Yet more, the billows and the depths have more! High hearts and brave are gathered 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 through midnight's breathless gloom,

And the vain yearning woke midst 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!

FELICIA HEMANS.

TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE.

THE weather leach of the topsail shivers, The bowlines strain and the lee shrouds slacken,

The braces are taut and the lithe boom quivers, And the waves with the coming squall-cloud blacken.

Open one point on the weather bow

Is the lighthouse tall on Fire Island head; There's a shade of doubt on the captain's brow, And the pilot watches the heaving lead.

I stand at the wheel and with eager eye
To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze,
Till the muttered order of "FULL AND BY!"
Is suddenly changed to "FULL FOR STAYS!"
The ship bends lower before the breeze,

As her broadside fair to the blast she lays;
And she swifter springs to the rising seas
As the pilot calls "STAND BY FOR STAYS!"
It is silence all, as each in his place,
With the gathered coils in his hardened hands,
By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace,
Waiting the watchword impatient stands.

And the light on Fire Island head draws near,
As, trumpet-winged, the pilot's shout
From his post on the bowsprit's heel I hear,
With the welcome call of "READY! ABOUT!"

No time to spare! it is touch and go,

And the captain growls "DowN HELM ! HARD DOWN!"

As my weight on the whirling spokes I throw, While heaven grows black with the stormcloud's frown.

High o'er the knight-heads flies the spray,
As we meet the shock of the plunging sea;
And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay,

As I answer, "AY, AY, SIR! HARD A LEE!”

With the swerving leap of a startled steed

The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind, The dangerous shoals on the lee recede,

And the headland white we have left behind.

The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse

And belly and tug at the groaning cleats; The spanker slaps and the mainsail flaps,

And thunders the order, "TACKS AND SHEETS!"

'Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the

crew

Hisses the rain of the rushing squall; The sails are aback from clew to clew,

And now is the moment for "MAINSAIL, HAUL!"

And the heavy yards like a baby's toy

By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung; She holds her way, and I look with joy

For the first white spray o'er the bulwarks flung.

Now it freshens, set the braces,

Quick the topsail sheets let go ; Luff, boys, luff! don't make wry faces, Up. your topsails nimbly clew.

Round us roars the tempest louder, Think what fear our minds inthralls! Harder yet, it yet blows harder,

Now again the boatswain calls.

The topsail yard point to the wind, boys,
See all clear to reef each course;
Let the fore sheet go, don't mind, boys,
Though the weather should be worse.
Fore and aft the sprit-sail yard get,

Reef the mizzen, see all clear;
Hands up! each preventive brace set !
Man the fore yard, cheer, lads, cheer!

Now the dreadful thunder 's roaring

Peal on peal contending clash,
On our heads fierce rain falls pouring,
In our eyes blue lightnings flash.

One wide water all around us,
All above us one black sky;
Different deaths at once surround us :
Hark! what means that dreadful cry?

The foremast 's gone, cries every tongue out,
O'er the lee twelve feet 'bove deck;
A leak beneath the chest-tree 's sprung out,
Call all hands to clear the wreck.

Quick the lanyards cut to pieces;

Come, my hearts, be stout and bold; Plumb the well, the leak increases, Four feet water in the hold!

While o'er the ship wild waves are beating,
We our wives and children mourn;
Alas! from hence there's no retreating,
Alas! to them there 's no return!

Still the leak is gaining on us!

Both chain-pumps are choked below: Heaven have mercy here upon us! For only that can save us now,

O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys,

Let the guns o'erboard be thrown; To the pumps call every hand, boys, See! our mizzen-mast is gone.

The leak we've found, it cannot pour fast; We 've lighted her a foot or more ;

Up and rig a jury foremast,

She rights! she rights, boys! we 're off shore.

GEORGE ALEXANDER STEVENS.

THE INCHCAPE ROCK.

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was still as she might be ;
Her sails from heaven received no motion;
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock,
The waves flowed over the Inchcape rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape bell.

The holy abbot of Aberbrothok

Had floated that bell on the Inchcape rock;
On the waves of the storm it floated and swung,
And louder and louder its warning rung.

When the rock was hid by the tempest's swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous rock,
And blessed the priest of Aberbrothok.

The sun in heaven shone so gay,

All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds screamed as they sported round,
And there was pleasure in their sound.

The float of the Inchcape bell was seen,
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph, the rover, walked his deck,
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring, -
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess;
But the rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the bell and float:
Quoth he, "My men, pull out the boat;
And row me to the Inchcape rock,
And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok."

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And cut the warning bell from the float.

Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound;
The bubbles rose, and burst around.

Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the rock

Will not bless the priest of Aberbrothok."

Sir Ralph, the rover, sailed away,
He scoured the seas for many a day;
And now, grown rich with plundered store,
His steers his course to Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky
They could not see the sun on high;
The wind had blown a gale all day;
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the rover takes his stand;
So dark it is they see no land.

Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon."

"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? For yonder, methinks, should be the shore. Now where we are I cannot tell,

But I wish we could hear the Inchcape bell."

They hear no sound; the swell is strong;
Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along;
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,
Alas! it is the Inchcape rock!

Sir Ralph, the rover, tore his hair;
He beat himself in wild despair.
The waves rush in on every side;
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

IN slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay; His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind;

But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers, And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; While memory stood sideways half covered with flowers,

And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.

Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide, And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise; Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch, And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in

the wall;

O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! never again

Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main, Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay.

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, Orredeem form or fame from the merciless surge, But the white foam of waves shall thy windingsheet be,

And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge!

On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid,

Around thy white bones the red coral shall