With melancholy brows.-From a low cloud
That o'er the horizon hover'd, came the threat
Of distant, mutter'd thunder. Broken waves
Heaved up their sharp white helmets o'er the ex-
Of ocean, which in brooding stillness lay
Like some vindictive king, who meditates
On hoarded wrongs, or wakes the wrathful war.
The ship's bell toll'd!-And lo, a youthful form,
Which oft had boldly dared the slippery shrouds
At midnight's watch, was as a burden faid
Down at his comrade's feet.-Mournful they gazed
Upon his hollow cheek, and some there were
Who in that bitter hour remember'd well
The parting blessing of his hoary sire,
And the fond tears that o'er his mother's cheek
Went coursing down, when his gay, happy voice
Left its farewell.-But one who nearest stood
To that pale shrouded corse, remember'd more:-
Of a white cottage with its shaven lawn
And blossom'd hedge, and of a fair-hair'd girl
Who at her lattice, veil'd with woodbine, watch'd
His last, far step, and then turn'd back to weep.
And close that comrade in his faithful breast
Hid a bright chestnut lock, which the dead youth
Had sever'd with a cold and trembling hand
In life's extremity, and bade him bear
With broken words of love's last eloquence
To his blest Mary.-Now that chosen friend
Bow'd low his sun-burnt face, and like a child
Sobb'd in deep sorrow.
But there came a tone,
Clear as the breaking moon o'er stormy seas-
"I am the Resurrection!"-Every heart
Suppress'd its grief, and every eye was raised.
There stood the chaplain, his uncover'd brow
Unmark'd by earthly passion, while his voice,
Rich as the balm from plants of paradise,
Pour'd the Eternal's message o'er the souls
Of dying men. It was a holy hour!
There lay the wreck of manly beauty, here
Bent mourning friendship, while supporting faith
Cast her strong anchor, where no wrathful surge
Might overwhelm, nor mortal foe invade.
There was a plunge!-The riven sea complain'd,
Death from her briny bosom took his own.
The troubled fountains of the deep lift up
Their subterranean portals, and he went
Down to the floor of ocean, 'mid the beds
Of brave and beautiful ones. Yet to my soul,
'Mid all the funeral pomp, with which this earth
Indulgeth her dead sons, was naught so sad,
Sublime or sorrowful, as the mute sea
Opening her mouth to whelm that sailor youth
THE DISOBEDIENT SON.
"TEMPT not the sea,"-my father said.
His locks were white with age,
And low he bow'd his reverend head
Upon the Bible's page.
"Tempt not the sea, my William dear,"
I heard my mother sigh,
Saw on her furrow'd cheek the tear,
But render'd no reply.
That night-it was the last, last time!
From my sweet home I fled,
The sabbath-bell with evening chime
Reproach'd my rebel tread."
One eye there was I shunn'd to meet,
I could not bid farewell,
And yet its tender glance was sweet,
How sweet, I dared not tell.
For ah! the sea, the sea had bound
My heart in wizard chain,
My boyhood knew no tuneful sound
Like the storm-stricken main,
And when bright fancies o'er
my soul
In dreams their sway would urge,
How proud the sapphire waves would roll
Their white and crested surge!
And now that broad, deep sea, I cross'd,
A truant sailor boy,
And when its wildest billows toss'd
I laugh'd and leap'd for joy.
Once when the midnight storm was loud,
Half deafen'd by the sound,
Reckless I climb'd the slippery shroud,
And sank in gulfs profound.
On went the ship. With shouts of woe
My gasping lips were dried,
High roll'd the waves with crests of snow,
And all my hope defied.
Methought even Earth's foundations rock'd
With warring ocean's strife,
While scornful winds like demons mock'd
My breathless toil for life.
So, there upon the broad expanse,
Like a vile weed I clung,
While jeering breakers held their dance,
And the mad tempest sung.
Up came the dawn. With pain I raved,
Then like a child would weep.
Methought it walk'd like Christ, who saved
The faithless on the deep.
Up rose the clear and glorious sun,
Dark sea-birds clapp'd their wing,
And hover'd o'er me one by one,
As o'er a perish'd thing.
A ship!-A ship!-her gallant crew
With pride the waves did stem,
My shrieks of anguish wilder grew,
What were those shrieks to them?
Wrecks pass'd me by. I floated still
A cold and helpless form,
Impell'd by Ocean's tyrant will,
An atom 'mid the storm.
Strange visions rack'd my reeling brain,
Unearthly forms did rise,
And upward through the glassy main,
1 met my true-love's eyes.
Torn hair, methought, like rays of light,
Fell round me on the flood,
I knew my father's locks so white-
Who tinged those locks with blood?
A cottage with its peaceful thatch
And taper'd casement glow'd,
My shuddering hand essay'd the latch,
But burning lava flow'd.
Close to my ear a monster sung,
Green from the creeping slime,
And with his red, protruded tongue
Hiss'd at me for my crime.
"Is there no grave of rest," I cried,
"Down in the dark, deep sea?"
His hideous jaws he open'd wide-
"Where is the rest for thee?"
But lo! there came a spectre-boat,
I hail'd not-made no sign,
Yet o'er the wave I ceased to float,
Nor felt the whelming brine.
I waked-how long had been my sleep!
How dreamless my repose!
Strange faces seem'd the watch to keep,
They were my country's foes.
In foreign climes the yoke I bore,
Stern Slavery's lot I knew,
Heaven heard and toward my native shore, My parents' home, I drew.
Where was my hoary sire? They told
How soon his race was run,
And how he sought his pillow cold,
Lamenting for his son.
Shuddering I turn'd me toward the cot,
Which in my crime I left,
There was my widow'd mother's lot
Of sight and joy bereft.
But who was bending o'er her bed,
With voice like pity's dove?
Those were the eyes whose glance I fled-
That was my own true love.
The thraldom of my sin was broke,
I knelt me by her side,
The priest the hallow'd words hath spoke,
And blest her as my bride.
My step, my blinded mother hails,
I toil'd with spirit free,
And only in my fireside tales
Recall the treacherous sea.
ELIJAH'S INTERVIEW.
ON Horeb's rock the prophet stood-
The Lord before him pass'd;
A hurricane in angry mood
Swept by him strong and fast;
The forest fell before its force,
The rocks were shiver'd in its course;
God was not in the blast;
"Twas but the whirlwind of his breath,
Announcing danger, wreck and death.
It ceased. The air grew mute-a cloud
Came, muffling up the sun,
When, through the mountain, deep and loud,
An carthquake thunder'd on;
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