could for the child, or that Margaret seemed anxious to break company with her, or that she had reached a point in the road where she could conveniently leave her, at this instant turned into Grove Street, and Margaret pursued her course homeward.

A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE.

BY EPES SARGENT.

[Epes Sargent, journalist and author, was born at Gloucester, Mass., in 1813; a graduate of Harvard, and helped conduct the Collegian there; was on newspapers in Boston and New York, and edited the Boston Transcript for some years; after which he devoted himself to writing, editing, and compiling vast numbers of biographies, sets of literary works, adventure and educational books, dramas, etc. He wrote also several successful plays, novels of which "Peculiar" is still read, and many popular poems.]

A LIFE on the ocean wave,

A home on the rolling deep,
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the wind their revels keep!
Like an eagle caged I pine

On this dull, unchanging shore:

Oh, give me the flashing brine,

The spray and the tempest's roar!

Once more on the deck I stand

Of my own swift-gliding craft:
Set sail! farewell to land!

The gale follows fair abaft.

We shoot through the sparkling foam,
Like an ocean bird set free,-

Like the ocean bird, our home

We'll find far out on the sea.

The land is no longer in view,

The clouds have begun to frown;

But with a stout vessel and crew,

We'll say, Let the storm come down!

And the song of our hearts shall be,

While the winds and the waters rave,

A home on the rolling sea!

A life on the ocean wave!

VOL. XXIV.-15

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.

BY THOMAS HOOD.

[THOMAS HOOD, English poet, was born May 23, 1798, in London; son of a bookseller and nephew of an engraver. A merchant's clerk at thirteen, the engraver's apprentice at nineteen, his health gave out from the confinement of each; he next became a subeditor of the London Magazine for two years; then a professional man of letters, editing The Gem in 1829, starting the Comic Annual in 1830, succeeding Hook as editor of the New Monthly in 1841, and starting Hood's Own in 1844. He died May 3, 1845. An eleven-volume edition of his works was issued 1882-1884. His fame rests chiefly on his matchless lines “The Song of the Shirt," "The Bridge of Sighs,” “Fair Ines,” “A Deathbed,” "I Remember," "Eugene Aram's Dream," etc.; but his humorous pieces, like "The Lost Heir," "Ode to a Child," etc., the tragi-grotesque "Miss Kilmansegg," and others, swell its volume.]

"Drowned! drowned!"— Hamlet.

ONE more unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;
Whilst the wave constantly

Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing. —

Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her,
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly.

Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny
Rash and undutiful:

Past all dishonor,

Death has left on her

Only the beautiful,

Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family-

Wipe those poor lips of hers
Oozing so clammily.

Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses;
Whilst wonderment guesses
Where was her home?

Who was her father?
Who was her mother?

Had she a sister?

Had she a brother?

Or was there a dearer one

Still, and a nearer one

Yet, than all other?

Alas for the rarity

Of Christian charity
Under the sun!

O, it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,

Fatherly, motherly

Feelings had changed:

Love, by harsh evidence,

Thrown from its eminence;

Even God's providence

Seeming estranged.

Where the lamps quiver

So far in the river,

With many a light

From window and casement,

From garret to basement,

She stood with amazement,
Houseless by night.

The bleak wind of March

Made her tremble and shiver;

But not the dark arch,

Or the black flowing river: