Then up and spake an old sailòr,

Had sail'd the Spanish Main,

'I pray thee, put into yonder port,

For I fear a hurricane.

'Last night, the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see!'

The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind,
A gale from the North-east;
The snow fell hissing in the brine,

And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain

The vessel in its strength;

She shudder'd and paused. like a frighted steed, Then leap'd her cable's length.

'Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so;

For I can weather the roughest gale

That ever wind did blow.'

He wrapp'd her warm in his seaman's coat

Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,

And bound her to the mast.

'O father! I hear the church-bells ring, 'O say, what may it be?'

"Tis a fog-bell, on a rock-bound coast!' And he steer'd for the open sea.

'O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be?'

'Some ship in distress that cannot live In such an angry sea!'

O father! I see a gleaming light,

say, what may it be?'

But the father answered never a word,

A frozen corpse was he.

Lash'd to the helm, all stiff and stark,

With his face to the skies,

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fix'd and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be;

And she thought of Christ, who stilled the waves On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf,
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,

And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Look'd soft as carded wool,

But the cruel rocks, they gored her sides
Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,
With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,
Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

At day-break, on the bleak sea-beach
A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair

Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,

The salt tears in her eyes;

And he saw her hair like the brown sea-weed
On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
In the midnight and the snow!
Christ save us all from a death like this,

On the reef of Norman's Woe!

H. W. LONGfellow.

E

THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY

THE noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,
When, 'scaped from literary cares,

I wander'd on his side.

My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree,-

(Two nymphs adorn'd with every grace
That spaniel found for me,)

Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds,
Now, starting into sight,

Pursued the swallow o'er the meads
With scarce a slower flight.

It was the time when Ouse display'd
His lilies newly blown;

Their beauties I intent survey'd,
And one I wish'd my own.

With cane extended far I sought
To steer it close to land;

But still the prize, though nearly caught,
Escaped my eager hand.

Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains
With fix'd considerate face,
And puzzling set his puppy brains
To comprehend the case.

But with a cherup clear and strong
Dispersing all his dream,

I thence withdrew, and follow'd long
The windings of the stream.

My ramble ended, I return'd;

Beau, trotting far before,

The floating wreath again discern'd,

And plunging left the shore.

I saw him with that lily cropp'd
Impatient swim to meet

My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd
The treasure at my feet.

Charm'd with the sight, 'The world,' I cried,

Shall hear of this thy deed; My dog shall mortify the pride Of man's superior breed;

‘But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,

To show a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all.'

W. COWPER.

TO FLUSH, MY DOG

LOVING friend, the gift of one,
Who her own true faith hath run
Through thy lower nature;

Be my benediction said

With my hand upon thy head,
Gentle fellow-creature!

Like a lady's ringlets brown,
Flow thy silken ears adown
Either side demurely,
Of thy silver-suited breast
Shining out from all the rest
Of thy body purely.