A MARINER sat on the shrouds one night,
The wind was piping free;
Now bright, now dimm'd was the moonlight pale,
And the phosphor gleam'd in the wake of the whale,
As it flounder'd in the sea;
The scud was flying athwart the sky,
The gathering winds went whistling by,
And the wave, as it tower'd, then fell in spray,
Look'd an emerald wall in the moonlight ray.
The mariner sway'd and rock'd on the mast,
But the tumult pleased him well;
Down the yawning wave his eye he cast,
And the monsters watch'd as they hurried past,
Or lightly rose and fell,-
For their broad, damp fins were under the tide,
And they lash'd as they pass'd the vessel's side,
And their filmy eyes, all huge and grim,
Glared fiercely up, and they glared at him.
Now freshens the gale, and the brave ship goes
Like an uncurb'd steed along;
A sheet of flame is the spray she throws,
As her gallant bow the water ploughs,
But the ship is fleet and strong;
The topsail is reef'd, and the sails are furl'd,
And onward she sweeps o'er the watery world,
And dippeth her spars in the surging flood;
But there cometh no chill to the mariner's blood.
Wildly she rocks, but he swingeth at ease,
And holdeth by the shroud;
And as she careens to the crowding breeze,
The gaping deep the mariner sees,
And the surging heareth loud.
Was that a face, looking up at him,
With its pallid cheek, and its cold eyes dim?
Did it beckon him down? Did it call his name?
Now rolleth the ship the way whence it came.
The mariner look'd, and he saw, with dread,
A face he knew too well;
And the cold eyes glared, the eyes of the dead,
And its long hair out on the wave was spread,—
Was there a tale to tell?
The stout ship rock'd with a reeling speed,
And the mariner groan'd, as well he need-
For ever down, as she plunged on her side,
The dead face gleam'd from the briny tide.
Bethink thee, mariner, well of the past:
A voice calls loud for thee:
There's a stifled prayer, the first, the last;
The plunging ship on her beams is cast,—
O, where shall thy burial be?
Bethink thee of oaths, that were lightly spoken;
Bethink thee of vows, that were lightly broken;
Bethink thee of all that is dear to thee,
For thou art alone on the raging sea;
Alone in the dark, alone on the wave,
To buffet the storm alone;
To struggle aghast at thy watery grave,
To struggle, and feel there is none to save!
GOD shield thee, helpless one!
The stout limbs yield, for their strength is past;
The trembling hands on the deep` are cast;
The white brow gleams a moment more,
Then slowly sinks, the struggle is o'er.
Down, down where the storm is hush'd to sleep,
Where the sea its dirge shall swell;
Where the amber-drops for thee shall weep,
And the rose-lipp'd shell its music keep;
There thou shalt slumber well.
The gem and the pearl lie heap'd at thy side;
They fell from the neck of the beautiful bride,
From the strong man's hand, from the maiden's brow,
As they slowly sunk to the wave below.
A peopled home is the ocean-bed;
The mother and child are there:
The fervent youth and the hoary head,
The maid, with her floating locks outspread,
The babe with its silken hair:
As the water moveth, they lightly sway,
And the tranquil lights on their features play:
And there is each cherish'd and beautiful form,
Away from decay, and away from the storm.
KNOW'ST thou the land which lovers ought to choose?
Like blessings there descend the sparkling dews;
In gleaming streams the crystal rivers run,
The purple vintage clusters in the sun;
Odours of flowers haunt the balmy breeze,
Rich fruits hang high upon the verdant trees;
And vivid blossoms gem the shady groves,
Where bright-plumed birds discourse their careless loves.
Beloved!-speed we from this sullen strand,
Until thy light feet press that green shore's yellow sand.
Look seaward thence, and nought shall meet thine eye
But fairy isles, like paintings on the sky;
And, flying fast and free before the gale,
The gaudy vessel with its glancing sail;
And waters glittering in the glare of noon,
Or touch'd with silver by the stars and moon,
Or fleck'd with broken lines of crimson light,
When the far fisher's fire affronts the night.
Lovely as loved! toward that smiling shore
Bear we our household gods, to fix for ever more.
It looks a dimple on the face of earth,
The seal of beauty, and the shrine of mìrth;
Nature is delicate and graceful there,
The place's genius, feminine and fair;
The winds are awed, nor dare to breathe aloud;
The air seems never to have borne a cloud,
Save where volcanoes send to heaven their curl'd
And solemn smokes, like altars of the world.
Thrice beautiful!—to that delightful spot
Carry our married hearts, and be all pain forgot.
There Art, too, shows, when Nature's beauty palls,
Her sculptured marbles, and her pictured walls;
And there are forms in which they both conspire
To whisper themes that know not how to tire;
The speaking ruins in that gentle clime
Have but been hallow'd by the hand of Time,
And each can mutely prompt some thought of flame;
The meanest stone is not without a name.
Then come, beloved!-hasten o'er the sea,
To build our happy hearth in blooming Italy.
To see a fellow of a summer's morning,
With a large foxhound of a slumberous eye
And a slim gun, go slowly lounging by,
About to give the feather'd bipeds warning,
That probably they may be shot hereafter,
Excites in me a quiet kind of laughter;
For, though I am no lover of the sport
Of harmless murder, yet it is to me
Almost the funniest thing on earth to see
A corpulent person, breathing with a snort,
Go on a shooting frolic all alone;
For well I know that when he's out of town,
He and his dog and gun will all lie down,
And undestructive sleep till game and light are flown.
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