IT is the midnight hour:-the beauteous
Sea,
[discloses,
Calm as the cloudless heaven, the heaven
While many a sparkling star, in quiet glee,
Far down within the watery sky reposes.
As if the Ocean's heart were stirred
With inward life, a sound is heard,

Like that of dreamer murmuring in his
sleep;

'Tis partly the billow, and partly the air, That lies like a garment floating fair

Above the happy Deep.

The Sea, I ween, cannot be fanned
By evening freshness from the land,
For the land it is far away.

But God hath willed that the sky-born breeze
In the centre of the loneliest seas

Should ever sport and play.
The mighty moon she sits above,
Encircled with a zone of love,
A zone of dim and tender light

That makes her wakeful eye more bright;
She seems to shine with a sunny ray,
And the night looks like a mellowed day.
The gracious mistress of the main
Hath now an undisturbèd reign,

And from her silent throne looks down,
As upon children of her own,

On the waves that lend their gentle breast
In gladness for her couch of rest.

My spirit sleeps amid the calm,

The sleep of a new delight;

And hopes that she ne'er may wake again,
But for ever hang o'er the lovely main
And adore the lovely night.
Scarce conscious of an earthly frame,
She glides away like a lambent flame,
And in her bliss she sings;
Now touching softly the ocean's breast,
Now 'mid the stars she lies at rest,

As if she sailed on wings!

Now bold as the brightest star that glows, More brightly since at first it rose,

Looks down on the far-off flood; And there all breathless and alone,

As the sky where she soars were a world of

her own,

She mocketh the gentle mighty one

"

As he lies in his quiet mood.

Art thou," she breathes, " the tyrant grim

That scoffs at human prayers, Answering with prouder roaring the while, As it rises from some lonely isle, Through groans raised wild, the hopeless hymn

Of shipwrecked mariners?

Oh! thou art as harmless as a child
Weary with joy, and reconciled

For sleep to change its play;

And now that night hath stayed thy race, Smiles wander o'er thy placid face,

As if thy dreams were gay."

T. K. HERVEY. 1804-1859.

THE CONVICT SHIP.*

MORN on the waters-and purple and bright,

Burst on the billows the flushings of light; O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun, See the tall vessel goes gallantly on; Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail, And her pennons stream onward, like hope in the gale; [and song, The winds come around her in murmur And the surges rejoice as they bear her along. [clouds, See! she looks up to the golden-edged And the sailor sings gaily aloft in the shrouds ;

Onward she glides amid ripple and spray, Over the waters-away and away!

Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part, Passing away like a dream of the heart, Who, as the beautiful pageant sweeps byMusic around her, and sunshine on highPauses to think, amid glitter and show, Oh! there be hearts that are breaking below?

[high, Night on the waves-and the moon is on Hung like a gem on the brow of the sky, Treading in depths in the power of her might, [to light. And turning the clouds as they pass her Look to the waters! asleep on their breast, Seems not the ship like an island of rest? Bright and alone on the shadowy main, Like a heart-cherished home on some desolate plain.

Who-as she smiles in the silvery light, Spreading her wings on the bosom of night, Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky, A phantom of beauty-could deem, with

[sin,

a sigh, That so lovely a thing is the mansion of And souls that are smitten lie bursting within?

Who, as he watches her silently gliding, Remembers that wave after wave is dividing Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not [ever?

sever

wave,

Hearts which are parted and broken for Or deems that he watches, alone on the [grave? The deathbed of hope, or the young spirit's * Happily the Convict Ship is now a thing of the past.

Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,

At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile;

At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace;

And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase.

Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall;

The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty hall;

Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast;

And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inward many a post.

With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes;

Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums;

His yeomen round the market-cross make clear an ample space,

For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace.

And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells, [blazon swells.

ancient crown,

As slow upon the labouring wind the royal Look how the Lion of the Sea lifts up his [gay lilies down. And underneath his deadly paw treads the So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,

Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield;

So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay,

And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay.

Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight: ho! scatter flowers, fair maids: Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute: ho! gallants, draw your blades: Thou sun, shine on her joyously — ye breezes, waft her wide,

Our glorious Semper Eadem, the banner of our pride.

The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold,

The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;

Night sunk upon the dusky beach and on the purple sea,-

Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be.

From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,

That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day;

For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread; High on St. Michael's Mount it shone; it shone on Beachy Head.

Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,

Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those

twinkling points of fire.

The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves;

The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless caves;

O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew;

He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.

Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town, And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton Down.

The sentinel on Whitehall Gate looked forth into the night,

And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light:

Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like silence broke,

And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke ;

At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires,

At once the wild alarum clashed from all

her reeling spires,

From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear,

And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer;

And from the farthest wards was heard the

rush of hurrying feet,

And the broad streams of flags and pikes dashed down each roaring street. And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,

As fast from every village round the horse came clattering in.

And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went, And roused in many an ancient hall the

gallant squires of Kent; Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth; High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north.

And on and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still;

All night from tower to tower they sprang,— they sprang from hill to hill;

Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales,

Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales,

Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height,

Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light,

Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,

And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain;

Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,

And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent;

Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile,

And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.

DEATH OF VIRGINIA.

HARD by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down; [in his gown. Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it And then his eyes grew very dim and his throat began to swell,

And in a hoarse changed voice he spake,
Farewell, sweet child, farewell.
Oh, how I loved my darling! though stern
I sometimes be,

To thee, thou know'st, I was not so. Who could be so to thee?

And how my darling loved me! How glad she was to hear

My footstep on the threshold when I came back last year!

And how she danced with pleasure to see my civic crown,

And took my sword and hung it up, and brought me forth my gown.

Now all these things are over; yes, all thy pretty ways,

Thy needlework, thy prattle, thy snatches of old lays.

And none will grieve when I go forth, or

smile when I return,