Beating on one of those disastrous isles,

Half of a Vessel, half,

no more; the rest

Had vanish'd, swallow'd up with all that there
Had for the common safety striven in vain,

Or thither throng'd for refuge. With quick glance
Daughter and Sire through optic-glass discern,
Clinging about the remnant of this Ship,

Creatures, how precious in the Maiden's sight!
For whom, belike, the old Man grieves still more
Than for their fellow-sufferers engulf'd
Where every parting agony is hush'd,

And hope and fear mix not in further strife.
"But courage, Father! let us out to sea;

A few may yet be saved." The Daughter's words,
Her earnest tone, and look beaming with faith,
Dispel the Father's doubts: nor do they lack
The noble-minded Mother's helping hand
To launch the boat; and with her blessing cheer'd,
And inwardly sustain'd by silent prayer,
Together they put forth, Father and Child!
Each grasps an oar, and struggling on they go,
Rivals in effort; and, alike intent

Here to elude and there surmount, they watch
The billows lengthening, mutally cross'd
And shatter'd, and re-gathering their might;
As if the tumult, by th' Almighty's will,
Were, in the conscious sea, roused and prolong'd,
That woman's fortitude-so tried, so proved -
May brighten more and more!

True to the mark,
They stem the current of that perilous gorge,

Their arms still strengthening with the strengthening heart,
Though danger, as the Wreck is near'd, becomes
More imminent. Not unseen do they approach;
And rapture, with varieties of fear

Incessantly conflicting, thrills the frames.
Of those who, in that dauntless energy,
Foretaste deliverance; but the least perturb'd
Can scarcely trust his eyes, when he perceives
That of the pair-toss'd on the waves to bring
Hope to the hopeless, to the dying, life --
One is a Woman, a poor carthly sister,
Or, be the Visitant other than she seems,
A guardian Spirit sent from pitying Heaven,
In woman's shape. But why prolong the tale,
Casting weak words amid a host of thoughts

Arm'd to repel them? Every hazard faced
And difficulty master'd, with resolve

That no one breathing should be left to perish,
This last remainder of the crew are all

Placed in the little boat, then o'er the deep
Are safely borne, landed upon the beach,
And, in fulfilment of God's mercy, lodged
Within the sheltering Lighthouse.-Shout, ye Waves!
Send forth a song of triumph. Waves and Winds,
Exult in this deliverance wrought through faith
In Him whose Providence your rage hath served!
Ye screaming Sea-mews, in the concert join!
And would that some immortal Voice - a Voice
Fitly attuned to all that gratitude

Breathes out from floor or couch, through pallid lips
Of the survivors - to the clouds might bear,
Blended with praise of that parental love,
Beneath whose watchful eye the Maiden grew
Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave,

Though young so wise, though meek so resolute,-
Might carry to the clouds and to the stars,

Yea, to celestial Choirs, GRACE DARLING's name ! * [1842

TO THE CLOUDS.

ARMY of Clouds! ye winged Host in troops
Ascending from behind the motionless brow
Of that tall rock, as from a hidden world,
O, whither with such eagerness of speed?
What seek ye, or what shun ye? of the gale
Companions, fear ye to be left behind,
Or racing o'er your blue ethereal field
Contend ye with each other? of the sea
Children, thus post ye over vale and height,
To sink upon your mother's lap, and rest?
Or were ye rightlier hail'd, when first mine eyes
Beheld in your impetuous march the likeness
Of a wide army pressing on to meet
Or overtake some unknown enemy?

But your smooth motions suit a peaceful aim;

2 In a letter to Sir William Gomm, dated March 24, 1843, the poet writes as fol lows: "The inhumanity with which the shipwrecked were lately treated upon the French coast impelled me to place in contrast the conduct of an English woman and her parents under like circumstances, as it occurred some years ago. Almost im mediately after I had composed my tribute to the memory of Grace Durling, I learnt that the Queen and Queen Dowager had both just subscribed towards the erection a monument to record her heroism, upon the spot that witnessed it."

And Fancy, not less aptly pleased, compares
Your squadrons to an endless flight of birds.
Aërial, upon due migration bound

To milder climes: or rather do ye urge
In caravan your hasty pilgrimage,

To pause at last on more aspiring heights
Than these, and utter your devotion there
With thunderous voice? Or are ye jubilant,
And would ye, tracking your proud lord the Sun,
Be present at his setting? or the pomp
Of Persian mornings would ye fill, and stand
Poising your splendours high above the heads
Of worshippers kneeling to their up-risen God?
Whence, whence, ye Clouds! this eagerness of speed?
Speak, silent creatures.-They are gone, are fled,
Buried together in yon gloomy mass

That loads the middle heaven; and clear and bright
And vacant doth the region which they throng'd
Appear; a calm descent of sky conducting
Down to the unapproachable abyss,

Down to that hidden gulf from which they rose
To vanish; fleet as days and months and years,
Fleet as the generations of mankind,

Power, glory, empire, as the world itself,
The lingering world, when time hath ceased to be.
But the winds roar, shaking the rooted trees,
And, see! a bright precursor to a train,
Perchance as numerous, overpeers the rock
That sullenly refuses to partake

Of the wild impulse. From a fount of life
Invisible, the long procession moves
Luminous or gloomy, welcome to the vale
Which they are entering, welcome to mine eye
That sees them, to my soul that owns in them,

And in the bosom of the firmament

O'er which they move, wherein they are contain❜d,
A type of her capacious self and all

Her restless progeny.

A humble walk

Here is my body doom'd to tread, this path,
A little hoary line and faintly traced, -
Work, shall we call it, of the shepherd's foot
Or of his flock? joint vestige of them both.
I pace it unrepining, for my thoughts
Admit no bondage, and my words have wings.
Where is th' Orphean lyre, or Druid harp.

To accompany the verse? The mountain blast
Shall be our hand of music; he shall sweep
The rocks, and quivering trees, and billowy lake,
And search the fibres of the caves, and they
Shall answer; for our song is of the Clouds,
And the wind loves them; and the gentle gales-
Which by their aid re-clothe the naked lawn
With annual verdure, and revive the woods,
And moisten the parch'd lips of thirsty flowers-
Love them; and every idle breeze of air

Bends to the favourite burthen. Moon and stars
Keep their most solemn vigils when the Clouds
Watch also, shifting peaceably their place

Like bands of ministering Spirits, or when they lie,
As if some Protean art the change had wrought,
In listless quiet o'er th' ethereal deep
Scatter'd, a Cyclades of various shapes
And all degrees of beauty. O ye Lightnings!
Ye are their perilous offspring; and the Sun-
Source inexhaustible of life and joy,

And type of man's far-darting reason, therefore
In old time worshipp'd as the god of verse,
A blazing intellectual deity-

Loves his own glory in their looks; and showers Upon that unsubstantial brotherhood

Visions with all but beatific light

Enrich'd, too transient were they not renew'd
From age to age, and did not, while we gaze
In silent rapture, credulous desire

Nourish the hope that memory lacks not power
To keep the treasure unimpair'd. Vain thought!
Yet why repine, created as we are
For joy and rest, albeit to find them only
Lodged in the bosom of eternal things?

"Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme."

Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, Percy's Reliques.

ONCE I could hail (howe'er serene the sky)
The Moon re-entering her monthly round,
No faculty yet given me to espy

The dusky Shape within her arms imbound,
That thin memento of effulgence lost

Which some have named her Predecessor's ghost.

Young, like the Crescent that above me shone,
Nought I perceived within it dull or dim;
All that appear'd was suitable to One
Whose fancy had a thousand fields to skim;
To expectations spreading with wild growth,
And hope that kept with me her plighted troth.

I saw (ambition quickening at the view)
A silver boat launch'd on a boundless flood;
A pearly crest, like Dian's when it threw
Its brightest splendour round a leafy wood;
But not a hint from under-ground, no sign
Fit for the glimmering brow of Proserpine.
Or was it Dian's self that seem'd to move
Before me?-nothing blemish'd the fair sight;
On her I look'd whom jocund Fairies love,
Cynthia, who puts the little stars to flight,
And by that thinning magnifies the great,
For exaltation of her sovereign state.

And when I learn'd to mark the spectral Shape
As cach new Moon obey'd the call of Time,
If gloom fell on me, swift was my escape;
Such happy privilege hath life's gay Prime,
To see or not to see, as best may please
A buoyant Spirit, and a heart at ease.

Now, dazzling Stranger! when thou meet'st my glance,
Thy dark Associate ever I discern;

Emblem of thoughts too eager to advance
While I salute my joys, thoughts sad or stern;
Shades of past bliss, or phantoms that, to gain
Their fill of promised lustre, wait in vain.

So changes mortal Life with fleeting years;
A mournful change, should Reason fail to bring
The timely insight that can temper fears,
And from vicissitude remove its sting;
While Faith aspires to seats in that domain
Where joys are perfect, neither wax nor wane.

TO THE MOON.

(Composed by the sea-side, —on the coast of Cumberland.)

WANDERER, that stoop'st so low, and com'st so near
To human life's unsettled atmosphere;

[1826