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And the waters were hush'd in as holy a sleep,
And as calm as the slumber of death;
Shone tranquilly bright on the wave,
Till she found in the ocean a grave.
'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;
The wave with a silvery light.
I thought of my friends who were far,
As bright as the evening star::.
Emerald green was her hair,
Braided with gems of the ser,
And I knew that she beckon'd on me;
How ineffably bright was their blaze !
Yet still I continued to gaze :
'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 the topaz and emerald glow;
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;
On white beds of pearl around,
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,
That ne'er shall wake them more :
And loud was the cannon's roar;
But the loud wind past,
And it carried their dying sigh:
In coral caves they lie,
In coral caves they lie.
Horrid and long were the struggles of death,
For they were borne to coral caves,
That ne'er shall wake them more,
'Tis sweet, when in the glowing west
The sun's bright wheels their course are leaving,
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.
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.