Sleep on, sleep on; the glittering depths

Of ocean's coral caves

Are thy bright urn-thy requiem

The music of its waves;

The purple gems for ever burn
In fadeless beauty round thy urn,
And, pure and deep as infant love,
The blue sea rolls its wave above.

Sleep on, sleep on; the fearful wrath
Of mingling cloud and deep,
May leave its wild and stormy track
Above thy place of sleep;

But when the wave has sunk to rest,
As now, 'twill murn.ar o'er thy breast,
And the bright victims of the sea

Perchance will make their home with thee.

Sleep on; thy corse is far away,

But love bewails thee yet;

For thee the heart-wrung sigh is breathed,

And lovely eyes are wet!

And she, thy young and beauteous bride,
Her thoughts are hovering by thy side,
As oft she turns to view with tears

The Eden of departed years.

GEORGE D. PRENTICE.

ON HEARING THE ROAR OF THE SEA AT

NIGHT.

VOICE of the mighty deep,

Piercing the drowsy night,
Thou scarest the gentle sleep,

Whose pinions will not light
Where thou intrudest busy thought,
With depths dark as thy secrets fraught.

Thy mystic sounds I hear,
Peal of unwonted things;

Of wonders far and near

The hollow music rings,

Its notes borne wild around the world,
Where'er thy dark blue waves are curled.

Oh no, I cannot sleep,

Thou vast and glorious sea!
While thou dost thus the vigil keep

Of thy great majesty,

I think God's image near me is,

In all its awful mysteries.

Thou art a spirit, Ocean, thou!

Giant of earth and air,

Spanning the universe; and now,
While making music here,

Ten thousand leagues afar thy wave,
Is rolling on an empire's grave!

Thine arm that shakes me here,

Thunders upon the shore

Of North, and South, and central sphere,
Fuego, Labrador;

From flaming Equinox to frigid Pole,
Belting the earth thy waters roll.

Engulphing mountains at a sweep
Beneath their angry sway,
Or raising islands from the deep
In their triumphant way,

Or murmuring sweet round Scian isles,
In cadence soft as beauty's smiles.

'Tis midnight!-earth and air

Are hush'd in lair and restThy energy from thy long birth

Hath never needed rest:

Thou dost not tire-thou feel'st not toil

Thou art not form'd like me, of soil.

Why dost thou thunder so?

What in thy depths profound,

Thus as a strong man with his foe,
Gives out that angry sound?

On earth no foe can ever be,
Prince of creation, worthy thee!

Age thou hast never known-
Thou shalt be young and free,

Z

Till God command thee give thine own,

And all is dumb save thee;

And haply when the sun is blood,
Unchanged shall be thy mighty flood.

THE SHIP AT SEA.

A WHITE sail gleaming on the flood,
And the bright-orb'd sun on high,
Are all that break the solitude

Of the circling sea and sky;—
Nor cloud, nor cape is imaged there;
Nor isle of ocean, nor of air.

Led by the magnet o'er the tides,
That bark her path explores,-

Sure as unerring instinct guides
The bird to unseen shores :

With wings that o'er the waves expand,
She wanders to a viewless land.

Yet not alone;-on ocean's breast,
Though no green islet glows,
No sweet, refreshing spot of rest,

Where fancy may repose;

Nor rock, nor hill, nor tower, nor tree,

Breaks the blank solitude of sea ;

ANON.

No! not alone!-her beauteous shade
Attends her noiseless way;

As some sweet memory, undecay'd,
Clings to the heart for aye,

And haunts it-wheresoe'er we go,
Through every scene of joy and woe.

And not alone;-for day and night
Escort her o'er the deep:

And round her solitary flight
The stars their vigils keep.

Above, below, are circling skies,
And heaven around her pathway lies.

And not alone;-for hopes and fears

Go with her wandering sail;

And bright eyes watch, through gathering tears,
Its distant cloud to hail;

And prayers for her at midnight lone

Ascend, unheard by all, save One.

And not alone; for round her glow
The vital light and air;

And something that in whispers low
Tells to man's spirit there,
Upon her waste and weary road,
A present, all-pervading God!

MALCOLM.