All was still on the height, save the murmur that went
From the grave of the deep, sounding hollow and fell,
Or save when the tremulous sighing lament

Thrilled from lip unto lip, "Gallant youth, fare thee well!"
More hollow and more wails the deep on the ear—
More dread and more dread grows suspense in its fear.

If thou shouldst in those waters thy diadem fling,
And cry,
"Who may find it shall win it and wear;"
God wot, though the prize were the crown of a king,
A crown at such hazard were valued too dear.

For never shall lips of the living reveal

What the deeps that howl yonder in terror conceal.

Oh, many a bark to that breast grappled fast,

Has gone down to the fearful and fathomless grave; Again, crashed together the keel and the mast,

To be seen tossed aloft in the glee of the wave! Like the growth of a storm ever louder and clearer, Grows the roar of the gulf rising nearer and nearer.

And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars,
As when fire is with water commixed and contending;
And the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars,
And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending,
And as with the swell of the far thunder-boom,
Rushes roaringly forth from the heart of the gloom.

And lo! from the heart of that far-floating gloom,
Like the wing of the cygnet-what gleams on the sea?
Lo! an arm and a neck glancing up from the tomb!
Steering stalwart and shoreward. O joy, it is he!
The left hand is lifted in triumph; behold,
It waves as a trophy the goblet of gold!

And he breathed deep, and he breathed long,

And he greeted the heavenly delight of the day.
They gaze on each other-they shout as they throng--
"He lives--lo, the ocean has rendered its prey!
And safe from the whirlpool and free from the grave,
Comes back to the daylight the soul of the brave!"

And he comes, with the crowd in their clamour and glee;
And the goblet his daring has won from the water,
He lifts to the king as he sinks on his knee-

And the king from her maidens has beckoned his daughter, She pours to the boy the bright wine which they bring, And thus spoke the Diver--"Long life to the King!

"Happy they whom the rose-hues of daylight rejoice,
The air and the sky that to mortals are given!
May the horror below nevermore find a voice--
Nor man stretch too far the wide mercy of Heaven,
Nevermore, nevermore may he lift from the sight
The veil which is woven with terror and night!

"Quick brightening like lightning, the ocean rushed o'er me,
Wild floating, borne down fathom-deep from the day;
Till a torrent rushed out on the torrent that bore me,
And doubled the tempest that whirled me away.
Vain, vain was my struggle-the circle had won me,
Round and round in its dance the mad element spun me.

"From the deep, then I called upon God, and He heard me; In the dread of my need, He vouchsafed to mine eye A rock jutting out from the grave that interred me;

I sprung there, I clung there, and death passed me by. And lo! where the goblet gleamed through the abyss, By a coral reef saved from the far Fathomless.

"Below, at the foot of that precipice drear,

Spread the gloomy, and purple, and pathless Obscure! A silence of horror that slept on the ear,

That the eye more appalled might the horror endure!
Salamander, snake, dragon-vast reptiles that dwell
In the deep-coiled about the grim jaws of their hell.

"Dark crawled, glided dark the unspeakable swarms, Clumped together in masses, misshapen and vast; Here clung and here bristled the fashionless forms;

Here the dark moving bulk of the hammer-fish passed; And with teeth grinning white, and a menacing motion, Went the terrible shark-the hyena of ocean.

"There I hung, and the awe gathered icily o'er me,

So far from the earth, where man's help there was none ! The one human thing, with the goblins before me—

Alone-in a loneness so ghastly-ALONE!

Deep under the reach of the sweet living breath,
And begirt with the broods of the desert of Death.

"Methought, as I gazed through the darkness, that now Ir saw-a dread hundred-limbed creature-its prey! And darted, devouring; I sprang from the bough

Of the coral, and swept on the horrible way;

And the whirl of the mighty wave seized me once more, It seized me to save me, and dash to the shore."

On the youth gazed the monarch and marvelled quoth he, "Bold diver, the goblet I promised is thine;

And this ring I will give, a fresh guerdon to thee--
Never jewels more precious shone up from the mine-
If thou❜lt bring me fresh tidings, and venture again,
To say what lies hid in the innermost main!"

Then out spake the daughter in tender emotion

"Ah! father, my father, what more can there rest? Enough of this sport with the pitiless ocean—

He has served thee as none would, thyself has confest. If nothing can slake thy wild thirst of desire,

Let thy knights put to shame the exploit of the squire!"

The king seized the goblet, he swung it on high, And, whirling, it fell in the roar of the tide ! "But bring back that goblet again to my eye,

And I'll hold thee the dearest that rides by my side; And thine arms shall embrace as thy bride, I decree, The maiden whose pity now pleadeth for thee."

And heaven, as he listened, spoke out from the space,
And the hope that makes heroes shot flame from his eyes;
He gazed on the flush in that beautiful face-

It pales-at the feet of her father she lies!

How priceless the guerdon! a moment—a breath-
And headlong he plunges to life and to death!

They hear the loud surges sweep back in their swell,
Their coming the thunder-sound heralds along!
Fond eyes yet are tracking the spot where he fell.

They come, the wild waters, in tumult and throng,
Roaring up to the cliff-roaring back as before,
But no wave ever brings the lost youth to the shore!

SCHILLER.

(Translated by LORD LYTTON.)

[By kind permission of Messrs. Routledge.]

A GREYPORT LEGEND.
[1797.]

They ran through the streets of the sea-port town;
They peered from the decks of the ships that lay:
The cold sea-fog that came whitening down
Was never as cold or white as they.

"Ho, Starbuck and Pinckney, and Tenterden !
Run for your shallops, gather your men,
Scatter your boats in the lower bay."

Good cause for fear! In the thick midday
The hulk that lay by the rotting pier,
Filled with the children in happy play,
Parted its moorings, and drifted clear,--
Drifted clear beyond the reach or call,-
Thirteen children they were in all,-
All adrift in the lower bay!

Said a hard-faced skipper, "God help us all!
She will not float till the turning tide!"
Said his wife, "My darling will hear my call
Whether in sea or heaven she bide."

And she lifted a quavering voice and high,
Wild and strange as a sea-bird's cry,

Till they shuddered and wondered at her side.

The fog drove down on each labouring crew,
Veiled each from each and the sky and shore:
There was not a sound but the breath they drew,
And the lap of water and creak of oar:

And they felt the breath of the downs, fresh blown
O'er leagues of clover and cold gray stone,

But not from the lips that had gone before.