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No more, no more
The worldly shore

Upbraids me with its loud uproar!
With dreamful eyes

My spirit lies

Under the walls of Paradise!

THE

THE CHARNEL SHIP.

HE night, the long, dark night, at last
Passed fearfully away;

'Mid crashing ice, and howling blast,
They hailed the dawning day,

Which broke to cheer the whaler's crew, And wide around its gray light threw.

The storm had ceased; its wrath had rent
The icy wall asunder;

And many a piercing glance they sent
Around in awe and wonder;

And sailor hearts their rude praise gave
To God, that morn, from o'er the wave.

The breeze blew freshly, and the sun
Poured his full radiance far

On heaps of icy fragments, won,

Sad trophies, in the past night's war
Of winds and waters, and in piles
Now drifted by bright shining isles.

But lo! still farther off appears
A form more dim and dark;
And anxious eyes, and hopes, and fears
Its slow, strange progress mark.

It hastens to them, by the breeze
Borne onward from more Northern seas.

Near, and more near; and can it be, (More venturous than their own,)

A ship, whose seeming ghost they see
Among the icebergs thrown?
With broken masts, dismantled all,
And dark sails like a funeral pall?

God of the mariner! protect

Her inmates as she moves along,

Through perils, which ere now had wrecked,
But that Thine arm is strong!

Ha! she has struck! she grounds! she stands
Still, as if held by giant hands!

"Quick, man the boat!" Away they sprang,

The stranger ship to aid,

And loud their hailing voices rang,

And rapid speed they made;

But all in silence, deep, unbroke,

The vessel stood; none answering spoke.

'Twas fearful! not a sound arose,

No moving thing was there,

To interrupt the dread repose

Which filled each heart with fear.
On deck they silent stepped, and sought,
Till one, a man, their sad sight caught.

He was alone, the damp-chill mould
Of years hung on his cheek;

While the pen within his hand had told

The tale no voice might speak:

"Seventy days," the record stood,

"We have been in the ice, and wanted food!”

They took his book, and turned away,

But soon discovered where

The wife, in her death-sleep, gently lay

Near him in life most dear,

Who, seated beside his young heart's pride,
Long years before had calmly died.

Oh, wedded love! how beautiful,

How pure a thing thou art,
Whose influence e'en in death can rule,
And triumph o'er the heart;

Can cheer life's roughest walk, and shed
A holy light around the dead!

There was a solemn, sacred feeling
Kindled in every breast,

And, softly from the cabin stealing,
They left them to their rest;

The fair, the young, the constant pair,
They left them, with a blessing, there.

And to their boat returning, each
With thoughtful brow, and haste,
And o'ercharged heart, too full for speech,
They left amid that waste

The charnel ship, which, years before,

Had sailed from distant Albion's shore.

They left her in the icebergs, where

Few venture to intrude,

A monument of death and fear,

'Mid Ocean's solitude;

And, grateful for their own release,

Thanked God, and sought their homes in peace.

THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM.

N slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy, lay,

IN

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind;

But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,

And visions, of happiness, danced o'er his mind.

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; While memory stood sidewise, half-covered with flowers, And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.

The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,
And the swallow sings sweet, from her nest in the wall;
All trembling with transport, he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father, bends o'er him with looks of delight,
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear;
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss, unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,
Joy quickens his pulse-all his hardships, seem o'er;
And a murmur of happiness, steals through his rest,
"O God! thou hast blessed me- I ask for no more."

Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye?
Ah! what is that sound that now 'larums his ear?
'Tis the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky!
'Tis the crashing of thunder, the groan of the sphere!

He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck;
Amazement confronts him with images dire;

Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck,
The masts fly in splinters the shrouds are on fire!

Like mountains the billows tumultuously swell;
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save;
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,

And the death-angel flaps his darks wings o'er the wave.

O sailor-boy! woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss; Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss?

O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! never again

Shall love, home, or kindred thy wishes repay ; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay.

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,

Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge;

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge.

On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid,
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below.

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll;
Earth, loses thy pattern for ever and aye:
O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul!

HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.

HE consul's brow was sad, and the consul's speech was low,

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And darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe. "Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down;

And if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the town?"

Then out spoke brave Horatius, the captain of the gate:
"To every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late.
Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play.

In yon strait path a thousand may well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me?"

Then out spake Spurius Lartius - -a Ramnian proud was he— "Lo! I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with thee."

And out spake strong Herminius-of Titian blood was he"I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee." "Horatius," quoth the consul, "as thou sayest, so let it be.” And straight against that great array, forth went the dauntless three.

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