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 As her broadside fair to the blast she lays; And the light on Fire Island head draws near, 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 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, Reef the mizzen, see all clear; Now the dreadful thunder 's roaring Peal on peal contending clash, One wide water all around us, The foremast 's gone, cries every tongue out, 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, 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, Without either sign or sound of their shock, The holy abbot of Aberbrothok Had floated that bell on the Inchcape rock; When the rock was hid by the tempest's swell, The sun in heaven shone so gay, All things were joyful on that day; The float of the Inchcape bell was seen, He felt the cheering power of spring, - His eye was on the bell and float: The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound; Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes to the rock Will not bless the priest of Aberbrothok." Sir Ralph, the rover, sailed away, So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky On the deck the rover takes his stand; Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon, "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; Sir Ralph, the rover, tore his hair; 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 |