THE FATE OF THE OАК. The meteor-flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, When the storm hath ceased to blow! 159 CAMPBELL. 2. Anything to remark in the construction of this line? XI. THE FATE OF THE OAK. "NAVIGATION and ship-building are arts so nice and complicated that they require the ingenuity, as well as experience, of many successive ages to bring them to any degree of perfection. From the raft or canoe, which first served to carry a savage over the river that obstructed him in the chase, to the construction of a vessel capable of conveying a numerous crew with safety to a distant coast, the progress in improvement is immense. Many efforts would be made, many experiments would be tried, and much labour as well as invention would be employed, before men could accomplish this arduous and important undertaking. The rude and imperfect state in which navigation is still found among all nations which are not considerably civilized, corresponds with this account of its progress, and demonstrates that, in early times, the art was not so far improved as to enable men to undertake distant voyages, or to attempt remote discoveries."-Robertson's History of America. THE Owl to her mate is calling; The river his hoarse song sings; But the oak is marked for falling, That has stood for a hundred springs. His arms from their trunk are riven; And he's caulked, and pitched, and burned; Oh! now with his wings outspread And wrap him in flaming pride: And when he has fought, and won, And been honoured from shore to shore; Save a rhyme and a short lived name, And to mix with the common mould! BARRY CORNWALL. XII. STANZAS ON THE SEA. Whether "WHO ever gazed upon the broad sea without emotion? seen in stern majesty, hoary with the tempest, rolling its giant waves upon the rocks, and dashing with resistless fury some gallant bark on an iron-bound coast; or sleeping beneath the silver moon, its broad bosom broken but by a gentle ripple, just enough to reflect a long line of light, a path of gold upon a pavement of sapphire; who has looked upon the sea without feeling that it has power "To stir the soul with thoughts profound?" Perhaps there is no earthly object, not even the cloud-cleaving mountains of an Alpine country, so sublime as the sea in its severe and naked simplicity. Standing on some promontory, whence the eye roams far out upon the unbounded ocean, the soul expands, and we conceive a nobler idea of the majesty of that God, who holdeth the waters in the hollow of His hand.' "_ Gosse's Ocean. OH! I shall not forget, until memory depart, Of glory and grandeur, unknown till that hour, HOW CHEERY ARE THE MARINERS. In its white-drifted foam, and its dark-heaving green, 161 BERNARD BARTON. XIII. HOW CHEERY ARE THE MARINERS! "THE careless frolicsome jollity, and vacant curiosity of a sailor on shore, are qualities which contribute, perhaps, as much as many others, to the high popularity of our seamen, and the general good inclination which society expresses towards them. Their gallantry, courage, and hardihood, are qualities which excite reverence, and perhaps rather humble pacific landsmen in their presence; and neither respect, nor a sense of humiliation, are feelings easily combined with a familiar fondness towards those who inspire them. But the boyish frolics, the exulting high spirits, the unreflecting mirth of a sailor, when enjoying himself on shore, temper the more formidable points of his character."-Sir Walter Scott. How cheery are the mariners Those lovers of the sea! Their hearts are like its yesty waves, They whistle when the storm-bird wheels In circles round the mast; And sing when deep in foam the ship Ploughs onward to the blast. What care the mariners for gales? There's music in their roar, When wide the berth along the lee, Let billows toss to mountain heights, The vessel stout will ride it out, Nor reel beneath the blow. With streamers down and canvass furled, The gallant hull will float Securely, as on inland lake, A silken-tasselled boat; And sound asleep some mariners, M God keep these cheery mariners! That sweep against the rocky coast, And men on shore will bless the ship Safe in the hollow of His hand, To brave the mighty sea! XIV. SEA-PIECE. PARK BENJAMIN. "In the wide sphere of bright creation, there exists nought that hath SUBLIME is thy prospect, thou proud rolling Ocean, And the mariner, dubious, now hoping, now fearing, But now, when thine anger has long been subsiding, Now soft on thy bosom the orient is beaming, And tremulous breezes are waving thy breast; On thy mirror the clouds and the shadows are streaming, No gale but the balmy Favonian is blowing, THE SAILOR'S MOTHER. Yet smile, or be dreadful, thou still-changing Ocean, I view thee, adoring with hallow'd emotion, The Pow'r that can hush or arouse thee at will. 163 MRS. HEMANS. XV. THE SAILOR'S MOTHER. "THE relation that subsists between parents and children is the strongest, the closest, the tenderest that exists in human society. Even among the brute creation there is an instinct which impels the parent to the defence of its offspring. Among the fiercer animals, the mother becomes fearless of danger, and reckless of life, where her young ones are threatened with injury. But the human parent has a still keener interest in the welfare of his children. To the affection which nature teaches us to bestow upon our offspring, reason and reflection add other and more endearing ties. They are not only our children, a part of ourselves, and linked with a thousand associations of pleasure or pain, of joy or sorrow, hope or fear; but they are of themselves creatures of feeling, susceptible of happiness or misery, capable of elevation or debasement. They may enjoy health or suffer sickness; they may be intelligent or ignorant, wise or foolish, virtuous or vicious. They may be an honour or a disgrace to their connexions. They may be a blessing or a curse to society. They may die in peace or sorrow; and may leave this world with an assured hope of happiness hereafter, or with the reluctant awe with which a criminal is brought before his judge. How many hopes and fears, how many ardent wishes, how many anxious apprehensions are twisted together in the threads that connect the parent with the child!" "Thou seest the braided roots that bind Yon towering cedar to the rock; Goodrich's Fireside Education. ONE morning (raw it was and wet A foggy day in winter time) A woman on the road I met, Not old, though something past her prime; And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait. The ancient spirit is not dead; Old times, thought I, are breathing there; She begged an alms, like one in poor estate, I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate. |