Her head is crown'd with pretty sea-wares,
And her locks are golden and loose;
And seek to her feet, like other folks' heirs,
To stand, of course, in her shoes!

And all day long she combeth them well,
With a sea-shark's prickly jaw;

And her mouth is just like a rose-lipp'd shell,
The fairest that man e'er saw!

And the Fishmonger, humble as love may be,
Hath planted his seat by her side;
"Good ev'n, fair maid! Is thy lover at sea,
To make thee so watch the tide ?"

She turn'd about with her pearly brows,
And clasp'd him by the hand;
"Come, love, with me; I've a bonny house
On the golden Goodwin Sand."

And then she gave him a siren kiss,

No honeycomb e'er was sweeter:

Poor wretch! how little he dreamt for this
That Peter should be salt-Peter:

And away with her prize to the wave she leapt, Not walking, as damsels do,

With toe and heel, as she ought to have stept, But she hopt like a Kangaroo;

One plunge, and then the victim was blind,
Whilst they gallop'd across the tide;
At last, on the bank he waked in his mind,
And the beauty was by his side.

One half on the sand, and half in the sea,
But his hair all began to stiffen;

For when he look'd where her feet should be,
She had no more feet than Miss Biffen!

But a scaly tail, of a dolphin's growth,
In the dabbling brine did soak;
At last she open'd her pearly mouth,

Like an oyster, and thus she spoke:

"You crimpt my father, who was a skate,—
And my sister you sold-a maid;
So here remain for a fishy fate,

For lost you are, and betray'd!"

And away she went, with a seagull's scream,
And a splash of her saucy tail;

In a moment he lost the silvery gleam
That shone on her splendid mail!

The sun went down with a blood-red flame,
And the sky grew cloudy and black,
And the tumbling billows like leap-frog came,
Each over the other's back!

Ah me! it had been a beautiful scene,
With the safe terra-firma round;

But the green water-hillocks all seem'd to him
Like those in a churchyard ground;

And Christians love in the turf to lie,
Not in watery graves to be;
Nay, the very fishes will sooner die
On the land than in the sea.

And whilst he stood, the watery strife

Encroach'd on every hand,

And the ground decreased,-his moments of life Seem'd measured, like Time's, by sand;

And still the waters foam'd in, like ale,
In front and on either flank,

He knew that Goodwin and Co. must fail,
There was such a run on the bank.

A little more, and a little more,

The surges came tumbling in;
He sang the evening hymn twice o'er,
And thought of every sin!

Each flounder and plaice lay cold at his heart,

As cold as his marble slab;

And he thought he felt, in every part,
The pincers of scalded crab!

The squealing lobsters that he had boil'd,
And the little potted shrimps,

All the horny prawns he had ever spoil'd,
Gnaw'd into his soul, like imps!

And the billows were wandering to and fro, And the glorious sun was sunk,

And Day, getting black in the face, as though Of the night-shade she had drunk!

Had there been but a smuggler's cargo adrift, One tub, or keg, to be seen,

It might have given his spirits a lift,

Or an anker where Hope might lean!

But there was not a box or a beam afloat,
To raft him from that sad place;

Not a skiff, not a yawl, nor a mackerel boat,
Nor a smack upon Neptune's face.

At last, his lingering hopes to buoy,
He saw a sail and a mast,

And call'd "Ahoy!"—but it was not a hoy,
And so the vessel went past.

And with saucy wing that flapp'd in his face. The wild bird about him flew,

With a shrilly scream, that twitted his case, "Why, thou art a sea-gull too!"

And lo! the tide was over his feet;

Oh! his heart began to freeze,
And slowly to pulse :-in another beat
The wave was up to his knees!

He was deafen'd amidst the mountain-tops,
And the salt spray blinded his eyes,
And wash'd away the other salt drops
That grief had caused to arise:-

But just as his body was all afloat,

And the surges above him broke,
He was saved from the hungry deep by a boat
Of Deal (but builded of oak.)

The skipper gave him a dram, as he lay
And chafed his shivering skin:

And the Angel return'd that was flying away
With the spirit of Peter Fin!

THE TERRIERS AND THE RATS AND THE MICE AND THE CATS.

R. BROUGH.

ONCE on a time-no matter how,
(By force of teeth, or mere "Bow-wow,"
Let studious minds determine)—
The Terriers upon Rat-land seiz'd,
Its natives hunted, worried, teas'd,
In short exactly what they pleas'd,
Did, with the whisker'd vermin.

They ate them up, when bones ran short;
They chased them to their holes for sport,
They seiz'd their garner'd riches,
(The toothsome cheese-the ripen'd grain);
Monopolized the sunny plain,

Leaving the Rats the loathsome drain-
The gutters, swamps, and ditches.

Coincidence is Hist'ry's joy:

And while the Terriers fierce destroy,
Hunt, trample, rob, and feed on
The ever-multiplying Rats;

The Ancient, Warlike race of Cats
Against the Mice, in neighb'ring flats,
Like principles proceed on.

And so the Rats and Mice are cow'd,
And so the Cats and Terriers proud,
Live in triumphant clover;

The Terriers for the Rats make laws,
Cat-Legislation Mousedom awes;
Each conquer'd people-teeth or claws
Held in terrorem over!

Spite of the Terriers, throve the Rats;
Not quite so well, beneath the Cats,
Got on the pigmy friskers;
Right jolly dogs the Terriers were,
For bones and pastime all their care―
(Besides, the Rats would sometimes dare
To show their teeth and whiskers!)

So long as Tripe and Lights galore
Were in the lordly kennel's store,

The Rats might live, and welcome; Nay-(birds and coneys deft to chase)Their rulers gave them sun and space; Only in dearth and famine's case,

Then would the subjects' knell come!

Not so the Cats-not so the Mice.
Grimalkin's tastes are high and nice,
And Mousey's views fastidious;
Cat never likes to leave the house,
O'er plains to run, in streams to souse,
Familiarity with Mouse,

Were profanation hideous!