From the lonely beacon's height,
As the watchmen gazed around,
They had seen their flashing light
Drive swift athwart the night;
Yet the wind was fair, and right
For the Sound.

But no mortal power shall now
That crew and vessel save;-
They are shrouded as they go
In a hurricane of snow,

And the track beneath her prow
Is their grave.

There are spirits of the deep2,
Who, when the warrant's given,
Rise raging from their sleep
On rock, or mountain steep,
Or 'mid thunder-clouds that keep

The wrath of heaven.

Warrior-cross-the union flag-the national ensign of Great Britain.

2 There are spirits, &c.-This and the two following stanzas bring powerfully before the imagination the horrors of the storm, by attributing them to the supernatural agency of tempest-spirits, or demons, who, on receiving God's behest, rise from their slumber and unfurl their banner of clouds, &c.

High the eddying mists are whirled,
As they rear their giant forms;
See! their tempest-flags' unfurled—
Fierce they sweep the prostrate world,
And by them the lightning's hurled
Through the storms.

O'er Swilly's rocks they soar,
Commissioned watch to keep;
Down, down, with thundering roar,
The exulting demons pour :-
The Saldanah floats no more
O'er the deep!

The dread behest is past!-
All is silent as the grave;

One shriek was first and last

Scarce a death-sob drank the blast,
As sank her towering mast

Beneath the wave.

"Britannia rules the waves!"
Oh! vain and impious boast!
Go mark, presumptuous slaves,
Where He, who sinks or saves,

Strews the sand with countless graves
Round your coast.

TO THE PAST.1

Thomas Sheridan.

THOU unrelenting Past!

Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain,

And fetters, sure and fast,

Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign.

Far in thy realm withdrawn

Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom,

And glorious ages gone

Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb.

The striking conception embodied in this poem is sustained with great force and beauty-if it may not sometimes be called sublimity-throughout. The pathos too in parts is most touching.

Childhood, with all its mirth,

Youth, manhood, age, that draws us to the ground,
And last, man's life on earth,

Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.

Thou hast my better years,

Thou hast my early friends-the good-the kind,
Yielded to thee with tears-

The venerable form-the exalted mind..

My spirit yearns to bring

The lost ones back-yearns with desire intense,
And struggle hard to wring

Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captive thence.

In vain1-thy gates deny

All passage save to those who hence depart;
Nor to the streaming eye

Thou givest them back-nor to the broken heart.

In thy abysses hide

Beauty and excellence unknown-to thee

Earth's wonder and her pride

Are gathered, as the waters to the sea;

Labours of good to man,

Unpublished charity, unbroken faith-
Love, that 'midst grief began,

And grew with years, and faltered not in death.

Full many a mighty2 name

Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered;
With thee are silent fame,

Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared.

Thine for a space are they

Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures3 up at last;
Thy gates shall yet give way,

Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past!

In vain, &c.—this verse in particular exemplifies the remarks just made. 2 Mighty-i. e. once mighty.

3 Yet shalt, &c.-The anticipation of the sea's "giving up her dead," solemn as it is, seems faint and limited when compared with the image here brought before us-the awful portals of the shadowy Past opening and revealing all its dread secrets.

All that of good and fair

Has gone into thy womb from earliest time,
Shall then come forth, to wear

The glory and the beauty of its prime.

They have not perished-No!

Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet,
Smiles, radiant long ago,

And features, the great soul's apparent1 seat;

All shall come back, each tie

Of pure affection shall be knit again;
Alone shall evil die,

And sorrow dwell2 a prisoner in thy reign.

WOMAN.3

Bryant.

1

She was a phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;

Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn ;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A spirit, yet a woman too!

Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin-liberty;

A countenance4 in which did meet

Sweet records, promises as sweet;

Apparent-there is much significance in this word;-the features of the countenance are the seat or spot in which the soul reveals or displays itself. 2 Sorrow dwell, &c.—A fine personification of sorrow left behind as the only prisoner in the silent dungeon of the past.

3 Rarely, if ever, has a more lovely picture been drawn of woman in her threefold relation to the beautiful, the social, and the spiritual.

4 A countenance, &c.-The countenance, as distinguished from the face is the "soul's apparent seat," (see note 1, above,) and belongs only to intellectual man; -a brute may have a face, but not a countenance. "Record" too is a very expressive word here. It is from the Latin, re again, and cor the heart-something that the heart or mind dwells upon; an authentic memorial of the past.

A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller betwixt life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill—
A perfect woman, nobly planned
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright,
With something of an angel-light.

VICTORIA'S TEARS.1

"O MAIDEN! heir of kings! A king has left his place! The majesty of Death has swept

All other from his face!

And thou upon thy mother's breast,

No longer lean adown,

But take the glory for the rest,2
And rule the land that loves thee best!"
She heard and wept-

She wept, to wear a crown!

Wordsworth.

They decked her courtly halls;
They reined her hundred steeds;
They shouted at her palace gate,
"A noble Queen succeeds!"
Her name has stirred the mountain's sleep,
Her praise has filled the town,

And mourners God had stricken deep,
Looked hearkening up, and did not weep.

Alone she wept,

Who wept, to wear a crown !

'When her present majesty was informed of her accession to the throne, on the death of her uncle, she was so affected with the consciousness of the responsibilities which had in a moment fallen upon her, that she wept ;-it is to this circumstance that the above simple and beautiful stanzas owe their origin.

* For the rest-i.e. in the place of the rest and retirement hitherto enjoyed.