Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal argosies! Sweepo'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main! Earth claims not these again.

Yet more, the depths have more! - thy waves have rolled

Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,

Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry. Dash o'er them, Ocean, in thy scornful play! Man yields them to decay.

Yet more, the billows and the depths have more! High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! They hear not now the booming waters roar,

The battle-thunders will not break their rest. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave! Give back the true and brave!

Give back the lost and lovely!- those for whom The place was kept at board and hearth so long! The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,

And the vain yearning woke midst festal song! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown, But all is not thine own.

To thee the love of woman hath gone down, Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery

crown ;

Open one point on the weather bow

Is the lighthouse tall on Fire Island head; There's a shade of doubt on the captain's brow, And the pilot watches the heaving lead.

I stand at the wheel and with eager eye
To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze,
Till the muttered order of "FULL AND BY!"
Is suddenly changed to "FULL FOR STAYS!"
The ship bends lower before the breeze,

As her broadside fair to the blast she lays;
And she swifter springs to the rising seas
As the pilot calls "STAND BY FOR STAYS!"
It is silence all, as each in his place,
With the gathered coils in his hardened hands,
By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace,
Waiting the watchword impatient stands.

And the light on Fire Island head draws near,
As, trumpet-winged, the pilot's shout
From his post on the bowsprit's heel I hear,
With the welcome call of "READY! ABOUT!"

The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse

And belly and tug at the groaning cleats; The spanker slaps and the mainsail flaps,

And thunders the order, "TACKS AND SHEETS!"

'Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the

crew

Hisses the rain of the rushing squall; The sails are aback from clew to clew, And now is the moment for "MAINSAIL HAUL!"

And the heavy yards like a baby's toy

By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung; She holds her way, and I look with joy For the first white spray o'er the bulwarks flung.

With its breakers white on the shingly shore. What matters the reef, or the rain, or the squall? I steady the helm for the open sea ; The first-mate clamors, BELAY THERE, ALL!" And the captain's breath once more comes free. And so off shore let the good ship fly;

Little care I how the gusts may blow, In my fo'castle-bunk in a jacket dry,

Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below.

MRS. CELIA THAXTER.

SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BER-
MUDA.

WHERE the remote Bermudas ride
In the ocean's bosom unespied,
From a small boat that rowed along
The listening winds received this song:
"What should we do but sing His praise
That led us through the watery maze
Where he the huge sea monsters wracks,
That lift the deep upon their backs,
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own?
He lands us on a grassy stage,

Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage;
He gave us this eternal spring
Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us in care
On daily visits through the air.
He hangs in shades the orange bright
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows:
He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet;
But apples, plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice.
With cedars chosen by his hand
From Lebanon he stores the land;
And makes the hollow seas that roar
Proclaim the ambergris on shore.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The gospel's pearl upon our coast;
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound his name.
O let our voice his praise exalt
Till it arrive at heaven's vault,
Which then perhaps rebounding may
Echo beyond the Mexique bay !"
Thus sung they in the English boat
A holy and a cheerful note;
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.

ANDREW MARVELL.

A WET sheet and a flowing sea,

--

A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast, And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee.

O'ER the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway, -
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
O, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave;
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease!
Whom slumber soothes not, pleasure cannot

please.

O, who can tell save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exulting sense, the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way
That for itself can woo the approaching fight,
And turn what some deem danger to delight;
That seeks what cravens shun with more than
zeal,

And where the feebler faint can only feel-
Feel to the rising bosom's inmost core,
Its hope awaken and its spirit soar ?