For their broad, damp fins were under the tide, And they lashed, as they passed, the vessel's side; And their filmy eyes, all huge and grim,

Glared fiercely up, and they glared at him.

III.

Now freshens the gale, and the brave ship goes
Like an uncurbed steed along;

A sheet of flame is the spray she throws,
As her gallant prow the water ploughs;
But the ship is fleet and strong.

The topsails are reefed, and the sails are furled;
And onward she sweeps o'er the watery world,
And dippeth her spars in the surging flood;
But there cometh no chill to the mariner's blood.

IV.

Wildly she rocks; but he swingeth at ease,
And holds him by the shroud;

And, as she careens to the crowding breeze,
The gaping deep the mariner sees,

And the surging heareth loud.
Was that a face looking up at him

With its pallid cheek, and its cold eyes dim?

Did it beckon him down? Did it call his name? Now rolleth the ship the way whence it came.

V.

The mariner looked, and he saw with dread

A face he knew too well;

And the cold eyes glared, — the eyes of the dead, – And its long hair out on the waves was spread :

Was there a tale to tell?

The stout ship rocked with a reeling speed,
And the mariner groaned, as well he need;
For ever down, as she plunged on her side,
The dead face gleamed from the briny tide.

VI.

Bethink thee, mariner, well of the past;

A voice calls loud for thee;

There's a stiffed prayer, the first, the last;
The plunging ship on her beam is cast:

Oh! where shall thy burial be?

Bethink thee of oaths that were lightly spoken ;
Bethink thee of vows that were lightly broken;
Bethink thee of all that is dear to thee;
For thou art alone on the raging sea.

VII.

Alone in the dark, alone on the wave,
To buffet the storm alone;

To struggle aghast at thy watery grave,

To struggle, and feel there is none to save:
God shield thee, helpless one!

The stout limbs yield, for their strength is past ;
The trembling hands on the deep are cast;

The white brow gleams a moment more,

Then slowly sinks — the struggle's o'er.

VIII.

Down, down, where the storm is hushed to sleep,
Where the sea its dirge shall swell,
Where the amber-drops for thee shall weep,
And the rose-lipped shell its music keep,
There shalt thou slumber well.

The coral and pearl lie heaped at thy side:

They fell from the neck of the beautiful bride,

From the strong man's hand, from the maiden's brow, As they slowly sunk to the wave below.

ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.

THE SEA.

LOVE the sea; I fear the sea;

It has an untold charm for me;

And when I stand upon the shore,
And look out on its dreamy blue,
It says to me, "I was before
The hills arose, God spake to you."

I love the sea; I fear the sea;
Its terrors rise, and silence me;

For in its voice of thunder-tones
That shake the earth, and fill the sky,
I hear the myriad martyr-groans
Of those who dared it but to die.

Yet man will seize it by the mane,
And dare his God and it again :

His spirit mounts eternal snows,
Would put the curb on ocean-waves,
And bind the fiercest wind that blows;
Would bind the elements as slaves.

I stood to-day down by the sea:
These are the words it spake to me

From tongues that whispered from its blue :