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Sunset at Sea.
'Tis sunset; to the firmament serene
The Atlantic wave reflects a gorgeous scene;
Broad in the cloudless west, a belt of gold
Girds the blue hemisphere ; above unroll'd
The keen clear air grows palpable to sight,
Embodied in a flush of crimson light,
Through which the evening-star, with milder gleam,
Descends to meet her image in the stream.

MONTGOMERY.

The Stars.

How calm,
How awful calm they shine-unmoved, untouched,
Amid the tempests of poor human thought !
There they have watched this weary earth grow old,
And still they beam as fair as at the first,
Iu all their radiant youth! Still they keep watch
O’er the great march of life, and time, and change,
And even o'er me they bend! Alas, alas !
Meek, silent witnesses of sin and shame,
How much do they endure to look
Now, in the byeways of the lonely night,
Love wanders with her one child, Misery,
And cannot see the heavens through her tears,
Moaning, she wanders with slow fainting steps,
And bends her dying eyes upon the ground
To find a welcome grave.

WHITMORE

upon!

The Ocean.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean—roll!

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control

Stops with the shore ;-upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain

A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When for a moment, like a drop of rain,

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls

Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals,

The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title

take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war; These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,

They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike th' Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee

Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they Thy waters wasted them while they were free,

And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay

Has dried up realms to deserts :-not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure browSuch as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now,

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form

Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time,
Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm,

Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving ; boundless, endless, and sublime-

The image of Eternity—the throne
Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.

And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy

Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy

I wanton'd with thy breakers—they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea

Made them a terror-'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee,

And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane-as I do here.

BYRON.

The Sea at Midnight.

I.

It is the midnight hour :—the beauteous sea,

Calm as the cloudless heaven, the heaven discloses, While many a sparkling star, in quiet glee,

Far down within the watery sky reposes.
As if the ocean's heart were stirr'd
With inward life, a sound is heard,

Like that of dreamer murmuring in his sleep;
'Tis partly the billow, and partly the air,
That lies like a garment floating fair

Above the happy deep.
The sea, I ween, cannot be fann'd
By evening freshness from the land,

For the land it is far away ;
But God hath will d that the sky-born breeze
In the centre of the loneliest seas

Should ever sport and play.
The mighty Moon she sits above,
Encircled with a zone of love,
A zone of dim and tender light
That makes her wakeful eye more bright:
She seems to shine with a sunny ray,
And the night looks like a mellow'd day!
The gracious mistress of the Main
Hath now an undisturbéd reign,
And from her silent throne looks down,
As upon children of her own,
On the waves that lend their gentle breast
In gladness for her couch of rest.

WILSON.

II.

At midnight
The moon arose ; and, lo! the ethereal cliffs
Of Caucasus, whose icy summits shone
Among the stars like sunlight, and around

Whose cavern’d base the whirlpools and the waves,
Bursting and eddying irresistibly,
Rage and resound for ever. . .

The crags closed round with black and jagged arms,
The shatter'd mountain overhung the sea,
And faster still beyond all human speed,
Suspended on the sweep of the smooth wave,
The little boat was driven. A cavern there
Yawn'd, and amid its slant and winding depths
Ingulf'd the rushing sea.

SHELLEY

Sitting on the Shore. The tide has ebb'd away: No more wild dashings 'gainst tbe adamant rocks, Nor swaying amidst seaweed false, that mocks

The hues of garden gay:

No laugh of little wavelets at their play:
No lucid pools reflecting heaven's clear brows
Both storm and calm alike are ended now,

The rocks sit grey and lone :
The shifting sand is spread so smooth and dry
That not a tide might ever have swept by

Stirring it with rude moan:

Only some weedy fragment, idly thrown
To rot beneath the sky, tell what has been :
But Desolation's self has grown serene.

Afar the mountains rise,
And the broad estuary widens out,
All sunshine; wheeling round and round about
Seaward, a white bird flies.

A bird ? Nay, seems it rather in these eyes
A spirit, o'er Eternity's dim sea,
Calling—“Come thou where all we glad souls be."

O life! O silent shore,
Where we sit patient! O great sea beyond,
To which we turn with solemn hope and fond,
But sorrowful no more!

A little while, and then we, too, shall soar
Like white-wing'd sea-birds into the Infinite Deep :
Till then, Thou, Father-wilt our spirits keep.

Miss MULOCK.

D

An Ysland.
The island lies nine leagues away,

Along its solitary shore,
Of craggy rock and sandy bay,

No sound but ocean's roar,
Save, where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home ;
Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam.
But when the light winds lie at rest,

And on the glassy, heaving sea,
The black duck, with her glossy breast,

Sits swinging silently;
How beautiful! no ripples break the reach,
And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach.
And inland rests the green, warm dell;

The brook comes tinkling down its side;
From.out the trees the Sabbath-bell

Rings cheerful, far and wide,
Mingling its sounds with bleatings of the flocks,
That feed about the vale amongst the rocks.

R. H. DANA.

'Wild Rocky Scene.

I REMEMBER, Two miles on this side of the fort, the road Crosses a deep ravine : 'tis rough and narrow, And winds with short turns down the precipice; And in its depths there is a mighty rock, Which has, from unimaginable years, Sustain'd itself with terror and with toil Over a gulf, and with the agony With which it clings, seems slowly coming down; Even as a wretched soul, hour after hour, Clings to the mass of life ; yet clinging, leans, And, leaning, makes more dark the dread abyss In which it fears to fall. Beneath this crag, Huge as despair, as if in weariness, The melancholy mountain yawns. Below, You hear, but see not, an impetuous torrent

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