THE sails were furl'd; with many a melting close,
Solemn and slow the evening anthem rose-
Rose to the Virgin. 'Twas the hour of day
When setting suns o'er summer seas display
A path of glory, opening in the west
To golden climes and islands of the blest;
And human voices on the silent air

Went o'er the waves in songs of gladness there!
Chosen of men! 'Twas thine at noon of night
First from the prow to hail the glimmering light:
(Emblem of Truth divine, whose sacred ray
Enters the soul and makes the darkness day!)
"Pedro! Rodrigo! there methought it shone!
There-in the west! and now, alas! 'tis gone!—
'Twas all a dream!-we gaze and gaze in vain !--
But mark and speak not, there it comes again!
It moves!-what form unseen, what being there
With torch-like lustre fires the murky air?
His instincts, passions, say, how like our own!
Oh, when will day reveal a world unknown ?"
Long on the deep the mists of morning lay;
Then rose, revealing as they rolled away

Half-circling hills, whose everlasting woods
Sweep with their sable skirts the shadowy floods
And say, when all, to holy transport given,
Embraced and wept as at the gates of heaven,
When one and all of us repentant ran,

And, on our faces, blessed the wondrous man.
Say, was I then deceived, or from the skies
Burst on my ear seraphic harmonies ?

06

Glory to God!" unnumbered voices sung;

Glory to God!" the vales and mountains rung— Voices that hailed creation's primal morn, And to the shepherds sung a Saviour born.

Slowly, bareheaded, through the surf we bore The sacred cross, and kneeling kissed the shore.

THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS.

LEIGH HUNT.

KING FRANCIS was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport;

And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the

court:

The nobles filled the benches round, the ladies by their side,

And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed ;

And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show

Valour and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.

Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing

jaws;

They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams-a wind went with their paws:

THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS.

23

With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another,

Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thunderous smother.

The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air;

Said Francis then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than there!"

De Lorge's love o'erheard the king—a beauteous lively dame,

With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same.

She thought: "The Count, my lover, is brave as brave can be―

He surely would do wondrous things to show his love

of me.

King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine;

I'll drop my glove to prove his love: great glory will be mine!"

She dropped her glove to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled;

He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild.

The leap was quick, return was quick;-he has regained his place,

Then threw the glove-but not with love-right in the lady's face!

"In truth," cried Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat.

"No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that!"

ADDRESS TO THE DEITY.

EDWARD YOUNG.

O THOU! whose balance does the mountains weigh, Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey,

Whose breath can turn those watery worlds to flame,
That flame to tempest, and that tempest tame;
Earth's meanest son, all trembling, prostrate falls,
And on thy never-ceasing goodness calls.

Oh! give the winds all past offence to sweep,
To scatter wide, or bury in the deep.
Thy power, my weakness, may I ever see,
And wholly dedicate my soul to Thee.

Reign o'er my will; my passions ebb and flow
At thy command, nor human motive know!
If anger boil, let anger be my praise,
And sin the graceful indignation raise.
My love be warm to succour the distressed,
And lift the burden from the soul oppressed.
Oh! may my understanding ever read

This glorious volume which thy wisdom made!
May sea and land, and earth and heaven be joined,
To bring th' eternal Author to my mind!

When ocean's roar, or awful thunders roll,

May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shake my soul!
When earth's in bloom, or planets proudly shine,
Adore, my heart, the majesty divine.

Grant I may ever, at the morning ray,
Open with prayer the consecrated day;
Tune thy great praise, and bid my
soul arise,

And with the mounting sun ascend the skies:
As that advances, let my zeal improve,
And glow with ardour of consummate love;
Nor cease at eve, but with the setting sun
My endless worship shall be still begun.

And, oh! permit the gloom of solemn night,
To sacred thought may forcibly invite.

A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON.

When this world's shut, and awful planets rise,
Call on our minds, and raise them to the skies;
Compose our souls with a less dazzling sight,
And show all nature in a milder light:
How every boist'rous thought in calm subsides!
How the smoothed spirit into goodness glides!
Oh, how divine! to tread the milky-way
To the bright palace of the Lord of day;
His court admire, or for his favour sue,
Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew;
Pleased to look down, and see the world asleep:
While I long vigils to its Founder keep.

25

A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON.

THOMAS HOOD.

THOU happy, happy elf!

(But stop-first let me kiss away that tear!) Thou tiny image of myself!

(My love, he's poking peas into his ear!) Thou merry, laughing sprite! With spirits feather light,

Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin, (Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin!)

Thou little tricksy Puck!

With antic toys so funnily bestuck,

Light as the singing bird that wings the air, (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire!

(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!)

Thou imp of mirth and joy!

In love's dear chain so strong and bright a link.
Thou idol of thy parents. (Drat the Loy!
There goes my ink!)