To prop the tyrant's throne?
Gaze on the ocean, ye would sway :-
If from its tranquil breast, the day

Shine out in beams as bright and fair
As if the heavens were resting there,
Ye, in its mirror surface, may

See that ye are but men ;

But should the angry storm-winds pour
Its chainless surges to the shore,

Like Canute, ye may then

A fearful lesson learn, ye ne'er would know,The weakness of a tyrant's power,--how low His pride is brought, when, like that troubled sea, Men rise in chainless might, determined to be free.

And they will rise who lowly kneel,
Crush'd by oppression's iron heel,

They yet will rise,-in such a change as sweeps
The face of nature, when the lightning leaps
From the dark cloud of night,

While heaven's eternal pillars reel afar,
As o'er them rolls the Thunderer's flaming car,-
And in the majesty and might

That freedom gives, my country, follow thee,
In thy career of strength and glorious liberty.

Immortal Washington! to thee they pour A grateful tribute on thy natal hour, Who strike the lyre to liberty, and twine Wreathes for her triumphs, for they all are thine, Woo'd by thy virtues to the haunts of men, From mountain precipice and rugged glen, She bade thee vindicate the rights of man, And in her peerless march, 't was thine to lead the van.

Though no imperial Mausoleum rise,

To point the stranger where the hero lies,
He sleeps in glory. To his humble tomb,-
The shrine of freedom,-pious pilgrims come,
To pay the heart-felt homage, and to share
The sacred influence that reposes there.
Say, ye blest spirits of the good and brave,
Were tears of holier feeling ever shed
On the proud marble of the regal dead,

Than gush'd at Vernon's rude and lonely grave,
When from your starry thrones, ye saw the Son
He loved and honor'd, weep for Washington!

As fade the rainbow hues of day,

Earth's gorgeous pageants pass away:
Its temples, arches, monuments, must fall;
For Time's oblivious hand is on them all.

The proudest kings will end their toil,
To slumber with the humble dead,—

Earth's conquerors mingle with the soil,
That groan'd beneath their iron tread,
And all the trophies of their power and guilt,
Sink to oblivion with the blood they spilt.
But still the everlasting voice of fame

Shall swell, in anthems to the Patriot's name,
Who toil'd-who lived-to bless mankind, and hurl'd
Oppression from the throne,

Where long she sway'd, remorseless and alone,
Her scorpion sceptre o'er a shrinking world.
And though no sculptured marble guards his dust,
Nor mouldering urn receives the hallow'd trust,

For him a prouder mausoleum towers,

That Time but strengthens with his storms and showers,— The land he saved, the empire of the Free,

Thy broad and steadfast throne, TRIUMPHANT Liberty!

ADDRESS TO THE MERMAID.*

What have we here? a man or a fish? a fish; he smells like a fish: a very ancient and fish-like smell!-A strange fish!-I shall laugh myself to death at this PUPPY-HEADED monster-a most scurvy monster ! SHAKSPEARE.

ART thou indeed, what thou would'st seem to be,
Imprison'd in that curious box of thine,

A veritable daughter of the sea,

Like Aphrodité born in foam and brine?

Though, I must say, were such the queen of Love,
I marvel greatly at the taste of Jove.

But thou, perhaps, some ages since, wast fair,
The envy of all mermaids far around;
Then that bald pate of thine with azure hair,
That undulated with the waves, was crown'd;
Thou art, howe'er, a mermaid's mummy now,
And with a wig should'st hide that wrinkled brow.

Hast thou e'er sported in the coral bowers, That deep beneath the Indian waters grow, *Exhibited in this country some years since.

Where gems bud forth, and wave the sea-green flowers,
With graceful motion, as the currents flow?
For there the tempests have no power, that sweep
With madness o'er the surface of the deep.

Perchance 't was thy delight, in former times,
To rest by moon-light on the ocean-rocks,
And to the hum of waters chant thy rhymes,
Or with those fingers curl thy humid locks;
Then wo to any luckless bark for aye,
Whose pilot listen'd to thy treacherous lay.

Is it not glorious to behold the gems,

That shine like stars in ocean's crystal caves?—
The groves, where emeralds bud on amber stems,
Moving harmonious with the rocking waves?—
And all the gorgeous mysteries, that sleep
Beneath the endless waters of the deep?

There, we may guess, the Nereids delight
To build their garnish'd grottoes, fair to see,
With domes of living diamonds, that as bright
Shine out, as suns in the immensity

Of heaven, while all their ruby pavements blush,
As through their clefts the shouting waters rush

There shells of pleasant forms and nameless hues
To alabaster columns cling; and there
Such flowers spring up, as never drank the dews,
Nor breathed the freshness of the upper air;
But fairer, lovelier far, their tints that glow
On the pure sand, like rainbow hues on snow.

And mighty Argosies, that moved in pride,
Like living things, along the troubled deep,
Lie many a fathom now beneath the tide ;

And gallant chiefs, and fearless sailors sleep,
In kingly state, on beds of pearl and gold,
Who for a biscuit had their birthrights sold.

Oh! could'st thou tell,-if thou indeed hast seen,
"For in those eyes there is no speculation,”-
The wonders hid beneath the ocean green,
T'would mad the knowing ones with admiration,
And inany a learned bachelor would swear
That thou, in spite of all thy teeth, art fair!

But why should I ask questions of a thing,

That hears not, sees not, knows not,-only grins? And grin you may, so long as quarters ring,

For, says the adage, “let him laugh that wins! Being a siren, well may you entice

The unwary once, you cannot cheat me twice.

Would I possess'd a charm to ope the cell
Of glass, when thou art fasten'd like a reel
Within a bottle: I could never tell

How this got in; but could my fingers feel
That scaly skin of thine, there's
66 a shrewd doubt"
"T would be no puzzle why you'll not come out.

But go in peace, thou thing of "shreds and patches"—
Go not, howe'er, where Doctor Mitchill is;
For he will mangle thee, if he but catches

A glimpse of thy uncouth and monkey phiz,
And then will swear, in spite of thy long tail,
Thou art no more a fish than was his whale!

SON of the Hon. Prentiss Mellen, of Portland, Maine, was graduated at Harvard in 1818. He is now a lawyer, and resides at North Yarmouth in his native state. He is well known in the literary world by his various productions in prose and verse. As a poet, he sustains a high reputation. "Our Chronicle of '26," published in Boston, in 1827, is his largest work in poetry, though it is less popular than many of his smaller pieces. He is a writer of fertile imagination, and is peculiarly happy in the expression of tender and delicate sentiment. His writings manifest that he possesses learning as well as genuine talent, and were he to take a higher aim and form more exalted notions of his art, we venture to assure him that he might win a permanent fame.

DREAM OF THE SEA.

I DREAMT that I went down into the sea
Unpain'd amid the waters-and a world
Of splended wrecks, formless and numberless,
Broke on my vision. It did seem the skies
Were o'er me pure as fancy—yet waves
Did rattle round my head, and fill mine ears
Like the measureless roar of the far fight
When battle has set up her trumpet shout!
I seem'd to breathe the air; and yet the sea
Kept dallying with my life as I sunk down.
'Twas in the fitful fashion of a dream-
Water and air-walking, and yet no earth.
The deep seem'd bare and dry-and yet I went
With a rude dashing round my reeking face,
Until my outstretched and trembling feet
Stood still upon a bed of glittering pearls!
The hot sun was right over me, at noon-
Sudden it wither'd up the ocean-till
I seem'd amidst a waste of shapeless clay.
A thousand bones were whitening in his rays,
Mass upon mass,-confused and without end.
I walk'd on the parch'd wilderness, and saw
The hopeless beauty of a lifeless world!

Wealth that once made some poor vain heart grow light
And leap with it into the flood, was there
Clutch'd in the last mad agony. And gold,
That makes of life a happiness and curse-
That vaunts on earth its brilliancy, lay here—
An outcast tyrant in his loneliness-

Beggar'd by jewels that ne'er shone through blood
Upon the brow of kings! Here there were all
The bright beginnings and the costly ends,
Which envied man enjoys and expiates,
Splendor, and death-silence, and human hopes-
Gems, and smooth bones-life's pageantry! the cross
That thought to save some wretch in his late need
Hugg'd in its last idolatry-all, all

Lay here in deathly brotherhood-no breath-
No sympathy-no sound-no motion-and no hope!
I stood and listen'd,-

The eternal flood rush'd to its desolate grave!
And I could hear above me all the waves
Go bellowing to their bounds! Still I strode on,