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,
Far from the slumbering flood and leaf-hung bay,
That matchless bark upon the faithless seas
Shall wind her wild and solitary way.

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
To front the tempest in his gathering hour;
Waked as to life, the fleet-winged wonder roves
Where loudest lifts the wind a voice of power!

Then go, deceitful beauty! bathe thy breast
Forever where the mountain billows foam,
Even as thou wilt.—The hour of peace and rest
Is not for thee.-The ocean is thy home!

CARRINGTON.

THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.

WHAT hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells,
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious Main?
Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-colour'd shells,
Bright things which gleam unreck'd of, and in vain;
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy Sea,

We ask not such from thee!

Yet more, the depths have more! what wealth untold
Far down, and shining thro' their stillness lies!
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal Argosies.

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!
Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful play!
Man yields them to decay!

Yet more, the billows and the depths have more!
High hearts and brave are gather'd to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar,

The battle-thunders will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave—
Give back the true and brave !

Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long!
The prayer went up thro' midnight's breathless gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'mid festal song!
Hold fast thy buried Isles, thy towers o'erthrown,
But all is not thine own!

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.