THE HOME-BOUND SHIP. THE ship was homeward bound-the thrilling cry But gallantly before the favouring gales She moves in all her pride, a pageant fair; And every shape of gladness revels there, But, hark! e'en now with awful change of cheer, Of crashing contact with dread rocks below, And the wild shriek of agonizing fear; "The ship is sinking," in deep tones of woe, Bursts from the lips of all, with piercing cries For succour, as the roaring waters rise. And hues of death were seen on every face; The trembling forms of those they could not save. Then, for the lowered boats, the frantic race And desperate struggle, while the ocean wave There was the sob, the sigh, the whispered prayer, Who breathed no plaint, but gazed upon the shore With the fixed glances of intense despair, And thought of those they should behold no more, With whom was fondly linked each tender tie That knits life's cords, and makes it hard to die. That pause of bitter agony is past, And the still agitated waters glide O'er the last vestige of the buried mast; But striving stoutly with the eddying tide, The greedy billows, and the roaring blast, In furious and tempestuous wrath allied, And rising o'er their mingled might is seen A gallant stripling with undaunted mien. A A His widowed mother's hope-the aid and joy Of orphan sisters-on the treacherous main, With firm resolve no hardships could destroy, For them Life's needful comforts to obtain, Had early ventured this heroic boy, Deeming all sufferings light and terrors vain, And must that glowing heart be 'whelmed beneath E'en now with fainting limbs and labouring breath He strives, while thoughts of those who soon may weep In cureless anguish for his fate, comes o'er His soul, and nerves his failing arm once more. His reeling eye grows dim, while from the strand The life-boat, launched by her determined band OF ALL THE BRAVE VESSELS THAT Of all the brave vessels that ride the blue sea, Away, away, Through foam and spray, She leaves the bay. The good ship is drifting before the gale; The main-mast is shivered, and rent each sail Hark to the cry! The glad cry that bursts, 'midst their wild despair, From the pale crew, who mark by the lightning's glare, She is nigh, She is nigh, She is nigh The brave life-boat is nigh. A DEATH-BED SCENE. "Twas the soft season of departing day, And the light breezes, with their fragrant breath, Gave double sweetness to the eve of May, And waved in wanton sport the woodbine wreath That shaded a low casement, where the ray Of western glory entering, stole beneath The bloossmed branches, and upon the bed Of death a bright and trembling radiance shed; And gave a touching and unearthly grace To features that retained much loveliness, Although imprinted with the withering trace Of that deep grief no language could express; Whose withering touch had early from her face Stol'n the sweet smiles; yet you might aptly guess What they had been by the angelic air That, e'en in Life's last struggles, lingered there. And there was beauty on that faded brow, Which, though her mortal sufferings might impair, They could not banish; and its tintless snow O'er the pale cheek, so exquisitely fair, |