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She seems to shine with a sunny ray,

And the night looks like a mellow'd day!
The gracious Mistress of the Main

Hath now an undisturbed 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 awake 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 sail'd 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 that 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 roar the while,

As it rises from some lonely isle

Through groans raised wild, the hopeless hymn

Of shipwreck'd mariners?

Oh! thou art harmless as a child

Weary with joy, and reconciled

For sleep to change its play;

And now that night hath stay'd thy race,

Smiles wander o'er thy placid face

As if thy dreams were gay."

J. Wilson.

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TURN to the watery world!-but who to thee
(A wonder yet unview'd) shall paint-the Sea?

Various and vast, sublime in all its forms,
When lull'd by zephyrs, or when roused by storms,
Its colours changing, when from clouds and sun

Shades after shades upon the surface run:

Embrown'd and horrid now, and now serene,

In limpid blue, and evanescent green;

And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie,

Lift the fair sail, and cheat the experienced eye.
Be it the Summer-noon: a sandy space

The ebbing tide has left upon its place;
Then just the hot and stony beach above,

Light twinkling streams in bright confusion move;
(For heated thus, the warmer air ascends,
And with the cooler in its fall contends)-
Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps
An equal motion, swelling as it sleeps,
Then slowly sinking; curling to the strand,
Faint, lazy waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand,
Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow,
And back return in silence, smooth and slow.

Ships in the calm seem anchor'd; for they glide
On the still sea, urged solely by the tide;
Art thou not present, this calm scene before,
Where all beside is pebbly length of shore,
And far as eye can reach, it can discern no more?
Yet sometimes comes a ruffling cloud to make
The quiet surface of the ocean shake;

As an awaken'd giant with a frown

Might show his wrath, and then to sleep sink down.
View now the Winter-storm! above, one cloud,
Black and unbroken, all the skies o'ershroud;
The unwieldy porpoise through the day before
Had roll'd in view of boding men on shore;

And sometimes hid and sometimes show'd his form,
Dark as the cloud, and furious as the storm.

All where the eye delights, yet dreads to roam,
The breaking billows cast the flying foam
Upon the billows rising all the deep

Is restless change; the waves so swelled and steep,
Breaking and sinking, and the sunken swells,
Nor one, one moment, in its station dwells:
But nearer land, you may the billows trace,
As if contending in their watery chase;
May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach,
Then break and hurry to their utmost stretch:
Curl'd as they come, they strike with furious force,
And then reflowing, take their grating course,

Raking the rounded flints, which ages past
Roll'd by their rage, and shall to ages last.

Far off the petrel in the troubled way
Swims with her brood, or flutters in the spray;
She rises often, often drops again,

And sports at ease on the tempestuous main.

High o'er the restless deep, above the reach

Of gunner's hope, vast flights of wild-ducks stretch; Far as the eye can glance on either side,

In a broad space and level line they glide;

N

All in their wedge-like figures from the north,
Day after day, flight after flight, go forth.

Inshore their passage tribes of sea-gulls urge;
And drop for prey within the sweeping surge;
Oft in the rough opposing blast they fly

Far back, then turn, and all their force apply,
While to the storm they give their weak complaining cry;
Or clap the sleek white pinion to the breast

And in the restless ocean dip for rest.

A SEA-SIDE SONG.

THE day is down into his bower:
In languid lights his feet he steeps:
The flush'd sky darkens, low and lower,
And closes on the glowing deeps.

In creeping curves of yellow foam
Up shallow sands the waters slide:
And warmly blow what whispers roam
From isle to isle the lulled tide:

The boats are drawn: the nets drip bright:
Dark casements gleam: old songs are sung:

And out upon the verge of night

Green lights from lonely rocks are hung.

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