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THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. Open one point on the weather bow

Is the lighthouse tall on Fire Island head ; What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells ? There's a shade of doubt on the captain's brow,

Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main! And the pilot watches the heaving lead.
Paleglistening pearls and rainbow-colored shells,
Bright things which gleam unrecked of and I stand at the wheel and with eager eye
in vain ! -

To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze,
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea !

Till the muttered order of “FULL AND BY!" We ask not such from thee.

İs suddenly changed to “FULL FOR STAYS !" Yet more, the depths have more ! — what wealth The ship bends lower before the breeze, untold,

As her broadside fair to the blast she lays ; Far down, and shining through their stillness And she swifter springs to the rising seas lies!

As the pilot calls “ STAND BY FOR STAYS !” Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,

Won from ten thousand royal argosies ! - It is silence all, as each in his place, Sweepo'erthy spoils, thou wildland w rathful main!

With the gathered coils in his hardened hands, Earth claims not these again.

By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace,

Waiting the watch word impatient stands. Yet more, the depths have more ! — thy waves have rolled

And the light on Fire Island head draws near, Above the cities of a world gone by !

As, trumpet-winged, the pilot's shout Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,

From his post on the bowsprit's heel I hear, Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry. -- With the welcome call of “READY ! ABOUT!” Dash o'er them, Ocean, in thy scornful play! Man yields them to decay.

No time to spare ! it is touch and go,

And the captain growls “ DOWN HELM! HARD Yet more, the billows and the depths have more!

DOWN!” High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! As my weight on the whirling spokes I throw, They hear not now the booming waters roar,

While heaven grows black with the stormThe battle-thunders will not break their rest.

cloud's frown. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave ! Give back the true and brave !

High o'er the knight-heads flies the spray,

As we meet the shock of the plunging sea ; Give back the lost and lovely!— those for whom And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay, The place was kept at board and hearth so long!

As I answer, “AY, AY, SIR ! HARD A LEE!” The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,

With the swerving leap of a startled steed And the vain yearning woke midst festal song! The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind, Hold fast thy buried is les, thy towers o’erthrown,

The dangerous shoals on the lee recedie,
But all is not thine own.

And the headland white we have left behind. To thee the love of woman hath gone down,

The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,

And belly and tug at the groaning cleats ; O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery The spanker slaps and the mainsail Haps, crown ;

And thunders the order, “TACKSANDSHEETS!" Yet must thou hear a voice, -- Restore the dead ! *Earth shall reclaim her precious things from Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the

thee ! -
Restore the dead, thou sea!

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

And now is the moment for “MAINSAIL,
TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE.

HAUL!"
The weather leach of the topsail shivers,
The bowlines strain and the lee shrouds And the heavy yards like a baby's toy
slacken,

By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung ;
The braces are taut and the lithe boom quivers, She holds her way, and I look with joy
And the waves with the coming squall-cloud For the first white spray o'er the bulwarks
blacken.

1 flung:

crew

FELICIA HEMANS.

MKS, CELIA THAXTER.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

“LET GO, AND HAUL!” 't is the last command, A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.

And the head-sails fill to the blast once more; Astern and to leeward lies the land,

A wer sheet and a flowing sea, With its breakers white on the shingly shore. A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail, What matters the reef, or the rain, or the squali?

And bends the gallant mast, I steady the helm for the open sea ;

And bends the gallant mast, my boys, The first-mate clamors, BELAY THERE, ALL !”

While, like the eagle free, And the captain's breath once more comes free.

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
And so off shore let the good ship fly ;

Old England on the lee.
Little care I how the gusts may blow,
In my fo'castle-bunk in a jacket dry,

O for a soft and gentle wind !
Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below.

I heard a fair one cry;
But give to me the snoring breeze

And white waves heaving high,
SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BER And white waves heaving high, my boys,
MUDA.

The good ship tight and free ; WHERE the remote Bermudas ride

The world of waters is our home, In the ocean's bosom unespied,

And merry men are we. From a small boat that rowed along

There's tempest in yon

hornéd moon, The listening winds received this song: " What should we do but sing His praise

And lightning in yon cloud;

And hark the music, mariners ! That led us through the watery maze

The wind is piping loud, Where he the huge sea monsters wracks,

The wind is piping loud, my boys, That lift the deep upon their backs,

The lightning flashing free;
Unto an isle so long unknown,

While the hollow oak our palace is,
And yet far kinder than our own ?
He lands us on a grassy stage,

Our heritage the sea.
Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage ;
He gave us this eternal spring
Which here enamels everything,

SONG OF THE ROVER.
And sends the fowls to us in care
On daily visits through the air.

THE CORSAIR."
He hangs in shades the orange bright
Like golden lamps in a green night,

O'ER the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
And does in the pomegranates close

Our thoughts as boundless and our souls as free, Jewels more rich than Ormus shows :

Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, He makes the figs our mouths to meet,

Survey our empire, and behold our home! And throws the melons at our feet ;

These are our realms, no limits to their sway, But apples, plants of such a price,

Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.

Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
No tree could ever bear them twice.
With cedars chosen by his hand

From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
From Lebanon he stores the land ;

0, who can tell ? not thou, luxurious slave! And makes the hollow seas that roar

Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave; Proclaim the ambergris on shore.

Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease! He cast (of which we rather boast)

Whom slumber soothes not, -- pleasure cannot The gospel's pearl upon our coast ;

please. And in these rocks for us did frame

0, who can tell save he whose heart hath tried, A temple where to sound his name.

And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, O let our voice his praise exalt

The exulting sense, the pulse's maddening play,

That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way, Till it arrive at heaven's vault, Which then perhaps rebounding may

That for itself can woo the approaching fight, Echo beyond the Mexique bay !”.

And turn what some deem danger to delight;

That seeks what cravens shun with more than Thus sung they in the English boat

zeal, A holy and a cheerful note ;

And where the feebler faint can only feel And all the way, to guide their chime,

Feel to the rising bosom's inmost core, With falling oars they kept the time.

Its hope awaken and its spirit soar ?

FROM

ANDREW MARVELL,

THOMAS DIBD:X.

No dread of death — if with us die our foes - Who goes there? Stranger, quickly tell ;
Save that it seems even duller than repose : A friend, - the word. Good night; all's well.
Come when it will — we snatch the life of life
When lost — what recks it — by disease or strife ? Or sailing on the midnight deep,
Let him who crawls enamored of decay, When weary messmates soundly sleep,
Cling to his couch and sicken years away ; The careful watch patrols the deck,
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied To guard the ship from foes or wreck ;
head :

And while his thoughts oft homewards vecr,
Ours — the fresh turf, and not the feverish bel. Some friendly voice salutes his ear,
While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul, What cheer? brother, quickly tell ;
Ours with one pang - one bound escapes con- Above, – below. Good night ; all's well.

trol.
His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
And they who loathed his life may gild his grave :
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.

HEAVING OF THE LEAD.
For us, even banquets fond regrets supply
In the red cup that crowns our memory ;

For England when with favoring gale
And the brief epitaph in danger's day,

Our gallant ship up channel steered, When those who win at length divide the prey,

And, scudding under easy sail, And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er cach brow,

The high blue western land appeared ;

To heave the lead the seaman sprung, How had the brave who fell exulted now!

And to the pilot cheerly sung,

“By the deep- nine !"

BYRON.

MY BRIGANTINE.

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Just in thy mould and beauteous in thy form,
Gentle in roll and buoyant on the surge,
Light as the sea-fowl rocking in the storm,
In breeze and gale thy onward course we urge,

My water-queen!

Lady of mine,
More light and swift than thou none thread the

sea, -
With surer keel or steadier on its path,
We brave each waste of ocean-mystery
And laugh to hear the howling tempest's wrath,

For we are thine.

“My brigantine !
Trust to the mystic power that points thy way,
Trust to the eye that pierces from afar ;
Trust the red meteors that around thee play,
And, fearless, trust the Sea-Green Lady's Star,
Thou bark divine!”

JAMES FENIMORE COOPEK.

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THE WHITE SQUALL.

IN THE MEDITERRANEAN.

DESERTED by the waning moon,
When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon,
On tower, or fort, or tented ground
The sentry walks his lonely round ;
And should a footstep haply stray
Where caution marks the guarded way,

Ox deck, beneath the awning,
I dozing lay and yawning ;
It was the gray of dawning.

Ere yet the sun arose.

And above the funnel's roaring,
And the fitful wind's deploring,
I heard the cabin snoring

With universal nose.
I could hear the passengers snorting, –
I envieil their disporting,
Vainly I was courting

The pleasure of a doze.

So I lay, and wondered why light
Came not, and watched the twilight,
And the glimmer of the skylight,

That shot across the deck ;
And the bimnacle pale and steady,
And the dull glimpse of the deail-eye,
And the sparks in fiery eddy

That whirled from the chimney neck.
In our jovial floating prison
There was sleep from fore to mizzen,
And never a star had risen

The hazy sky to speck.
Strange company we harbored :
We'd a hundred Jews to larboard,
Unwashed, uncombed, unbarbered,

Jews black and brown and gray.

And the ship, and all the ocean,
Woke up in wild commotion.
Then the wind set up a howling,
And the poodle dog a yowling,
And the cockt began a crowing,
And the old cow raised a lowing,
As she heard the tempest blowing ;
And fowls and geese did cackle,
And the cordage and the tackle
Began to shriek and crackle ;
And the spray dashed o'er the funneis,
And down the deck in runnels;
And the rushing water soaks all,
From the seamen in the fo'ksal
To the stokers, whose black faces
Peer out of their bed-places ;
And the captain he was bawling,
And the sailors pulling, hauling,
And the quarter-deck tarpauling
Was shivered in the squalling ;
And the passengers awaken,
Most pitifully shaken;
And the steward jumps up, and hastens
For the necessary basins.

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Then the Greeks they groaned and quivered.
And they knelt and moaned and shivered,
As the plunging waters met them,
And splashed and overset them;
And they called in their emergence
Upon countless saints and virgins ;
And their marrowbones are bended,
And they think the world is ended.
And the Turkish women for'ard
Were frightened and behorrored ;
And, shrieking and bewildering,
The inothers clutched their children ;
The men sang

“ Allah ! Illah !
Mashallah Bismillah !"
As the warring waters doused them,
And splashed them and soused them ;
And they called upon the Prophet,
Who thought but little of it.

To starboard Turks and Greeks were,
Whiskered and brown their cheeks were,
Enormous wide their breeks were,

Their pipes didl puff away ;
Each on his mat allotted
In silence smoked and squatted,
Whilst round their children trotted

In pretty, pleasant play.
He can't but smile who traces
The smiles on those brown faces,
And the pretty, prattling graces

Of those small heathens gay.

And so the hours kept tolling ; And through the ocean rolling Went the brave Iberia bowling,

Before the break of day,

Then all the fleas in Jewry
Jumped up and bit like fury;
And the progeny of Jacob
Did on the main-deck wake up,
(I wot those greasy Rabbins
Would never pay for cabins ;)
And each man moaned and jabbered in
His filthy Jewish gabardine,
In woe and lamentation,
And howling consternation.
And the splashing water drenches
Their dirty brats and wenches ;
And they crawl from bales and benches,
In a hundred thousand stenches.

When a squall, upon a sudden,
Came o'er the waters scudding;
And the clouds began to gather,
And the sea was lashed to lather,
And the lowering thunder grumbled,
And the lightning jumped and tumbled,

But his little daughter whispered,

As she took his icy hand, “Is n't God upon the ocean

Just the same as on the land ?"

Then we kissed the little maiden,

And we spoke in better cheer,
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the morn was shining clear.

JAMES T. FIELDS.

This was the white squall famous,
Which latterly o'ercame us,
And which all will well remember,
On the 28th September;
When a Prussian captain of Lancers
(Those tight-laced, whiskered prancers)
(aine on the deck astonished,
By that wild squall admonished,
And wondering cried, “ Potz tausend,
Wie ist der Stürm jetzt brausend ?"
And looked at Captain Lewis,
Who calmly stood and blew his
Cigar in all the bustle,
And scorned the tempest's tussle.
And oft we've thought hereafter
How he beat the storm to laughter;
For well he knew his vessel
With that vain wind could wrestle ;
And when a wreck we thought her,
Aud doomed ourselves to slaughter,
How yayly he fought her,
And through the hubbub brought her,
And as the tempest caught her,
Cried, “George, some brandy and water !

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And when, its force expended, The harmless storm was ended, And as the sunrise splendid

Came blushing o'er the sea, I thought, as day was breaking, My little girls were waking, And smiling, and making

A prayer at home for me.

But, 0, what rapture fills each breast
Of the hopeless crew of the ship distressed !
Then, landed safe, what joy to tell
Of all the dangers that befell !
Then is heard no more,
By the watch on shore,

The minute-gun at sea.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

R. S. SHARPE.

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