each breaking billow speaks that One Dread Name

Which he, who deepest graves within his heart Is wisest, though the world may call him fool.

Therefore, I bend to thy resounding tides, And list the echo of thy countless waves, A lone disciple,—if perchance, my soul That poor shell-gatherer, on the shores of time, May by thy lore instructed, learn of God.

The Brother

THE BROTHER.

The good ship on an iceberg struck Where northern seas ran high, And midnight in its ebon veil Encircled earth and sky, It struck! what moment was there then To waste in sorrow's strife, When but one bold adventurous rush Remained 'tween death and life!

The boat! the boat! it launches forth Upon the mountain wave, And shrieking throngs, with frantic haste Essay its power to save; A fragile thing, it darkly strives Amid the wrathful tide, And deep, unutter'd pangs are theirs Who leave that vessel's side.

A moonbeam pierced the heavy cloud! Alas! what sight was there! Who stood on that forsaken deck In calm and mute despair! A fair, young maiden, just arous'd From slumber soft and dear, Stretched her white arms in wild amaze, But found no helper near.

In sad adieu, her hand she wav'd As if some friend she blest, Then closer drew her snowy robe Around her gentle breast,

And upward, to the darkened heavens Imploring glances cast, While her rich curls profusely fell, And floated on the blast.