THE STORM.

ANONYMOUS.

THE sun went down in beauty-not a cloud
Darken'd its radiance-yet there might be seen
A few fantastic vapours scatter'd o'er

The face of the blue heavens ;-some fair and slight
As the pure lawn that shields the maiden's breast;
Some shone like silver-some did stream afar,

Faint and dispersed, like the pale horse's mane
Which Death shall stride hereafter,-some were glit-

tering

Like dolphin's scales, touch'd out with wavering hues
Of beautiful light-outvying some the rose,

And some the violet, yellow, white, and blue,
Scarlet, and purpling red.—One small lone ship
Was seen, with outstretch'd sails, keeping its way
In quiet o'er the deep; -all nature seem'd
Fond of tranquillity;—the glassy sea

Scarce rippled-the halcyon slept upon the wave;
The winds were all at rest,--and in the east
The crescent moon, then seen imperfectly,
Came onwards, with the vesper star, to see
A summer day's decline.

The sun went down in beauty ;-but the eyes

Of ancient seamen trembled when they saw

A small black and ominous spot far in the distance:It spread, and spread-larger and dark--and came O'ershadowing the skies ;-the ocean rose;

The gathering waves grew large, and broke in hoarse

And hollow sounds;-the mighty winds awoke,
And scream'd and whistled through the cordage;-birds,
That seem'd to have no home, flock'd there in terror,
And sat with quivering plumage on the mast.

Flashes were seen, and distant sounds were heard-
Presages of a storm.

The sun went down in beauty ;-but the skies
Were wildly changed.-It was a dreadful night-
No moon was seen in all the heavens, to aid
Or cheer the lone and sea-beat mariner-
Planet nor guiding star broke through the gloom ;-
But the blue lightnings glared along the waters,
As if the Fiend had fired his torch to light
Some wretches to their graves; the tempest winds
Raving came next, and in deep hollow sounds,
Like those the spirits of the dead do use
When they would speak their evil prophecies,
Mutter'd of death to come;-then came the thunder,
Deepening and crashing as 'twould rend the world;
Or, as the Deity pass'd aloft in anger

And spoke to man-Despair!-The ship was toss'd,
And now stood poised upon the curling billows,
And now 'midst deep and watery chasms, that yawn'd
As 'twere in hunger, sank;-behind there came
Mountains of moving water,-with a rush

And sound of gathering power, that did appal

The heart to look on. Terrible cries were heard;

Sounds of despair some-some like a mother's an

guish-

Some of intemperate, dark, and dissolute joy

Music and horrid mirth-but unallied

To joy ;-madness might be heard amidst
The pauses of the storm-and when the glare
Was strong, rude savage men were seen to dance

In frantic exultation on the deck,

Though all was hopeless.-Hark! the ship has struck,
And the fork'd lightning seeks the arsenal-
'Tis fired-and mirth and madness are no more!
'Midst column'd smoke, deep red, the fragments fiy
In fierce confusion-splinters and scorch'd limbs,
And burning masts, and showers of gold,--torn from
The heart that hugg'd it e'en till death. Thus doth
Sicilian Etna in her angry moods,

Or Hecla 'mid her wilderness of snows,

Shoot up their burning entrails, with a sound
Louder than that the Titans utter'd from
Their subterranean caves, when Jove enchain'd
Them, daring and rebellious. The black skies,
Shock'd at excess of light, return'd the sound
In frightful echoes,-as if an alarm

Had spread through all the elements-then came
A horrid silence-deep-unnatural-like

The quiet of the grave!

THE BRIDAL DIRGE.

BARRY CORNWALL.

THE bride is dead! the bride is dead!
Cold, and frail, and fair she lieth:
Wrapp'd is she in sullen lead;
And a flower is at her head;

And the breeze above her sigheth,

Thorough night and thorough day, "Fled away!-fled away!”

Once, but what can that avail,-
Once, she wore within her bosom
Pity, which did never fail,
A hue that dash'd the lily pale;

And upon her cheek a blossom
Such as yet was never known:
-All is past and overthrown!

Mourn the sweetest bride is dead, And her knight is sick with sorrow, That her bloom is "lapp'd in lead :" Yet he hopeth-fancy-fed

He may kiss his love to-morrow. But the breezes-what say they? -"Fled away!—fled away!"

MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.

ANONYMOUS.

My mother's grave, my mother's grave! Oh! dreamless is her slumber there,

And drowsily the banners wave

O'er her that was so chaste and fair; Yea! love is dead, and memory faded! But when the dew is on the brake, And silence sleeps on earth and sea, And mourners weep, and ghosts awake, Oh! then she cometh back to me, In her cold beauty darkly shaded!

I cannot guess her face or form;
But what to me is form or face?
I do not ask the weary worm

To give me back each buried grace
Of glistening eyes or trailing tresses!
I only feel that she is here,

And that we meet, and that we part;

And that I drink within mine ear,
And that I clasp around my heart,
Her sweet still voice, and soft caresses!

Not in the waking thought by day,
Not in the sightless dream of night,
Do the mild tones and glances play

Of her who was my cradle's light!
But in some twilight of calm weather,
She glides, by fancy dimly wrought,
A glittering cloud, a darkling beam,
With all the quiet of a thought,
And all the passion of a dream,
Link'd in a golden spell together!

THE LOST PLEIAD.

MRS. HEMANS.

Like the lost pleiad seen no more below.-Byron.

AND is there glory from the heavens departed? -Oh, void unmark'd!-thy sisters of the sky Still hold their place on high,

Though from its rank thine orb so long hath started, Thou! that no more art seen of mortal eye!