THE STORMY PETREL.

A THOUSAND miles from land are we,
Tossing about on the roaring sea;
From billow to bounding billow cast,
Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast:
The sails are scattered about like weeds;
The strong masts shake like quiv'ring reeds;
The mighty cables and iron chains,

And the hull which all earthly strength disdains-
They strain and they crack; and, hearts of stone,
Their natural hard, proud strength disown.
Up and down, up and down!—

From the base of the wave to the billow's crown,
Amidst the flashing and feathery foam,

The stormy petrel finds a home;

A home-if such a place can be

For her who lives on the wide, wide sea,

On the craggy ice, in the frozen air,

And only seeking her rocky lair

To breed her young, and teach them to spring

At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing!

O'er the deep, o'er the deep !—

Where the whale and the shark and the swordfish sleep! Outflying the blast and the driving rain,

The petrel telleth her tale in vain;

For the mariner curseth the warning bird,
That bringeth him news of the storm unheard.

B. W. PROCTER.

"HAST THOU HEARD OF A SHELL?"

HAST thou heard of a shell on the margin of ocean?Whose pearly recesses the echoes still keep,

Of the music it caught, when, with tremulous motion, It joined in the concert pour'd forth by the deep.

Have fables not told us, when far inland carried

To the waste sandy desert and dark ivied-cave, In its musical chambers some murmurs have tarried, Which it learn'd long before of the wind and the wave? BERNARD BARTON.1

"THE WHITE SEA-GULL."

THE white sea-gull, the wild sea-gull !—

A joyful bird is he,

As he lies like a cradled thing at rest
In the arms of a sunny sea!
The little waves rock to and fro,
And the white gull lies asleep;

As the fisher's boat, with breeze and tide,
Goes merrily over the deep.

The ship, with her fair sails set, goes by;
And her people stand to note

How the sea-gull sits on the rocking waves,
As still as an anchored boat.

The sea is fresh, and the sea is fair,

And the sky calm overhead;

And the sea-gull lies on the deep, deep sea,
Like a king in his royal bed!

MARY HOWITT.2

"BUT I HAVE SINUOUS SHELLS."

BUT I have sinuous shells of pearly hue
Within, and they that lustre have imbibed
In the sun's palace-porch, where, when unyoked,
His chariot wheels stand midway in the wave.
Shake one and it awakens; then apply
Its polished tips to your attentive ear,
And it remembers its august abodes,

And murmurs, as the ocean murmurs there.
LANDOR.

1 "The Quaker Poet," born at Carlisle, Jan. 31, 1784, and died at Woodbridge, Suffolk, February 9, 1849. Nearly the whole of his working life was spent in Alexander's Bank, Woodbridge. Fitzgerald was a neighbour of his, and married his daughter Lucy. The main characteristics of his verse are fine feeling, beautiful fancy, and that didactic morality from which no minor poetry of his time was free.

2 A contemporary of Bernard Barton, and, like him, a member of the Society of Friends-as was her husband, until he and she left it. They were known as William and Mary Howitt, and did some commendable literary work together.

"I HAVE SEEN A CURIOUS CHILD."

I HAVE seen

A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract
Of inland ground, applying to his ear
The convolution of a smooth-lipped shell;
To which, in silence hushed, his very soul
Listened intensely: And his countenance soon
Brightened with joy; for from within were heard
Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed
Mysterious union with its native sea.

WORDSWORTH.

THE SEA-DIVER.

My way is on the bright blue sea,
My sleep upon the rocking tide;
And many an eye has followed me
Where billows clasp the worn seaside.
My plumage bears the crimson-blush,
When ocean by the sun is kissed;
When fades the evening's purple flush,
My dark wing cleaves the silver-mist.
Full many a fathom down beneath

The bright arch of the splendid deep
My ear has heard the sea-shells breathe
O'er living myriads in their sleep.

They rested by the coral throne,
And by the pearly diadem,

Where the pale sea-grape had o'ergrown
The glorious dwelling made for them.

At night, upon my storm-drenched wing,
I poised above a helmless bark;
And soon I saw the shattered thing
Had passed away and left no mark.

And when the wind and storm had done,
A ship, that had rode out the gale,
Sunk down without a signal-gun,
And none was left to tell the tale.

I saw the pomp of day depart,

The cloud resign its golden crown,
When to the ocean's beating heart

The sailor's wasted corse went down.
Peace be to those whose graves are made
Beneath the bright and silver sea;
Peace that their relics there were laid
With no vain pride and pageantry.

TO A SEA-BIRD.

LONGFELLOW.

SAUNTERING hither on listless wings,
Careless vagabond of the sea,
Little thou heedest the surf that sings,
The bar that thunders, the shale that rings,-
Give me to keep thy company.

Little thou hast, old friend, that's new;
Storms and wrecks are old things to thee;
Sick am I of these changes too;
Little to care for, little to rue,—

I on the shore, and thou on the sea.
All of thy wanderings, far and near,
Bring thee at last to shore and me;
All of my journeyings end them here,
This our tether must be our cheer,-

I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

Lazily rocking on Ocean's breast,

Something in common, old friend, have we; Thou on the shingle seek'st thy nest,

I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

BRET HARte.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

THIS is a ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
Sails the unshadowed main-

The venturous bark that flings

On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings

In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings,

And coral reefs lie bare,-

Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.