Walk'd up and down-at times would stand, then Now seen-now hid-where ocean's vale was hol

At length Jack Skyscrape, a mercurial man,
Who flutter'd over all things like a fan,
More brave than firm, and more disposed to dare
And die at once than wrestle with despair,
Exclaim'd "G-d Damn!"-those syllables in- With dark but brilliant skin, and dewy eye

But brief their time for good or evil thought;
The billows round the promontory brought
The splash of hostile oars.-Alas! who made
That sound a dread? All round them seem'd array'd
Against them, save the bride of Toobonai:
She, as she caught the first glimpse o'er the bay
Of the arm'd boats, which hurried to complete
The remnant's ruin with their flying feet,
Beckon'd the natives round her to their prows,
Embark'd their guests, and launch'd their light

still as their oars receded from the crag, Round every weed a moment would they lag, Expectant of some token of their prey;

but no he had melted from them like the spray.

V.

And where was he, the pilgrim of the deep,
Following the nercid? Had they ceased to weep
For ever? or, received in coral caves,

Wrung life and pity from the softening waves ?
Did they with ocean's hidden sovereigns dwell,
And sound with mermen the fantastic shell?
Did Neuha with the mermaids comb her hair,
Flowing o'er ocean as it stream'd in air?
Or had they perish'd, and in silence slept
Beneath the gulf wherein they boldly leapt?

VI.

Young Neuha plunged into the deep, and he
Follow'd: her track beneath her native sea
Was as a native's of the element,

So smoothly, bravely, brilliantly she went,
Leaving a streak of light behind her heel,

The buttress from some mountain's bosom hurled,
When the Poles crash'd, and water was the world;
Or harden'd from some earth-aboding fire,
While yet the globe reek'd from its funeral pyre;
The fretted pinnacle, the aisle, the nave,*
Were there, all scoop'd by Darkness from her cave
There, with a little tinge of fantasy,
Fantastic faces mop'd and mow'd on high,
And then a mitre and a shrine would fix
The eye upon its seeming crucifix.
Thus Nature play'd with the stalactites,
And built herself a chapel of the seas

VIII.

And Neuha took her Torquil by the hand.
And waved along the vault her kindled brand,
And led him into each recess, and show'd
The secret places of their new abode.
Nor these alone, for all had been prepared
Before, to sooth the lover's lot she shared:
The mat for rest; for dress the fresh gnatoo,
And sandal-oil to fence against the dew;
For food the cocoa-nut, the yam, the bread
Born of the fruit; for board the plantain spread

Which struck and flashed like an amphibious steel. With his broad leaf, or turtle-shell he bore

Closely, and scarcely less expert to trace

The depths where divers hold their pearl in chase,
Torquil, the nursling of the northern seas,
Pursued her liquid steps with heart and ease.
Deep-deeper for an instant Neuha led

The way-then upward soar'd-and as she spread
Her arms, and flung the foam from off her locks,
Laugh'd, and the sound was answer'd by the rocks.
They had gain'd a central realm of earth again,
But look'd for tree, and field, and sky, in vain.
Around she pointed to a spacious cave,
Whose only portal was the keyless wave,*
(A hollow archway by the sun unseen,
Save through the billows' glassy veil of green,
In some transparent ocean holiday,
When all the finny people are at play,)
Wiped with her hair the brine from Torquil's eyes,
And clapp'd her hands with joy at his surprise;
Led him to where the rock appear'd to jut,
And form a something like a Triton's hut;
For all was darkness for a space, till day
Through clefts above let in a sober'd ray;
As in some old cathedral's glimmering aisle
The dusty monuments from light recoil,
Thus sadly in their refuge submarine

The vault drew half her shadow from the scene.

VII.

Forth from her bosom the young savage drew
A pine torch, strongly girded with gnatoo;
A plantain-leaf o'er all, the more to keep
Its latent sparkle from the sapping deep.
This mantle kept it dry; then from a nook
Of the same plantain-leaf a flint she took,
A few shrunk wither'd twigs, and from the blade
Of Torquil's knife struck fire, and thus array'd
The grot with torchlight. Wide it was and high,
And show'd a self-born Gothic canopy;
The arch uprear'd by nature's architect,
The architrave some earthquake might erect:

⚫ of this cave (which is no fiction) the original will be found in the ninth apter of "Marner's Account of the Tonga Islands." I have taken the poocal liberty to transplant it to Toobonai, the last island where any distinct @count is left of Christian and his comrades.

A banquet in the flesh it cover'd o'er;
The gourd with water recent from the rill,
The ripe banana from the mellow hill;
A pine torch-pile to keep undying light,
And she herself, as beautiful as night,
To fling her shadowy spirit o'er the scene
And make their subterranean world serene.
She had foreseen, since first the stranger's sail
Drew to their isle, that force or flight might fail,
And form'd a refuge of the rocky den
For Torquil's safety from his countrymen.
Each dawn had wafted there her light canoa
Laden with all the golden fruits that grew;
Each eve had seen her gliding through the hour
With all could cheer or deck their sparry bower;
And now she spread her little store with smiles,
The happiest daughter of the loving isles.

IX.

She, as he gazed with grateful wonder, press'd
Her shelter'd love to her impassion'd breast;
And suited to her soft caresses, told
An olden tale of love,-for love is old,
Old as eternity, but not outworn
With each new being born or to be born: T
How a young chief, a thousand moons ago,
Diving for turtle in the depths below,
Had risen, in tracking fast his ocean prey,
Into the cave which round and o'er them lay;
How in some desperate feud of after time,
He shelter'd there a daughter of the clime.
A foe beloved, and offspring of a foe,
Saved by his tribe but for a captive's wo;
How, when the storm of war was still'd, he led
His island clan to where the waters spread

• This may seem too minute for the general outline (In Mariner's Account)} from which it is taken. But few men have travelled without seeing son 10 thing of the kind-on land, that is. Without adverting to Ellora, in Munge Park's last Journal, (if my memory do not err, for there are eight years doog I read the book,) he mentions having met with a rock or mountain so exactly resembling a Gothic cathedral, that only a minute inspection could conviDes him that it was a work of nature.

↑ The reader will recollect the epigrams of the Greek anthology, or is translation into most of the modern languages:

"Whoe'er thou art, thy master see,

He was or is, or is to he "

Their deep green shadow o'er the rocky door,
Then dived-it seem'd as if to rise no more:
His wondering mates, amazed within their bark,
Or deem'd him mad, or prey to the blue shark;
Row'd down in sorrow the sea-girded rock,
Then paused upon their paddles from the shock;
When, fresh and springing from the deep, they saw
A goddess rise-so deem'd they in their awe;
And their companion, glorious by her side,
Proud and exulting in his mermaid bride;
And how, when undeceived, the pair they bore
With sounding conchs and joyous shouts to shore;
How they had gladly lived and calmly died,-
And why not also Torquil and his bride?
Not mine to tell the rapturous caress
Which follow'd wildly in that wild recess.
This tale; enough that all within that cave
Was love, though buried strong as in the grave
Where Abelard, through twenty years of death,
When Eloisa's form was lower'd beneath

Their nuptial vault, his arms outstretch'd, and
press'd

The kindling ashes to his kindled breast.*

No grateful country, smiling through her tears
Begun the praises of a thousand years;
No nation's eyes would on their tomb be bent,
No heroes envy them their mouument;
However boldly their warm blood was spilt,
Their life was shame, their epitaph was guilt.
And this they knew and felt, at least the one,
The leader of the band he had undone;
Who, born perchance for better things, had set
His life upon a cast which linger'd yet:
But now the die was to be thrown, and all
The chances were in favor of his fall;

And such a fall! But still he faced the shock.
Obdurate as a portion of the rock

Whereon he stood, and fix'd his levell'd gun,
Dark as a sullen cloud before the sun.

XII.

The boat drew nigh, well arm'd, and firm the crow
To act whatever duty bade them do;

Careless of danger, as the onward wind

Is of the leaves it strews, nor looks behind.
And yet perhaps they rather wish'd to go

The waves without sang round their couch, their roar Against a nation's than a native foe,
As much unheeded as if life were o'er;
Within, their hearts made all their harmony,
Love's broken murmur and more broken sigh.

X.

And they, the cause and sharers of the shock
Which left them exiles of the hollow rock,

And felt that this poor victim of self-will,
Briton no more, had once been Britain's still.
They hail'd him to surrender- no reply:
Their arms were poised, and glitter'd in the sky.
They hail'd again-no answer; yet once more
They offer'd quarter louder than before.
The echoes only, from the rock's rebound,

Where were they? O'er the sea for life they plied, Took their last farewell of the dying sound.

To seek from Heaven the shelter men denied.
Another course had been their choice-but where?
The wave which bore them still their foes would bear,
Who disappointed of their former chase,
In search of Christian now renew'd their race.
Eager with anger, their strong arms made way
Like vultures baffled of their previous prey.
They gain'd upon them, all whose safety lay
In some bleak crag or deeply-hidden bay :
No further chance or choice remain'd; and right
For the first further rock which met their sight
They steer'd, to take their latest view of land,
And yield as victims, or die sword in hand;
Dismiss'd the natives and their shallop, who
Would still have battled for that scanty crew;
But Christian bade them seek their shore again,
Nor add a sacrifice which were in vain;
For what were simple bow and savage spear
Against the arms that must be wielded here ?
XI.

They landed on a wild but narrow scene,
Where few but Nature's footsteps yet had been;
Prepared their arms, and with that gloomy eye,
Stern and sustain'd of man's extremity,
When hope is gone, nor glory's self remains
To cheer resistance against death or chains,-
They stood, the three, as the three hundred stood
Who dyed Thermopyla with holy blood.

But, ah! how different! 'tis the cause makes all,
Degrades or hallows courage in its fall.
O'er them no fame, eternal and intense,

Then flash'd the flint, and blazed the volleying flam
And the smoke rose between them and their aim.
While the rock rattled with the bullets' knell,
Which peal'd in vain, and flatten'd as they fell:
Then flew the only answer to be given

By those who had lost all hope in earth or heaven.
After the first fierce peal, as they pull'd nigher,
They heard the voice of Christian shout, "Now fire!'
And ere the word upon the echo died,

Two fell; the rest assail'd the rock's rough side,
And, furious at the madness of their foes,
Disdain'd all further efforts, save to close
But steep the crag, and all without a path,
Each step opposed a bastion to their wrath;
While, placed 'mid clefts the least accessible
Which Christian's eye was train'd to mark full well
The three maintain'd a strife which must not yield
In spots where eagles might have chosen to build.
Their every shot told; while the assailant fell,
Dash'd on the shingles like the limpet shell;
But still enough survived, and mounted still,
Scattering their numbers here and there, until
Surrounded and commanded, though not nigh
Enough for seizure, near enough to die,
The desperate trio held aloof their fate

But by a thread, like sharks who have gorged the
bait;

Yet to the very last they battled well,

And not a groan inform'd their foes who fell.
Christian died last-twice wounded; and once more
Mercy was offer'd when they saw his gore;
Too late for life, but not too late to die,

Blazed through the clouds of death and beckon'd With, though a hostile hand, to close his eye.

hence;

• The tradition is attached to the story of Eloisa, that when her body was lowered into the grave of Abelard, (who had been buried twenty years,) ho rpened his arms to receive her.

A limb was broken, and he droop'd along
The crag, as doth a falcon reft of young.
The sound revived him, or appear'd to wake
Some passion which a weakly gesture spake

He beck n'd to the foremost, who drew nigh,
But, as they near'd, he rear'd his weapon high-
His last ball had been aim'd, but from his breast
He tere the topmost button from his vest,*
Down the tube dash'd it, levell'd, fired, and smiled
As his foe fell; then, like a serpent, coil'd
His wounded, weary form, to where the steep
Look'd desperate as himself along the deep;

Till its dried wing relapsed from its brief height,
To gather moisture for another flight.

XIV.

'Twas morn; and Neuha, who by dawn of day
Swam smoothly forth to catch the rising ray,
And watch if aught approach'd the amphibious !al
Where lay her lover, saw a sail in air:

Cast one glance back, and clench'd his hand, and It flapp'd, it fill'd, and to the growing gale
shook

His last rage 'gainst the earth which he forsook;
Then plunged: the rock below received like glass
His body crush'd into one gory mass,
With scarce a shred to tell of human form,
Or fragment for the sea-bird or the worm;

A fair-hair'd scalp, besmear'd with blood and weeds,
Yet reck'd, the remnant of himself and deeds,
Some splinters of his weapons, (to the last,
As long as hand could hold, he held them fast,)
Yet glitter'd, but at distance-hurl'd away
To rust beneath the dew and dashing spray;
The rest was nothing-save a life mispent,
And soul-but who shall answer where it went ?
'Tis ours to bear, not judge the dead; and they
Who doom to hell, themselves are on the way,
Unless these bullies of eternal pains

Bent its broad arch: her breath began to fail
With fluttering fear, her heart beat thick and high,
While yet a doubt sprung where its course might lie.
But no! it came not; fast and far away
The shadow lessen'd as it clear'd the bay.
She gazed and flung the sea-foam from her eyes.
To watch as for a rainbow in the skies.
On the horizon verged the distant deck,
Diminish'd, dwindled to a very speck-
Then vanish'd. All was ocean, all was joy!
Down plunged she through the cave to rouse her boy
Told all she had seen, and all she hoped, and all
That happy love could augur or recall;
Sprung forth again, with Torquil following free
His bounding nereid over the broad sea;
Swam round the rock, to where a shallow cleft
Hid the canoe that Neuha there had left

Are pardon'd their bad hearts for their worse brains. Drifting along the tide, without an oar,

The deed was over!

XIII.

All were gone or ta'en,
The fugitive, the captive, or the slain.
Chain'd on the deck, where once, a gallant crew,
They stood with honor, were the wretched few
Survivors of the skirmish on the isle;
But the last rock left no surviving spoil.
Cold these lay where they fell, and weltering,
While o'er them fapp'd the sea-bird's dewy wing,
Now wheeling nearer from the neighboring surge,
And screaming high their harsh and hungry dirge:
But calm and careless heaved the wave below,
Eternal with unsympathetic flow;

That eve the strangers chased them from the shere
But when these vanish'd, she pursued her prow,
Regain'd, and urged to where they found it now.
Nor ever did more love and joy embark,
Than now was wafted in that slender ark.

XV.

Again their own shore rises on the view, No more polluted with a hostile hue; No sullen ship lay bristling o'er the foam, A floating dungeon:-all was hope and home! A thousand proas darted o'er the bay, With sounding shells, and heralded their way; The chiefs came down, around the people pour'd, And welcome Torquil as a son restored; The women throng'd, embracing and embraced By Neuha, asking where they had been chased, And how escaped? The tale was told; and then • In Thiteult's account of Frederic the Second of Prussia, there is a sin-One acclamation rent the sky again; gular relation of a young Frenchman, who with his mistress, appeared to be some rank. He enlisted and deserted at Scweidnitz: and after a desperate resistance was retaken, having killed an officer, who attempted to seize him Their sanctuary the name of "Neuha's Cave." after he was wounded, by the discharge of his musket louled with a button of A hundred fires, far flickering from the height, his uniform. Some circumstances on his court martial raised a great interest Blazed o'er the general revel of the night,

Far o'er its face the dolphins sported on,
And sprung the flying fish against the sun,

among his judges, who wished to discover his real situation in life, which he offered to the sose, but to the king only, to whom he requested permission to write. This was refused, and Frederic was filled with the greatest in tigna

son, from bafied curiosity or some other motive, when he understood that his bequest had been denied-See Thitad.'s Work, vol. ii.-[¡ quote from mem 17.1

And from that hour a new tradition gave

The feast in honor of the guest, return'd
To peace and pleasure, perilously earn'd:
A night succeeded by such happy days
As only the yet infant world displays.