THE SONG OF THE SIREN PARTHENOPE.

INE are these waves, and mine the twilight depths

MINE

O'er which they roll, and all these tufted isles That lift their backs like dolphins from the deep, And all these suuny shores that gird us round!

Listen! O, listen to the sea-maid's shell;

Ye who have wandered hither from far climes,
(Where the coy Summer yields but half her sweets)
To breathe my bland, luxurious airs, and drink
My sunbeams! and to revel in a land

Where Nature, decked out like a bride to meet
Her lover, lays forth all her charms, and smiles
Languidly bright, voluptuously gay,

Sweet to the sense, and tender to the heart.

Listen! O, listen to the sea-maid's shell;
Ye who have fled your natal shores in hate
Or anger, urged by pale disease, or want,
Or grief, that, clinging like the spectre bat,
Sucks drop by drop the life-blood from the heart,
And hither come to learn forgetfulness

Or to prolong existence! ye shall find

Both, though the spring Lethean flow no more,
There is a power in these entrancing skies
And murmuring waters and delicious airs,
Felt in the dancing spirits and the blood,
And falling on the lacerated heart

Like balm, until that life becomes a boon,
Which elsewhere is a burthen and a curse.

Hear then, O, hear the sea-maid's airy shell;
Listen, O listen! 't is the siren sings,
The spirit of the deep, Parthenope, -
She who did once i' the dreamy days of old
Sport on these golden sands beneath the moon,
Or poured the ravishing music of her song
Over the silent waters, and bequeathed
To all these sunny capes and dazzling shores
Her own immortal beauty and her name.

DRIFTING.

M Is far away,

soul to-day

Sailing the Vesuvian Bay;

My wingéd boat,

A bird afloat,

Anna Jameson.

Swims round the purple peaks remote ;

Round purple peaks

It sails, and seeks

Blue inlets and their crystal creeks,

Where high rocks throw,

Through deeps below,

A duplicated golden glow.

Far, vague, and dim

The mountains swim;

While on Vesuvius' misty brim,
With outstretched hands,
The gray smoke stands
O'erlooking the volcanic lands.

Here Ischia smiles

O'er liquid miles;

And yonder, bluest of the isles,

Calm Capri waits,

Her sapphire gates
Beguiling to her bright estates.

I heed not, if
My rippling skiff

Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff;

With dreamful eyes

My spirit lies

Under the walls of Paradise.

Under the walls

Where swells and falls

The Bay's deep breast at intervals,
At peace I lie,

Blown softly by,

A cloud upon this liquid sky.

The day, so mild,

Is Heaven's own child,

With Earth and Ocean reconciled;

The airs I feel

Around me steal

Are murmuring to the murmuring keel.

Over the rail

My hand I trail

Within the shadow of the sail,

A joy intense,

The cooling sense

Glides down my drowsy indolence.

With dreamful eyes

My spirit lies

Where Summer sings and never dies,
O'erveiled with vines,

She glows and shines
Among her future oil and wines.

Yon deep bark goes

Where traffic blows,

From lands of sun to lands of snows;

This happier one,

Its course is run

From lands of snow to lands of sun.

O happy ship,

To rise and dip,

With the blue crystal at your lip!

O happy crew,

My heart with you

Sails, and sails, and sings anew!

No more, no more
The worldly shore
Upbraids me with its loud uproar !

With dreamful eyes

My spirit lies

Under the walls of Paradise!

Thomas Buchanan Read.

Nemi.

NEMI.

LO, Nemi! navelled in the woody hills

So far, that the uprooting wind which tears The oak from his foundation, and which spills The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares The oval mirror of thy glassy lake;