242 MORN AT SEA. Most like an angel-friend, With noiseless footsteps, which no impress leave, How joyfully will hail, With re-enliven'd hearts, her presence fair, Vain all affection's arts To cheer the sick man through the night have been: How many, far from home, Wearied, like me, beneath unfriendly skies, Lone voyager on time's sea! When my dull night of being shall be past, Welcome as this to me! TO A SEA-SHELL. BY AMELIA B. WELBY. SHELL of the bright sea-waves! What is it that we hear in thy sad moan? Is this unceasing music all thine own, Lute of the ocean-caves! Or, does some spirit dwell In the deep windings of thy chamber dim, Wert thou a murmurer long In crystal palaces beneath the seas, Ere, on the bright air, thou hadst heard the breeze Pour its full tide of song? Another thing with thee Are there not gorgeous cities in the deep, And say, O lone sea-shell, Are there not costly things, and sweet perfumes, Scatter'd in waste o'er that sea-gulf of tombs? Hush thy low moan, and tell. But yet, and more than all Has not each foaming wave in fury toss'd 244 TO A SEA SHELL. "Tis vain-thou answerest not! Thou hast no voice to whisper of the dead— Thine is as sad a strain As if the spirit in thy hidden cell Pined to be with the many things that dwell And yet, there is no sound Upon the waters, whisper'd by the waves, The earth, O moaning shell! The earth hath melodies more sweet than these, Are not these tones of earth, The rustling foliage with its shivering leaves, Alas! thou still wilt moan Thou'rt like the heart that wastes itself in sighs, If parted from its own, THE DROWNED MARINER. BY MRS. SEBA SMITH. A MARINER sat on the shrouds one night, Now bright, now dimm'd was the moonlight pale, The scud was flying athwart the sky, The gathering winds went whistling by, And the wave, as it tower'd, then fell in spray, The mariner sway'd and rock'd on the mast, For their broad, damp fins were under the tide, Now freshens the gale, and the brave ship goes A sheet of flame is the spray she throws, 21 * But the ship is fleet and strong; (245) 246 THE DROWNED MARINER. The topsail is reef'd, and the sails are furl'd, Wildly she rocks, but he swingeth at ease, And as she careens to the crowding breeze, And the surging heareth loud. Was that a face, looking up at him, With its pallid cheek, and its cold eyes dim? The mariner look'd, and he saw, with dread, And the cold eyes glared, the eyes of the dead, The stout ship rock'd with a reeling speed, Bethink thee, mariner, well of the past: There's a stifled prayer, the first, the last; Bethink thee of oaths, that were lightly spoken; Bethink thee of all that is dear to thee, |