THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

THIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,

Sails the unshadowed main,

The venturous bark that flings

On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,

And coral reefs lie bare,

Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;

Wrecked is the ship of pearl!

And every chambered cell,

Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,

Before thee lies revealed,

Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

Year after year beheld the silent toil

That spread his lustrous coil;

Still, as the spiral grew,

He left the past year's dwelling for the new,

Stole with soft step its shining archway through,

Built up its idle door,

Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no

more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,

Child of the wandering sea,

Cast from her lap, forlorn!

From thy dead lips a clearer note is born

Than ever Triton blew from wreathéd horn!

While on mine ear it rings,

Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll!

Leave thy low-vaulted past!

Let each new temple, nobler than the last,

Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,

Till thou at length art free,

Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!

THE TWO ARMIES.

As Life's unending column pours, Two marshalled hosts are seen, Two armies on the trampled shores That Death flows black between.

One marches to the drum-beat's roll,

The wide-mouthed clarion's bray,

And bears upon a crimson scroll,

"Our glory is to slay."

One moves in silence by the stream, With sad, yet watchful eyes, Calm as the patient planet's gleam

That walks the clouded skies.

Along its front no sabres shine,
No blood-red pennons wave;
Its banner bears the single line,
"Our duty is to save."

For those no death-bed's lingering shade;

At Honor's trumpet-call,

With knitted brow and lifted blade

In Glory's arms they fall.

For these no clashing falchions bright,

No stirring battle-cry;

The bloodless stabber calls by night,
Each answers, "Here am I!"

For those the sculptor's laurelled bust,
The builder's marble piles,

The anthems pealing o'er their dust
Through long cathedral aisles.

For these the blossom-sprinkled turf

That floods the lonely graves,

When Spring rolls in her sea-green surf In flowery-foaming waves.

Two paths lead upward from below,

And angels wait above,

Who count each burning life-drop's flow,

Each falling tear of Love.

Though from the Hero's bleeding breast

Her pulses Freedom drew,

Though the white lilies in her crest
Sprang from that scarlet dew,

While Valor's haughty champions wait
Till all their scars are shown,

Love walks unchallenged through the gate,
To sit beside the Throne !