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IN the tempest of life when the wave and the gale
Should they who are dearest, the son of thy heart,
And, oh! when death comes in his terrors, to cast,
XXI. THE LIGHTHOUSE.
"IT is among the noblest functions of genius to devise forms of beauty and sublimity for the structures destined for the performance of man's homage to his Maker. Within those limits which, fortunately for the purification of that homage, were exceeded by Leo, it has been a wise devotion of wealth which has enabled that genius to embody its bright visions in enduring and costly materials. Next, however, to the great testimonials which men like Ictinus and Buonarotti have reared to the consciousness of our spiritual nature and immortal destinies, we can imagine no triumph of constructive skill more signal, no labours more catholic in their purpose, and more deserving in their success of human gratitude and applause, than those of Smeaton and the two Stevensons, father and son, men of whom Father Ocean, could he exchange for articulate language the armpiμov yedaoμa* of his summer calm, or the sterner accents of his equinoctial mood, might say—
"Great I must call them, for they conquered me."
"There is a passage in Byron, often selected for quotation, in which, towards the close of his greatest poem, he brings the power and immensity of the sea into contrast with the weakness and littleness of man. The charm of verse has, in our opinion, seldom been more abused than in this splenetic pæan to the brute strength "Countless smile."
of winds and waves, leaving, as it does, unnoticed the great fact of their habitual submission to the moral and intellectual powers of man. To make the pervading sentiment of these famous stanzas as sound as their cadence is sonorous, shipwreck should be the rule, and safe passage the exception. Among the greatest assertions of that qualified supremacy which Providence has delegated to the human race over the destructive agencies of the billow and the storm, the architects of such buildings as the Eddystone and the Bell Rock Lighthouses are pre-eminent; and the story of their construction is well worthy of the minute detail and costly illustration with which it has been recorded."- Quarterly Review.
THE rocky ledge runs far into the sea,
And on its outer point, some miles away,
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day.
Upheaving, break unheard along its base,
In the white lip and tremour of the face.
Through the deep purple of the twilight air,
With strange, unearthly splendour in its glare.
And perilous reef along the ocean's verge,
Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge.
Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave,
The night-o'ertaken mariner to save.
And the great ships sail outward and return,
Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells,
They wave their silent welcomes and farewells.
They come forth from the darkness, and their sails
Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze.
On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink;
He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink.
SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.
Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same
Year after year, through all the silent night
It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp
The rocks and sea sand with the kiss of peace,
And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece.
Smites it with all the scourges of the rain,
Press the great shoulders of the hurricane.
Dashes himself against the glare, and dies.
Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove,
"Sail on"! it says, "sail on, ye stately ships!
And with your floating bridge the ocean span;
XXII. SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.
"WHEN the wind abated, and the vessels were near enough, the admiral was seen constantly sitting in the stern with a book in his hand. On the 9th of September, he was seen for the last time, and was heard by the people of the Hind to say, 'We are as near to heaven by sea as by land.' In the following night the lights of the ship suddenly disappeared. The people in the other vessel kept a good look out for him during the remainder of the voyage.
"On the 22nd of September, they arrived through much tempest and peril at Falmouth. But nothing more was seen or heard of the admiral.”—Belknap's American Biography.
SOUTHWARD with fleet of ice
Sailed the corsair death;
And the east wind was his breath.
His lordly ships of ice
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed,
And ice-cold grew the night,
He sat upon the deck,
The book was in his hand,
"Do not fear! heaven is as near,"
The fleet of death rose all around.
The moon and the evening star
Were hanging in the shrouds. Every mast as it passed,
Seemed to rake the passing clouds. They grappled with their prize
At midnight black and cold,
Heavily the ground swell rolled.
They drift through dark and day,
THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.
XXIII. THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.
"THERE arose even with the sun a veil of dark clouds before his face, which shortly, like ink poured into water, had blacked over all the face of heaven, preparing, as it were, a mournful stage for a tragedy to be played on. For, forthwith the winds began to speak louder, and, as in a tumultuous kingdom, to think themselves fittest instruments of commandment; and blowing whole storms of hail and rain upon them, they were sooner in danger than they could almost bethink themselves of change. For then the traitorous sea began to swell in pride against the afflicted navy, under which, while the heaven favoured them, it had lain so calmly; making mountains of itself, over which the tossed and tottering ship should climb, to be straight carried down again to a pit of hellish darkness, with such cruel blows against the sides of the ship, that, which way soever it went, was still in his malice, that there was left neither power to stay nor way to escape. And shortly had it so dissevered the loving company, which the day before had tarried together, that most of them never met again, but were swallowed up in his never-satisfied mouth." -Sir Philip Sydney.
IT was the schooner Hesperus,
That sailed the wintry sea;
Compare the following
And the skipper had taken his little daughter,
Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
Then up and spake an old sailor,
The skipper he stood beside the helm,
And watched how the veering flaw did blow,
"Last night the moon had a golden ring,
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,