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And shattered, and re-gathering their might;
As if the tumult, by the Almighty's will
Were, in the conscious sea, roused and prolonged
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 strength

ening 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 perturbed
Can scarcely trust his eyes, when he perceives
That of the pair-tossed on the waves to bring
Hope to the hopeless, to the dying, life-
One is a Woman, a poor earthly 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
Armed to repel them? Every hazard faced
And difficulty mastered, 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

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!





ENOUGH of rose-bud lips, and eyes
Like harebells bathed in dew,
Of cheek that with carnation vies,

And veins of violet hue;
Earth wants not beauty that may scorn

A likening to frail flowers;

Yea, to the stars, if they were born
For seasons and for hours.

Through Moscow's gates, with gold unbarred,
Stepped One at dead of night,
Whom such high beauty could not guard

From meditated blight;

By stealth she passed, and fled as fast

As doth the hunted fawn,

Nor stopped, till in the dappling east
Appeared unwelcome dawn.

Seven days she lurked in brake and field,
Seven nights her course renewed,
Sustained by what her scrip might yield,
Or berries of the wood;
At length, in darkness travelling on,
When lowly doors were shut,
The haven of her hope she won,
Her Foster-mother's hut.

"To put your love to dangerous proof
I come," said she, "from far;
For I have left my Father's roof,

In terror of the Czar."
No answer did the Matron give,
No second look she cast,
But hung upon the Fugitive,
Embracing and embraced.

She led the Lady to a seat

Beside the glimmering fire, Bathed duteously her wayworn feet,

Prevented each desire:

The cricket chirped, the house-dog dozed,

And on that simple bed,

Where she in childhood had reposed,

Now rests her weary head.

When she, whose couch had been the sod,
Whose curtain, pine or thorn,
Had breathed a sigh of thanks to God,

Who comforts the forlorn;
While over her the Matron bent

Sleep sealed her eyes, and stole Feeling from limbs with travel spent, And trouble from the soul.

Refreshed, the Wanderer rose at morn,
And soon again was dight
In those unworthy vestments worn
Through long and perilous flight;
And "O beloved Nurse," she said,
"My thanks with silent tears

Have unto Heaven and You been paid:
Now listen to my fears!

"Have you forgot"-and here she smiled* The babbling flatteries

You lavished on me when a child

Disporting round your knees? I was your lambkin, and your bird, Your star, your gem, your flower; Light words, that were more lightly heard In many a cloudless hour!

* The blossom you so fondly praised Is come to bitter fruit;

A mighty One upon me gazed;

I spurned his lawless suit,

And must be hidden from his wrath: You, Foster-father dear,

Will guide me in my forward path; I may not tarry here!

"I cannot bring to utter woe Your proved fidelity.”—

Dear Child, sweet Mistress, say not so! For you we both would die.”

"Nay, nay, I come with semblance feigned And cheek embrowned by art; Yet, being inwardly unstained,

With courage will depart."

"But whither would you, could you, flee?
A poor Man's counsel take;
The Holy Virgin gives to me

A thought for your dear sake;
Rest, shielded by our Lady's grace,
And soon shall you be led
Forth to a safe abiding-place,
Where never foot doth tread."


THE dwelling of this faithful pair In a straggling village stood, For One who breathed unquiet air

A dangerous neighbourhood; But wide around lay forest ground With thickets rough and blind; And pine-trees made a heavy shade Impervious to the wind.

And there, sequestered from the sight,
Was spread a treacherous swamp,
On which the noonday sun shed light
As from a lonely lamp;

And midway in the unsafe morass,
A single Island rose

Of firm dry ground, with healthful grass
Adorned, and shady boughs.

The Woodman knew, for such the craft
This Russian vassal plied,
That never fowler's gun, nor shaft

Of archer, there was tried;
A sanctuary seemed the spot

From all intrusion free;

And there he planned an artful Cot
For perfect secrecy.

With earnest pains unchecked by dread
Of Power's far-stretching hand,
The bold good Man his labour sped
At nature's pure command;
Heart-soothed, and busy as a wren,
While, in a hollow nook,
She moulds her sight-eluding den
Above a murmuring brook.

His task accomplished to his mind,
The twain ere break of day
Creep forth, and through the forest wind
Their solitary way;

Few words they speak, nor dare to slack
Their pace from mile to mile,

Till they have crossed the quaking marsh, And reached the lonely Isle.

The sun above the pine-trees showed
A bright and cheerful face;
And Ina looked for her abode,

The promised hiding-place;

She sought in vain, the Woodman smiled;
No threshold could be seen,
Nor roof, nor window;-all seemed wild
As it had ever been.

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