THE SHIP AT ANCHOR. Is she not beautiful? reposing there On her own shadow, with her white wings furled, Moveless, as in the sleepy sunny air, Rests the meek swan in her own quiet world. Is she not beautiful? her graceful bow Triumphant rising o'er the enamoured tides; That, glittering in the noonday sunbeam, now Just leap and die along her polished sides. A thousand eyes are on her; for she floats Confessed a queen upon the subject main; And hark, as from her decks delicious notes Breathe, softly breathe, a soul-entrancing strain. Music upon the waters! pouring soft From shore to shore along the charmed wave; The seaman's dreariest toils beguiling oft, And kindling high the ardour of the brave. Yet, wafted by the morning's favouring breeze, There haply tempest-borne, far other sounds Than those shall tremble thro' her quivering form; And as from surge to mightier surge she bounds, Shall swell, toned infinite, the midnight storm! In vain! she spurns the ignoble calm, and loves Then go, deceitful beauty! bathe thy breast CARRINGTON. THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. WHAT hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells, We ask not such from thee! Yet more, the depths have more! what wealth untold Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful Main; Earth claims not these again! Yet more, the depths have more! thy waves have roll'd Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry! Yet more, the billows and the depths have more! The battle-thunders will not break their rest. Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom To thee the love of woman hath gone down, Dark flow thy tides o'er Manhood's noble head— O'er Youth's bright locks and Beauty's flowery crown ; Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the Dead! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee, Restore the dead, thou Sea! MRS HEMANS. |