2. The mid-day watch was set, beneath the blaze of light, When there came a cry from the tall mast-head, “A sail! a sail, in sight!" And o'er the far hori'zon a snowy speck appeared, And every eye was strained to watch the vessel as she neared. 3. There was no breath of air, yet she bounded on her way, There were none who trod her spacious deck; not a seaman on the mast; 4. No hand to guide her helm: yet on she held her course ; She seemed a thing of another world, the world where dwell the dead. 5. She passed away from sight, the deadly calm was o'er, And the spell-bound ship pursued her course before the breeze once more; And clouds across the sky obscured the noonday sun, And the winds arose at the tempest's call, before the day was done. 6. Midnight-and still the storm raged wrathfully and loud, And deep in the trough of the heaving sea labored that vessel proud : There was darkness all around, save where lightning flashes keen Played on the crests of the broken waves, and lit the depths between. 7. Around her and below, the waste of waters roared, And answered the crash of the falling masts as they cast them overboard. At every billow's shock her quivering timbers strain; And as she rose on a crested wave, that strange ship passed again. 8. And o'er that stormy sea she flew before the gale, Yet she had not struck her lightest spar, nor furled her loftiest sail. Another blinding flash, and nearer yet she seemed, And a pale blue light along her sails and o'er her rigging gleamed. 9. But it showed no seaman's form, no hand her course to guide; And to their signals of distress the winds alone replied. The Phantom Ship passed on, driven o'er her pathless way, But helplessly the sinking wreck amid the breakers lay. 10. The angry tempèst ceased, the winds were hushed to sleep, 11. And many a hardy seaman, who fears nor storm nor fight, night; For it augurs death and danger: it bodes a watery grave, With sea-weeds for his pillow-for his shroud, the wandering wave. A II. 136. THE DROWNED MARINER. MARINER sat in the shrouds one night, Now bright, now dimmed was the moonlight pale, The scud was flying athwart the sky, The gathering winds went whistling by, And the wave, as it towered then fell in spray, For their broad, damp fins were under the tide, 3. Now freshens the gale, and the brave ship goes Like an uncurbed steed along; A sheet of flame is the spray she throws, But the ship is fleet and strong; The topsails are reefed, and the sails are furled, 4. Wildly she rocks, but he swingèth at ease, And, as she careens to the crowding breeze, And the surging heareth loud. Was that a face, looking up at him With its pallid cheek, and its cold eyes dim? And the cold eyes glared, the eyes of the dead, The stout ship rocked with a reeling speed- 6. Bethink thee, mariner, well of the past: There's a stifled prayer, the first, the last; 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, To struggle aghast at thy watery grave, The stout limbs yield, for their strength is past; 8. Down, down, where the storm is hushed to sleep, Where the amber-drops for thee shall weep, The gem and the pearl lie heaped at thy side; 9. A peopled home is the ocean-bed; The mother and child are there : As the water movèth they slightly sway, MRS. SMITH. ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH, the accomplished writer, whose maiden name was Prince, was born near Portland, Maine. She early showed remarkable skill in composition. When sixteen years of age she was married to Mr. Seba Smith, author, who in 1839 removed to New York, where they still reside. Her first published book was entitled "Riches without Wings." In 1844 appeared "The Sinless Child, and other Poems," and since, a number of other works, some of which have passed through many editions. "O III. 137. THE DIVER. H, where is the knight or the squire so bold, I cast into the whirlpool a goblet of gold, And o'er it already the dark waters flow: 2 Shall have for his guerdon that gift of his king." 2. He spoke, and the cup from the terrible steep, That rugged and hoary, hung over the verge Of the endless and measureless world of the deep, Swirled into the maelstrom that maddened the surge.. "And where is the diver so stout to go I ask ye again-to the deep below?" 3. And the knights and the squires that gathered around, Stood silent-and fixed on the ocean their eyes; They looked on the dismal and savage profound, Till a youth, with an aspect unfearing but gentle, 1 Cha rýb dis, one of the two rocks, Scylla and Charybdis, described by Homer as lying near together, between Italy and Sicily; both formidable to ships which had to pass between them. One contained an immense fig-tree, under which dwelt Charybdis, who thrice every day swallowed down the waters of the sea, and thrice threw them up again. 'Guerdon, (ger'don), recompense; reward. |