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There are foes that watch for his cradle breath,
And why need ye sow the floods with death?

With mouldering bones the deeps are white,
From the ice-clad pole to the tropics bright;
The mermaid hath twisted her fingers cold
With the mesh of the sea-boy's curls of gold,
And the gods of the ocean have frowned to see
The mariner's bed in their halls of glee;
Hath earth no graves, that ye thus must spread
The boundless sea for the thronging dead?

From graves innumerable, punctures fine
In the close coral, capillary swarms
Of reptiles, horrent as Medusa's snakes,
Covered the bald-pate reef;

Erelong the reef o'ertopt the spring-flood's height,
And mocked the billows when they leapt upon it,
Unable to maintain their slippery hold,

And falling down in foam-wreaths round its
verge.

Steep were the flanks, with precipices sharp,
Descending to their base in ocean gloom.

Ye build-ye build but ye enter not in,
Like the tribes whom the desert devoured in Chasms few and narrow and irregular

their sin;

From the land of promise ye fade and die

Ere its verdure gleams forth on your weary eye:
As the kings of the cloud-crowned pyramid,
Their noiseless bones in oblivion hid,
Ye slumber unmarked mid the desolate main,
While the wonder and pride of your works re-
main.

LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY.

Formed harbors, safe at once and perilous,
Safe for defence, but perilous to enter.
A sea-lake shone amidst the fossil isle,

Reflecting in a ring its cliffs and caverns,

With heaven itself seen like a lake below.
JAMES MONTGOMERY

THE CORAL REEF.

FROM "THE PELICAN ISLAND."

EVERY one,
By instinct taught, performed its little task,
To build its dwelling and its sepulchre,
From its own essence exquisitely modelled ;
There breed, and die, and leave a progeny,
Still multiplied beyond the reach of numbers,
To frame new cells and tombs; then breed and die
As all their ancestors had done, and rest,
Hermetically sealed, each in its shrine,
A statue in this temple of oblivion !
Millions of millions thus, from age to age,
With simplest skill and toil unweariable,
No moment and no movement unimproved,
Laid line on line, on terrace terrace spread,
To swell the heightening, brightening, gradual
mound,

By marvellous structure climbing towards the day.
A point at first

It peered above those waves; a point so small
I just perceived it, fixed where all was floating;
And when a bubble crossed it, the blue film
Expanded like a sky above the speck;

THE CORAL GROVE.
DEEP in the wave is a coral grove,
Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove;
Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue
That never are wet with falling dew,
But in bright and changeful beauty sinue
Far down in the green and glassy brine.
The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift,
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow;
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift
Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow:
The water is calm and still below,

For the winds and waves are absent there,
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow
In the motionless fields of upper air.
There, with its waving blade of green,
The sea-flag streams through the silent water,
And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen
To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter.
There, with a light and easy motion,
The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea,
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean
Are bending like corn on the upland lea :
And life, in rare and beautiful forms,
Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe when the wrathful Spirit of storms
Has made the top of the wave his own.
And when the ship from his fury flies,

That speck became a hand-breadth; day and Where the myriad voices of Ocean roar;

night

It spread, accumulated, and erelong
Presented to my view a dazzling plain,
White as the moon amid the sapphire sea;
Bare at low water, and as still as death,

But when the tide came gurgling o'er the surface

"T was like a resurrection of the dead:

When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies,
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore;
Then, far below, in the peaceful sea,
The purple mullet and gold-fish rove,
Where the waters murmur tranquilly,
Through the bending twigs of the coral giove.

JAMES GATES PERCIVAL.

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Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,

Before thee lies revealed,

I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea!
I am where I would ever be ;

With the blue above, and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go ;

If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

I love, O, how I love to ride
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon,
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the sou'west blasts do blow.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great sea more and more,
And backwards flew to her billowy breast,

Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed! Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;

Year after year beheld the silent toil

That spread his lustrous coil;

Still, as the spiral grew,

He left the past year's dwelling for the new,

Stole with soft step its shining archway through,

Built up its idle door,

And a mother she was, and is, to me;
For I was born on the open sea!

The waves were white, and red the morn,

In the noisy hour when I was born;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;

Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the And never was heard such an outery wild
As welcomed to life the ocean-child!

old no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by I've lived since then, in calm and strife,

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Full fifty summers, a sailor's life,
With wealth to spend and a power to range,
But never have sought nor sighed for change;
And Death, whenever he comes to me,
Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea!

BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (Barry Cornwall).

SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA
WHERE the remote Bermudas ride
In the ocean's bosom unespied,
From a small boat that rowed along
The listening winds received this song:
"What should we do but sing His praise
That led us through the watery maze
Where he the huge sea monsters wracks,
That lift the deep upon their backs,
Unto an isle so long unknown,

And yet far kinder than our own?

He lands us on a grassy stage,

Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage;

He gave us this eternal spring

Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us in care

On daily visits through the air.
He hangs in shades the orange bright
Like golden lamps in a green night.

And does in the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows :
He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet;
But apples, plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice.
With cedars chosen by his hand
From Lebanon he stores the land;
And makes the hollow seas that roar
Proclaim the ambergris on shore.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The gospel's pearl upon our coast;
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound his name.
O, let our voice his praise exalt
Till it arrive at heaven's vault,
Which then perhaps rebounding may
Echo beyond the Mexique bay!"-
Thus sung they in the English boat
A holy and a cheerful note;

And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.

ANDREW MARVELL

SONG OF THE ROVER.

FROM "THE CORSAIR," CANTO I.

O'ER the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway,
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
O, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave;
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease!
Whom slumber soothes not, pleasure cannot

please.

O, who can tell save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exulting sense, the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way
That for itself can woo the approaching fight,
And turn what some deem danger to delight;
That seeks what cravens shun with more than
zeal,

And where the feebler faint can only feel -
Feel to the rising bosom's inmost core,

Its hope awaken and its spirit soar?

No dread of death if with us die our foes

A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. Save that it seems even duller than repose :

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Come when it will we snatch the life of life
When lost what recks it by disease or strife?
Let him who crawls enamored of decay,
Cling to his couch and sicken years away;
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied
head:

Ours the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed.
While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul,
Ours with one pang-

trol.

one bound escapes con

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My water-queen!

Lady of mine,

And should a footstep haply stray Where caution marks the guarded way,

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More light and swift than thou none thread the "Who goes there? Stranger, quickly tell!" A friend!" "The word?" 'Good-night;" all's well.

sea

With surer keel or steadier on its path, We brave each waste of ocean-mystery

And laugh to hear the howling tempest's wrath, Or, sailing on the midnight deep,

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