XI.

The sea-fowl shriek'd around the mast,
Ahead the grampus tumbled,

And far off, from a copper cloud,
The hollow thunder rumbled;

It would have quail'd another heart,

But his was never humbled.

XII.

For why? he had that infant's caul;
And wherefore should he dread?
Alas! alas! he little thought,

Before the ebb-tide sped,

That like that infant, he should die,

And with a watery head!

XIII.

The rushing brine flow'd in apace;
His boat had ne'er a deck;
Fate seem'd to call him on, and he
Attended to her beck;

And so he went, still trusting on,

Though reckless—to his wreck !

XIV.

For as he left his helm, to heave

The ballast-bags a-weather,

Three monstrous seas came roaring on,

Like lions leagued together.

The two first waves the little boat

Swam over like a feather.

XV.

The two first waves were past and gone,

And sinking in her wake;

The hugest still came leaping on,

And hissing like a snake;

Now helm a-lee! for through the midst,

The monster he must take !

Look, how a horse, made mad with fear,
Disdains his careful guide;

So now the headlong headstrong boat,
Unmanaged, turns aside,

And straight presents her reeling flank
Against the swelling tide!

XIX.

The gusty wind assaults the sail;

Her ballast lies a-lee !

The sheet's to windward taught and stiff!

Oh! the Lively-where is she?

Her capsiz'd keel is in the foam,

Her pennon's in the sea!

REFLECTIONS ON THE CROSS OF ST. PAUL'S 365

XX.

The wild gull, sailing overhead,
Three times beheld emerge

The head of that bold mariner,
And then she screamed his dirge!
For he had sunk within his grave,
Lapp'd in a shroud of surge!

XXL

The ensuing wave, with horrid foam,
Rush'd o'er and cover'd all, -

The jolly boatman's drowning scream
Was smother'd by the squall,-
Heaven never heard his cry, nor did
The ocean heed his caul.

MORAL REFLECTIONS ON THE CROSS OF ST. PAULS.

THE man that pays his pence, and goes

Up to thy lofty cross, St. Paul,

Looks over London's naked nose,
Women and men :

The world is all beneath his ken,
He sits above the Ball.

He seems on Mount Olympus' top,

Among the Gods, by Jupiter! and lets drop
His eyes from the empyreal clouds
On mortal crowds.

Seen from these skies,

How small those emmets in our eyes!
Some carry little sticks-and one
His eggs-to warm them in the sun :

Dear! what a hustle,

And bustle!

366 REFLECTIONS ON THE CROSS OF ST. PAUL'S.

And there's my aunt. I know her by her waist,

So long and thin,

And so pinch'd in,

Just in the pismire taste.

Oh! what are men?-Beings so small,

That, should I fall

Upon their little heads, I must

Crush them by hundreds into dust!

And what is life? and all its ages-
There's seven stages!

Turnham Green! Chelsea! Putney! Fulham!
Brentford! and Kew!

And Tooting, too!

And oh what very little nags to pull 'em.
Yet each would seem a horse indeed,

If here at Paul's tip-top we'd got 'em ;

Although, like Cinderella's breed,

'They're mice at bottom.

Then let me not despise a horse,

Though he looks small from Paul's high cross!

Since he would be,-as near the sky,

-Fourteen hands high.

What is this world with London in its lap?

Mogg's Map.

The Thames, that ebbs and flows in its broad channel?

A tidy kennel.

The bridges stretching from its banks?

Stone planks.

Oh me! hence could I read an admonition

To mad Ambition !

But that he would not listen to my call,

Though I should stand upon the cross, and ball!

THE DEMON-SHIP.

'TWAS off the Wash-the sun went down-the sea looked black

and grim,

For stormy clouds, with murky fleece, were mustering at the brim; Titanic shades! enormous gloom!— -as if the solid night

Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light!

It was a time for mariners to bear a wary eye,

With such a dark conspiracy between the sea and sky!

Down went my helm-close reef'd-the tack held freely in my hand

With ballast snug—I put about, and scudded for the land.
Loud hiss'd the sea beneath her lee-my little boat flew fast,
But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast.
Lord! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining sail!
What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce assaults of hail !
What darksome caverns yawn'd before! what jagged steeps be-

hind!

Like battle-steeds, with foamy manes, wild tossing in the wind.
Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase,
But where it sank another rose and gallop'd in its place;

As black as night-they turned to white, and cast against the cloud

A snowy sheet, as if each surge upturn'd a sailor's shroud :-
Still flew my boat; alas ! alas! her course was nearly run!
Behold yon fatal billow rise-ten billows heap'd in one!
With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling, fast,
As if the scooping sea contain'd one only wave at last!
Still on it came, with horrid roar, a swift pursuing grave;

It seem'd as though some cloud had turn'd its hugeness to a wave!
Its briny sleet began to beat beforehand in my face-

I felt the rearward keel begin to climb its swelling base!

I saw its alpine hoary head impending over mine!

Another pulse-and down it rush'd-an avalanche of brine !
Brief pause had I, on God to cry, or think of wife and home:

The waters closed-and when I shriek'd, I shriek'd below the

foam'