Go, stranger, track the deep, Free, free the white sails spread! Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, Where rest not England's dead. Sea-side Thoughts. Bernard Barton. BEAUTIFUL sublime and glorious, Mild majestic foaming free; Over time itself, victorious;. Image of eternity. Sun and moon and stars shine o'er thee, See thy surface ebb and flow, Whether morning's splendour steep thee Earth her valleys, and her mountains, Thy unfathomable fountains Scoff his search and scorn his sway. Such art thou, stupendous ocean! The Ocean. Mrs. Hemans. SUBLIME is thy prospect, thou proud rolling Ocean, When the moon-beams, through winter-clouds faintly appearing, At intervals gleam on the dark swelling wave; But now when thine anger has long been subsiding, Now soft on-thy-bosom the orient is beaming, No gale but the balmly Favonian is blowing, Yet smile, or be dreadful, thou still-changing Ocean, The Pow'r that can hush,-or-arouse,-thee at will. The Name of England. THE trumpet-of-the-battle Hath a high and thrilling tone; Mrs. Hemans. And the first deep gun of an ocean-fight But a mightier power, my England! Is in that name of thine, To strike the fire from every heart Proudly it woke the spirits Of yore, the brave and true, When the bow was bent on Cressy's field, And the yeoman's arrow flew. And proudly hath it floated Through the battles of the sea, When the red-cross flag o'er smoke-wreaths play'd Like the lightning in its glee. Its echoes have been known; By a thousand streams the hearts lie low That have answer'd to its tone. A thousand ancient mountains K Treasures of the Deep. Mrs. Hemans. WHAT hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells, We ask not such from thee. Yet more, the depths have more! What wealth untold 1 Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main ! Yet more, the depths have more! Thy waves have roll'd Sand hath fill'd-up the palaces of old - Yet more! the billows and the depths have more! Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave— Give-back the lost and lovely! those for whom The place was kept, at board and hearth, so long, To-thee the love-of-woman hath gone down, Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee - The Ship Foundering. Byron. THEN rose from-sea,-to-sky the wild farewell, And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell,— And down she suck'd-with-her the whirling wave, Like one who grapples with his enemy And strives to strangle him before he die. And first one universal shriek there rush'd, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry ་ |