How fair a world lies here beneath the stream!
Of many hopes its ruins are the grave;
But in the mirror of my happy dream,

Light, as of starry skies, adorns the wave.

Fain am I, then, to dive beneath the glow,
Sink where the waters ever sparkling roll;
For angel voices, chanting sweetly low,
Call me within that City of the Soul.

From the German of UHLAND.

'MUSIC I' THE AIR.'

O LISTEN to the howling sea,

That beats on the remorseless shore;

O listen, for that sound shall be

When our wild hearts shall beat no more.

O listen well and listen long!

For sitting folded close to me,
You could not hear a sweeter song
Than that hoarse murmur of the sea.

GEORGE W. CURTIS.

ELEGIAC.

THE winter eve, how soft, how mild!

How calm the earth! how calm the sea!

The earth is like a weary child,
And ocean sings its lullaby.

A little ripple in my ear!
A little motion at my feet!
They only make the quiet here,

Which they disturb not, more complete.

I wander on the sands apart,

I watch the sun, world-wearied, sink Into his grave; with tranquil heart Upon the loved and lost I think.

R. C. TRENCH.

HYMN.

O UNSEEN Spirit! now a calm divine

Comes forth from Thee, rejoicing earth and air! Trees, hills, and houses, all distinctly shine, And thy great ocean slumbers every where.

The chime of bells remote, the murmuring sea, The song of birds in whispering copse and wood, The distant voice of children's thoughtless glee,

And maiden's song, are all one voice of good.

Amid the leaves' green mass a sunny play

;

Of flash and shadow, stirs like inward life The ship's white sail glides onward far away, Unhaunted by a dream of storm or strife.

O Thou! the primal fount of life and peace,
Who shed'st thy breathing quiet all around,
In me command that pain and conflict cease,
And turn to music every jarring sound.

How longs each pulse within the weary soul
To taste the life of this benignant hour,
To be at one with thine untroubled Whole,
And in itself to know thy hushing power.

Prepare, O Truth Supreme! through shame and pain A heart attuned to thy celestial calm;

Let not reflection's pangs be roused in vain,
But heal the wounded breast with soothing balm.

So, firm in steadfast hope, in thought secure,
In full accord to all thy world of joy,
May I be nerved to labors high and pure,
And Thou thy child to do thy work employ.

In One, who walk'd on earth a man of wo,
Was holier peace than e'en this hour inspires;
From Him to me let inward quiet flow,

And give the might my failing will requires.

So this great All around, so He, and Thou,

The central source and awful bound of things, May fill my heart with rest as deep as now

To land, and sea, and air, thy presence brings.

STERLING.

THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD.

WE sat within the farm-house old,

Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold, An easy entrance, night and day.

Not far away we saw the port,

The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,

The light-house, the dismantled fort,

The wooden houses, quaint and brown.

We sat and talked until the night,

Descending, filled the little room; Our faces faded from the sight,

Our voices only broke the gloom.

We spake of many a vanished scene,

Of what we once had thought and said, Of what had been, and might have been, And who was changed, and who was dead;