There was slight chance of reaching any shore; Were counted in them when they got afloat. "Twas a rough night, and blew so stiffly yet, That the sail was becalmed between the seas, There were two fathers in this ghastly crew, But he died early; and when he was gone, The other father had a weaklier child, And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed, And when the wished-for shower at length was come, And the boy's eyes which the dull film half-glazed The boy expired—the father held the clay, 'Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast; Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering, And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering. THE TREASURES FELICIA OF THE DEEP. HEMANS. WHAT hidest thou in thy treasure caves and cells, We ask not such from thee. Yet more, the depths have more! What wealth untold, Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main ! Yet more, the depths have more! Thy waves have rolled Above the cities of a world gone by! Yet more! the billows and the depths have more! High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! They hear not now the booming waters roar; The battle thunders will not break their rest. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave! Give back the true and brave! Give back the lost and lovely!-those for whom And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song! To thee the love of woman hath gone down; Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown: Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the dead! -Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee; Restore the dead, thou sea! ALEXANDER'S FEAST." JOHN DRYDEN. "TWAS at the royal feast, for Persia won Aloft in awful state The god-like hero sate On his imperial throne: His valiant peers were placed around, Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound (So should desert in arms be crowned). The lovely Thais, by his side, Sat, like a blooming Eastern bride, None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touched the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove, Who left his blissful seats above And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. The listening crowd admire the lofty sound; A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound. The monarch hears, Assumes the god, And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, The jolly god in triumph comes; He shows his honest face. Now give the hautboys breath: he comes, he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure; Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; Fought all his battles o'er again; And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. The master saw the madness rise; His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; Soft pity to infuse: He sung Darius great and good, |