And it a'n't to a little I'll strike.

Though the tempest topgallant-masts smack smooth should smite,

And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the deck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight,

And under reefed foresail we'li scud: Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft

To be taken for trifles aback;

For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!

I heard our good chaplain palaver one day,
About souls, heaven, mercy, and such;
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay ;
Why, 't was just all as one as High Dutch;
For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,
Without orders that come down below;

And a many fine things that proved clearly to me
That Providence takes us in tow :

"For," says he, do you mind me, "let storms e'er so oft

Take the topsails of sailors aback,

There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!"

I said to our Poll-for, d'ye see, she would cry—
When last we weighed anchor for sea,

"What argufies sniveling and piping your eye?

Why, what a blamed fool you must be !

Can't you see, the world's wide, and there's room for

us all,

Both for seamen and lubbers ashore?

And if to old Davy, I should go, friend Poll,
You never will hear of me more.

What then? All's a hazard: come, don't be so soft:
Perhaps I may laughing come back ;

For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !"

D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch
All as one as a piece of the ship,

And with her brave the world, not offering to flinch
From the moment the anchor's a-trip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends, Naught's a trouble from duty that springs,

For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's, And as for my will, 't is the king's.

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft
As for grief to be taken aback;

For the same little cherub that sits up aloft
Will look out a good berth for poor Jack!

CHARLES DIBDIN.

NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR.

LOVE contemplating-apart

From all his homicidal glory

The traits that soften to our heart
Napoleon's glory!

'Twas when his banners at Boulogne

Armed in our island every freeman,
His navy chanced to capture one
Poor British seaman.

They suffered him-I know not how-
Unprisoned on the shore to roam;
And aye was bent his longing brow

On England's home.

His eye, methinks, pursued the flight
Of birds to Britain half-way over;
With envy they could reach the white
Dear cliffs of Dover.

A stormy midnight watch, he thought,
Than this sojourn would have been dearer,
If but the storm his vessel brought
To England nearer.

At last, when care had banished sleep,

He saw one morning, dreaming, doting,
An empty hogshead from the deep
Come shoreward floating;

He hid it in a cave, and wrought
The livelong day laborious; lurking
Until he launched a tiny boat

By mighty working.

One wide water all around us,

Ali 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 lightened her a foot or more;

Up and rig a jury foremast,

View now the winter storm! Above, one cloud, Black and unbroken, all the skies o'ershroud; The unwieldly porpoise, through the day before, Had rolled in view of boding men on shore; And sometimes hid and sometimes showed his form, Dark as the cloud, and furious as the storm.

All where the eye delights, yet dreads, to roam
The breaking billows cast the flying foam
Upon the billows rising—all the deep

Is restless change—the waves, so swelled and steep,
Breaking and sinking and the sunken swells,
Nor one, one moment, in its station dwells:
But nearer land you may the billows trace,
As if contending in their watery chase;
May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach,
Then break and hurry to their utmost stretch;
Curled as they come, they strike with furious force,
And then, reflowing, take their grating course,
Raking the rounded flints, which ages past
Rolled by their rage, and shall to ages last.

Far off, the petvel, in the troubled way,
Swims with her brood, or flutters in the spray;
She rises often, often drops again,

And sports at ease on the tempestuous main.
High o'er the restless deep, above the reach
Of gunner's hope, vast flights of wild-ducks stretch,
Far as the eye can glance on either side,

In a broad space and level line they glide;
All in their wedge-like figures from the north,
Day after day, flight after flight, go forth.
Inshore their passage tribes of sea-gulls urge,

GEORGE ALEXANDER STEVENS.

THE SEA IN CALM AND STORM.

ARIOUS and vast, sublime in all its forms,

Oft in the rough, opposing biast they fly

Far back, then turn, and all their force apply,
While to the storm they give their weak, complaining

cry;

storms;

Its colors changing, when from clouds and sun

Shades after shades upon the surface run,
Embrowned and horrid now, and now serene
In limpid blue and evanescent green ;
And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie,

Lift the fair sail, and cheat the experienced eye!
Be it the summer noon; a sandy space

The ebbing tide has left upon its place;
Then just tne hot and stony beach above,

Light, twinkling streams in bright confusion move;
(For, heated thus, the warmer air ascends,
And with the cooler in its fall contends).
Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps
An equal motion; swelling as it sleeps,
Then slowly sinking, curling to the strand,
Faint, lazy waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand,
Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow,
And back return in silence, smooth and slow,
Ships in the calm seem anchored; for they glide
On the still sea, urged solely by the tide.

a

GEORGE CRABBE.

A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE.

LIFE on the ocean wave,

A home on the rolling deep; Where the scattered waters rave, And the winds their revels keep! Like an angel caged I pine,

On this dull, unchanging shore: O, give me the flashing brine,

The spray and the tempest's roar!

Once more on the deck I stand,
Of my own swift-gliding craft:
Set sail! farewell to the land;

The gale follows fair abaft.
We shoot through the sparkling foam,
Like an ocean-bird set free,-
Like the ocean-bird, our home

We'll find far out on the sea.

The land is no longer in view,

The clouds have begun to frown; But with a stout vessel and crew,

We'll say, "Let the storm come down!" And the song of our hearts shall be, While the winds and the waters rave, A home on the rolling sea! A life on the ocean wave!

EPES SARGENT.

NIGHT AT SEA.

'HE lovely purple of the noon's bestowing
Has vanished from the waters, where it
flung

A royal color, such as gems are throwing
Tyrian or regal garniture among.
'Tis night, and overhead the sky is gleaming,
Through the slight vapor trembles each dim star;
I turn away-my heart is sadly dreaming
Of scenes they do not light, of scenes afar.
My friends, my absent friends !

Do you think of me, as I think of you?

By each dark wave around the vessel sweeping,
Farther am I from old dear friends removed;

Till the lone vigil that I now am keeping,

I did not know how much you were beloved. How many acts of kindness little heeded,

Kind looks, kind words, rise half reproachful now! Hurried and anxious, my vexed life has speeded, And memory wears a soft accusing brow, My friends, my absent friends!

Do you think of me, as I think of you? The very stars are strangers, as I catch them Athwart the shadowy sails that swell above; I cannot hope that other eyes will watch them At the same moment with a mutual love. They shine not there, as here they now are shining; The very hours are changed.-Ah, do you sleep? O'er each home pillow midnight is decliningMay some kind dream at least my image keep! My friends, my absent friends!

Do you think of me, as I think of you?

Yesterday has a charm, to-day could never
Fling o'er the mind, which knows not till it parts
How it turns back with tenderest endeavor

To fix the past within the heart of hearts.
Absence is full of memory, it teaches

The value of all old familiar things;
The strengthener of affection, while it reaches
O'er the dark parting, with an angel's wings.
My friends, my absent friends!

Do you think of me, as I think of you?
The world, with one vast element omitted—
Man's own especial element, the earth';
Yet, o'er the waters is his rule transmitted

By that great knowledge whence has power its birth.

How oft on some strange loveliness while gazing
Have I wished for you-beautiful as new,
The purple waves like some wild army raising
Their snowy banners as the ship cuts through.
My friends, my absent friends!

Do you think of me, as I think of you?

The sword-fish and the shark pursue their slaughters,

War universal reigns these depths along.
Like some new island on the ocean springing,
Floats on the surface some gigantic whale,
From its vast head a silver fountain flinging,
Bright as the fountain in a fairy tale.
My friends, my absent friends!

I read such fairy legends while with you,
Light is amid the gloomy canvas spreading,
The moon is whitening the dusky sails,
From the thick bank of clouds she masters, shedding
The softest influence that o'er night prevails.
Pale is she like a young queen pale with splendor,
Haunted with passionate thoughts too fond, too deep、
The very glory that she wears is tender,
The very eyes that watch her beauty fain would

weep.

My friends, my absent friends!

Do you think of me, as I think of you?

Sunshine is ever cheerful, when the morning
Wakens the world with cloud-dispelling eyes;
The spirits mount to glad endeavor, scorning
What toil upon a path so sunny lies.
Sunshine and hope are comrades, and their weather
Calls into life an energy like spring's;
But memory and moonlight go together,
Reflected in the light that either brings.
My friends, my absent friends!

Do you think of me then? I think of you.
The busy deck is hushed, no sounds are waking
But the watch pacing silently and slow;
The waves against the sides incessant breaking,
And rope and canvas swaying to and fro.
The topmast-sail, it seems like some dim pinnacle
Cresting a shadowy tower amid the air;

While red and fitful gleams come from the binnacle
The only light on board to guide us-where?
My friends, my absent friends!

Far from my native land, and far from you.

On one side of the ship, the moonbeam's skimmer
In luminous vibrations sweeps the sea,
But where the shadow falls, a strange, pale glinimer
Seems, glow-worm like, amid the waves to be,
All that the spirit keeps of thought and feeling,
Takes visionary hues from such an hour;
But while some phantasy is o'er me stealing,
I start remembrance has a keener power.
My friends! my absent friends!

From the fair dream I start to think of you.

A dusk line in the moonlight-I discover
What all day long vainly I sought to catch;
Or is it but the varying clouds that hover

Thick in the air, to mock the eyes that watch?
No; well the sailor knows each speck, appearing,
Upon the tossing waves, the far-off strand;
To that dark line our eager ship is steering.
Her voyage done-to morrow we shall land.
LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.

HILDA, SPINNING.

PINNING, spinning, by the sea,

All the night!

On a stormy, rock-ribbed shore,

Where the north-winds downward pour,

And the tempests fiercely sweep
From the mountains to the deep,
Hilda spins beside the sea,
All the night!

Spinning, at her lonely window,
By the sea!

With her candle burning clear,
Every night of all the year,

And her sweet voice crooning low
Quaint old songs of love and woe,
Spins she at her lonely window
By the sea.

On a bitter night in March,

Long ago,

Hilda, very young and fair,
With a crown of golden hair,
Watched the tempest raging wild,
Watched the roaring sea-and smiled—
Through that woful night in March,
Long ago!

What, though all the winds were out
In their might?

Richard's boat was tried and true;
Staunch and brave his hardy crew;
Strongest he to do or dare.

Said she, breathing forth a prayer:
"He is safe, though winds are out
In their might!"

But, at length, the morning dawned
Still and clear;

Calm, in azure splendor, lay
All the waters of the bay;
And the ocean's angry moans

Sank to solemn undertones,

As, at last, the morning dawned
Still and clear!

With her waves of golden hair
Floating free,

Hilda ran along the shore,
Gazing off the waters o'er;

And the fishermen replied:
"He will come in with the tide,"
As they saw her golden hair
Floating free!

Ah! he came in with the tide,
Came alone!

Tossed upon the shining sands,
Ghastly face and clutching hands,
Seaweed tangled in his hair,
Bruised and torn his forehead fair-
Thus he came in with the tide,
All alone!

Hilda watched beside her dead
Day and night.

Of those hours of mortal woe
Human ken may never know;
She was silent, and his ear
Kept the secret, close and dear,
Of her watch beside her dead,
Day and night!

What she promised in the darkness,
Who can tell?

But upon that rock-ribbed shore
Burns a beacon evermore;

And, beside it, all the night,
Hilda guards the lonely light,

Though what vowed she in the darkness
None may tell !

Spinning, spinning by the sea,
All the night!

While her candle, gleaming wide
O'er the restless, rolling tide,
Guides with steady, changeless ray,
The lone fisher up the bay-
Hilda spins beside the sea,
Through the night.

Fifty years of patient spinning
By the sea!

Old and worn, she sleeps to-day,
While the sunshine gilds the bay;
But her candle shining clear
Every night of all the year,
Still is telling of her spinning
By the sea!

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

HIS is the sh p of pearl, which, poets feign,

Sails the unshadowed main

The venturous bark that flings

On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings

In gults enchanted, where the siren sings,

And coral reefs lie bare,

Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming

hair.