On, on she goes, where the icebergs roll
Like floating cities by;
Where meteors flash by the northern pole,
And the merry dancers fly;
Where the glittering light is backward flung
From icy tower and dome,
And the frozen shrouds are gaily hung
With gems from the ocean-foam.
On the Indian Sea was her shadow cast,
As it lay like molten gold,
And her pendant shroud and towering mast
Seem'd twice on the waters told.
The idle canvass slowly swung
As the spicy breeze went by,
And strange rare music around her rung
From the palm-tree growing nigh.
O gallant ship, thou didst bear with thee
The gay and the breaking heart;
And weeping eyes look'd out to see
Thy white-spread sails depart.
And when the rattling casement told
Of many a perill'd ship,
The anxious wife her babes would fold,
And pray with trembling lip.
The petrel wheel'd in its stormy flight,
The wind piped shrill and high;
On the top-mast sat a pale blue light
That flicker'd not to the eye.
The black cloud came like a banner down,
And down came the shrieking blast;
The quivering ship on her beams is thrown,
And gone are helm and mast.
Helmless, but on before the gale,
She plows the deep trough'd wave; A gurgling sound!—a frenzied wail !— And the ship hath found a grave! And thus is the fate of the acorn told, That fell from the old oak-tree,
Which the woodland fays in the frosty mould Preserved for its destiny.
ANGRY words are lightly spoken
In a rash and thoughtless hour,-
Brightest links of life are broken
By their deep, insidious power;
Hearts inspired by warmest feeling,
Ne'er before by anger stirr'd,
Oft are rent past human healing
By a single angry word.
Poison-drops of care and sorrow,
Bitter poison drops are they,
Working for the coming morrow
Saddest memories of to-day.
Angry words! oh, let them never
From the tongue unbridled slip;
May the heart's best impulse ever
Check them ere they soil the lip.
Love is much too pure and holy,
Friendship is too sacred far,
For a moment's reckless folly,
Thus to desolate and mar.
Angry words are lightly spoken,—
Bitterest thoughts are rashly stirr'd,
Brightest links of life are broken,
By a single angry word.
It was a harper, wandering with his harp,
His only treasure: a majestic man,
By time and grief ennobled, not subdued ;
Though from his height descending day by
And as his upward look at once betray'd,
Blind as old Homer. At a fount he sate,
Well known to many a weary traveller;
His little guide, a boy not seven years old,
But grave, considerate beyond his years,
Sitting beside him. Each had ate his crust
In silence, drinking of the virgin-spring;
And now in silence, as their custom was,
The sun's decline awaited.
Was worn with travel. Heavy sleep weigh'd
His eye-lids; and the grandsire, when we
Embolden'd by his love and by his fear
His fear lest night o'ertake them on the road,
Humbly besought me to convey them both
A little onward. Such small services
Who can refuse? Not I;-and him who can, Bless'd though he be with every earthly gift, I cannot envy. He, if wealth be his,
YON countless stars! oh, what be they?—
Celestial flocks on heavenly fields,
Which Night leads forth, at sun's decline,
And, like a shepherd, tends and shields?
Or be they lilies silver-bright,
Opening, fair-chaliced, in the sky,
Whose odorous vapours balm exhale
To seal in sleep the weary eye?
Or be they glimmering taper-lights
Upon the world's high altar found,
While o'er the firmamental dome
The solemn darkness gathers round?
What be they?—characters of gold
Which when on heaven's blue page we trace,
We read, where hands divine have writ,
A thousand songs of love and grace!
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