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Yet I sigh for the loud-breaking billows that tost me, I long to the cool coral caverns to flee;
And when guests with officious intrusion accost me,
Since I left the blue deep, I am ever regretting,
I have known them, the ties they once cherished forgetting,
Oft trust to new friendships and cling to new love. Oh! is it so hard to maintain true devotion?
Let mortals who doubt seek a lesson from me : I am bound by mysterious ties to the ocean,
And no language is mine but the sound of the sea.
ON A BOOK OF SEA-MOSSES.
THESE many-colored, variegated forms,
These fairy textures, lightly moored at morn.
J. T. FIELDS.
COME unto these yellow sands,
Court'sied when you have and kiss'd,
Foot it featly here and there;
And sweet sprites, the burden bear.
The watch-dogs bark.
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Full fathom five thy father lies,
[Burden, ding-dong. Hark, now I hear them;-ding, dong, bell! SHAKSPEARE.
A WEARY weed, tossed to and fro,
Lashed along without will of mine Sport of the spoom of the surging sea, Flung on the foam, afar and anear; Mark my manifold mystery,
Growth and grace in their place appear.
I bear round berries, grey and red,
My spangled leaves, when nicely spread,
Corals curious coat me o'er
Hearts there are on the sounding shore,
Like this weary weed of the sea;
The eternal Type of the wondrous whole,
Grace informing with silent soul.
C. G. FENNer.
I SAW FROM THE BEACH.
I SAW from the beach, when the morning was shining, A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on;
I came, when the sun o'er that beach was declining, The bark was still there, but the waters were gone!
Ah! such is the fate of our life's early promise;
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known: Each wave, that we danced o'er at morning, ebbs from
And leaves us at eve, on the bleak shore alone!
Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorning
The close of our day, the calm eve of our night, Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of
Her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best light.
Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning, When passion first waked a new life thro' his frame, And his soul,-like the wood that grows precious in burning,
Gave out all its sweets to Love's exquisite flame!
SWEET and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea!
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Blow him again to me;
While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps.