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And the waters were hush'd in as holy a sleep,

And as calm as the slumber of death;
When the yellow moon beaming on high,

Shone tranquilly bright on the wave,
And career'd through the vast and impalpable sky,

Till she found in the ocean a grave.
And dying away by degrees on the sight, ..
The waters were clad in the mantle of night.

'Twould impart a delight to thy soul,

As I felt it imparted to mine, And the draught of affliction that blacken'd my bow!

Grew bright as the silvery brine; I carelessly lay on the deck,

! And listen’d in silence to catch i. The wonderful stories of battle or wreck,

That were told by the men of the watch. Sad stories of demons most deadly that be, And of mermaids that rose from the depths of the sea.

Strange visions my fancy had fill’d,

I was wet with the dews of the night;
And I thought that the moon still continued to gild

The wave with a silvery light.
I sunk by degrees into sleep,

I thought of my friends who were far,
When a form seem’d to glide o'er the face of the deep,

As bright as the evening star::.
Ne'er rose there a spirit more lovely and fair,
Yet I trembled to think that a spirit was there,

Emerald green was her hair,

Braided with gems of the ser,
Her arm, like a meteor, she wav'd in the air,

And I knew that she beckon'd on me;
She lovingly glanc'd with her eyes,

How ineffably bright was their blaze !
I shrunk, and I trembld, with fear and surprise,

Yet still I continued to gaze :
But enchantingly sweet was the smile of her lip,
And I follow'd the vision and sprang from the ship.

'Mid the waves of the ocean I fell, ,. .

The dolphins were sporting around, And many a triton was tuning the shell,

And extatic and wild was the sound; There were thousands of fathoms above,

And thousands of fathoms below,'s
And we sunk to the caves where the sea-lions rove

And the topaz and emerald glow;
Where the diamond and sapphire eternally shed
Their lustre around on the bones of the dead.

And well might their lustre be bright,

For they shone on the limbs of the brave Of those who had fought in the terrible fight,

And were buried at last in the wave;
In grottoes of coral they slept,

On white beds of pearl around,
And near them for 'ever the water-snake crept,

And the sea-lion guarded the ground;

While the dirge of the heroes by spirits was rung, And solemn and wild were the strains that they sung.


Sweet is the slumber the mariners sleep,
Their bones are laid in the caves of the deep,
Far over their heads the tempests sweep,

That ne'er shall wake them more :
They died when rav'd the bloody fight,

And loud was the cannon's roar;
Their death was dark, their glory bright,
And they sunk to rise no more.
They sunk to rise no more.

But the loud wind past,
When they breathed their last,

And it carried their dying sigh:
In a winding-sheet,
With a shot at their feet,

In coral caves they lie,

In coral caves they lie.
Or where the syren of the rocks,
Lovely waves their sea-green locks,
Where the deadly breakers foam,
Found they an eternal home!

Horrid and long were the struggles of death,
Black was the night when they yielded their breath,
But not on the ocean, all buoyant and bloated,
The sport of the waters, their white bodies floated,

For they were borne to coral caves,
Distant far beneath the waves,
And there on beds of pearl they sleep,
And far o'er their heads the tempests sweep,

That ne'er shall wake them more,
That ne'er shall wake them more.

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'Tis sweet, when in the glowing west

The sun's bright wheels their course are leaving,
Upon the azure ocean's breast,

To watch the dark wave slowly heaving.

* This beautiful Canzonette is the composition of the late John BOWIC Sun. Esq.

And oh! at glimpse of early morn,

When early monks their beads are telling, *Tis sweet to hear the hunter's horn,

From glen to mountain wildly swelling.

And it is sweet, at mid-day houř,

Beneath the forest oak reclining, To hear the driving tempests pour,

Each sense to fairy dreams resigning,

'Tis sweet, where nodding rocks around

The night-shade dark is wildly wreathing; To listen to some solemn sound,

From harp or lyre divinely breathing.

And sweeter yet the genuine glow

Of youthful friendship’s high devotion, Responsive to the voice of woe,

When heaves the heart with strong emotion.

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And youth is sweet with many a joy,

That frolic by in artless measure; And age is sweet, with less alloy,

In tranquil thought and silent pleasuré.

For He who gave the life we share,

With every charm His gift adorning, Bade Eve her pearly dew-drops wear,

And dress'd in smiles the blush of morning.

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