The human soul is like a barge Afloat on Slumber's mystic ocean, The human soul is like the tongue HARRIS. The Phantom Ship. THE breeze had sunk to rest, the noonday-sun was high, The mid-day watch was set, beneath the blaze of light, When there came a cry from the tall mast-head, “A sail! a sail, in sight! And o'er the fair horizon, a snowy speck appear'd, And every eye was strain'd to watch the vessel as she near'd. There was no breath of air, yet she bounded on her way, And the dancing waves around her prow were flashing into spray. She answer'd not their hail, alongside as she pass'd: There were none who trod her spacious deck; not a seaman on the mast; No hand to guide her helm; yet on she held her course, She seem'd a thing of another world, the world where dwell the dead. She pass'd away from sight, the deadly calm was o'er, And the spell-bound ship pursued her course before the breeze once more; And clouds across the sky obscured the noonday sun, And the winds arose at the tempest's call before the day was done. Midnight-and still the storm raged wrathfully and loud, And deep in the trough of the heaving sea, labour'd that vessel proud; There was darkness all around, save where lightning flashes keen Play'd on the crests of the broken waves, and lit the depths between. Around her and below, the waste of waters roar'd, And answer'd the crash of the falling masts as they cast them overboard, At every billow's shock, her quivering timbers strain; And as she rose on a crested wave, that strange ship pass'd again. And o'er that stormy sea she flew before the gale, Yet she had not struck her lightest spar, nor furl'd her loftiest sail. Another blinding flash, and nearer yet she seem'd, And a pale blue light along her sails and o'er her rigging gleam'd. But it show'd no seaman's form, no hand her course to guide; The angry tempest ceased, the winds were hush'd to sleep, And many a hardy seaman, who fears nor storm nor fight, night; For it augurs death and danger: it bodes a watery grave, wave. A. G. GREENE. Song of a Persian Maid. THERE's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, That bower and its music, I never forget, And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer! MOORE. The Cottage.-An Admonition. YES, there is holy pleasure in thine eye! Hath stirr'd thee deeply; with its own dear brook, But covet not the abode-O do not sigh As many do, repining while they look ; Intruders who would tear from Nature's book This precious leaf with harsh impiety: -Think what the home would be if it were thine, Even thine, though few thy wants !-Roof, window, door, The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, The roses to the porch which they entwine: Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day WORDSWORTH. Ariel's Song.-A Sex Dirge. FULL fathom five thy father lies; Hark! now I hear them-ding-dong bell. SHAKESPEARE. Thought. THOUGHT shines from God as shines the morn; The hieroglyph of Wisdom's Lord; To shape the Epic of the skies; Heaven is the grand full-spoken thought Inspires that heaven, that thought, with love. Finis. THE book is completed, And closed like the day; And the hand that has written it Lays it away. Dim grow its fancies; Forgotten they lie; Song sinks into silence, The windows are darken'd, The hearthstone is cold. Darker and darker The black shadows fall; Sleep and oblivion Reign over all. HARRIS. LONGFELLOW. M'CORQUODALE AND CO., PRINTERS, LONDON-WORKS, NEWTON. ADAMS Nearness of the Departed The Pleasures of the Imagination ALLINGHAM-October A Dream Eolian Harp A Ruined Chapel by the Shore... ANON-The Evening Hour... The Old Couple Homeward Bound ... Lines written by Milton in his old age Chevy Chase... ANSTER, Translated from Goethe The Setting Sun... AYTOUN-Days gone by BAILLIE, JOANNA-Devotion Sacredness of Sorrow 826 43 89 151 130 80 29 310 316 320 75 73 58 BETHUNE-The Evening Sky BLACKWOOD, MRS.-Lament of the Irish Emigrant... BLOOMFIELD-The Soldier's Return BOLTON-Life's Gauds BROWNE, FRANCES-Is it come? ... BROWNING, E. B.-An English Landscape Human Life's Mystery The Sleep BROWNING, ROBERT-Home Thoughts from Abroad How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix 366 BRYANT-The Wind Flower To the Fringed Gentian ... 60 256 10 " A Summer Day 64 " 70 The Antiquity of Freedom 241 Forest Hymn 297 Hymn of the City The Future Life ... BURNS TO a Daisy, on turning one up with the Plough On hearing a Thrush sing in a Winter Morning Walk on his Birthday 24 54 Elegy 213 |