She seems to shine with a sunny ray, And the night looks like a mellow'd day! Hath now an undisturbed reign, And from her silent throne looks down, As upon children of her own, On the waves that lend their gentle breast In gladness for her couch of rest! My spirit sleeps amid the calm The sleep of a new delight; And hopes that she ne'er may awake again, Scarce conscious of an earthly frame, She glides away like a lambent flame, And in her bliss she sings; Now touching softly the ocean's breast, Now mid the stars she lies at rest, As if she sail'd on wings! Now bold as the brightest star that glows More brightly since at first it rose, Looks down on the far-off flood, And there all breathless and alone, As the sky where she soars were a world of her own, She mocketh that gentle mighty one As he lies in his quiet mood. "Art thou," she breathes, "the tyrant grim That scoffs at human prayers, Answering with prouder roar the while, As it rises from some lonely isle Through groans raised wild, the hopeless hymn Of shipwreck'd mariners? Oh! thou art harmless as a child Weary with joy, and reconciled For sleep to change its play; And now that night hath stay'd thy race, Smiles wander o'er thy placid face As if thy dreams were gay." J. Wilson. URN to the watery world!-but who to thee Its colours changing, when from clouds and sun Shades after shades upon the surface run: In limpid blue, and evanescent green; And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie, Lift the fair sail, and cheat the experienced eye. The ebbing tide has left upon its place; Light twinkling streams in bright confusion move; Ships in the calm seem anchor'd; for they glide As an awaken'd giant with a frown Might show his wrath, and then to sleep sink down. And sometimes hid and sometimes show'd his form, All where the eye delights, yet dreads to roam, Is restless change; the waves so swelled and steep, Raking the rounded flints, which ages past Far off the petrel in the troubled way And sports at ease on the tempestuous main. High o'er the restless deep, above the reach Of gunner's hope, vast flights of wild-ducks stretch; Far as the eye can glance on either side, In a broad space and level line they glide; N All in their wedge-like figures from the north, Inshore their passage tribes of sea-gulls urge; Far back, then turn, and all their force apply, And in the restless ocean dip for rest. A SEA-SIDE SONG. THE day is down into his bower: In creeping curves of yellow foam The boats are drawn: the nets drip bright: And out upon the verge of night Green lights from lonely rocks are hung. |