DOWN !”

THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. Open one point on the weather bow

Is the lighthouse tall on Fire Island head; · What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells ? There 's a shade of doubt on the captain's brow,

Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ! - And the pilot watches the heaving lead.
Pale glistening pearls and rainbow-colored shells,
Bright things which gleam unrecked of and I stand at the wheel and with eager eye
in vain !

To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze,
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea !

Till the muttered order of “FULL AND BY!” We ask not such from thee.

Is suddenly changed to “FULL FOR STAYS !” Yet more, the depths have more ! — what wealth The ship bends lower before the breeze, untold,

As her broadside fair to the blast she lays ; Far down, and shining through their stillness And she swifter springs to the rising seas lies!

As the pilot calls “STAND BY FOR STAYS !” Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,

Won from ten thousand royal argosies ! It is silence all, as each in his place, Sweepo'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main!

With the gathered coils in his hardened hands, Earth claims not these again.

By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace,

Waiting the watchword impatient stands. Yet more, the depths have more ! — thy waves have rolled

And the light on Fire Island head draws near, Above the cities of a world gone by !

As, trumpet-winged, the pilot's shout Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,

From his post on the bowsprit's heel I hear, Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry. - With the welcome call of “READY ! ABOUT!". Dash o'er them, Ocean, in thy scornful play! Man yields them to decay.

No time to spare ! it is touch and go,

And the captain growls “DOWN HELM ! HARD Yet more, the billows and the depths have more !

High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! As my weight on the whirling spokes I throw, They hear not now the booming waters roar,

While heaven grows black with the stormThe battle-thunders will not break their rest.

cloud's frown. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave ! Give back the true and brave !

High o'er the knight-heads flies the spray,

As we meet the shock of the plunging sea ; Give back the lost and lovely!- those for whom And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay, The place was kept at board and hearth so long!

As I answer, “AY, AY, SIR! HARD A LEE !” The prayerwent up through midnight's breathless gloom,

With the swerving leap of a startled steed And the vain yearning woke midst festal song ! The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind, Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown,- The dangerous shoals on the lee recede, But all is not thine own.

And the headland white we have left behind. To thee the love of woman hath gone down,

The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,

And belly and tug at the groaning cleats; O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery The spanker slaps and the mainsail Aaps, crown ;

And thunders the order, “TACKS AND SHEETS!"
Yet must thou hear a voice, -- Restore the dead !
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from 'Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the

thee !
Restore the dead, thou sea!

Hisses the rain of the rushing squall;
The sails are aback from clew to clew,

And now is the moment for “MAINSAIL TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE.

HAUL!”
The weather leach of the topsail shivers,
The bowlines strain and the lee shrouds And the heavy yards like a baby's toy
slacken,

By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung;
The braces are taut and the lithe boom quivers, 'She holds her way, and I look with joy
And the waves with the coming squall-cloud

For the first white spray o'er the bulwarks blacken.

flung.

crew

FELICIA HEMANS.

“LET GO, AND HAUL!” 't is the last command, LA WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.

And the head-sails fill to the blast once more; || Astern and to leeward lies the land,

A WET sheet and a flowing sea, With its breakers white on the shingly shore. A wind that follows fast, What matters the reef, or the rain, or the squall ?

And fills the white and rustling sail, I steady the helm for the open sea ;

And bends the gallant mast,

And bends the gallant mast, my boys, The first-mate clamors, BELAY THERE, ALL!"

While, like the eagle free, And the captain's breath once more comes free.

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
And so off shore let the good ship fly;

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

O for a soft and gentle wind !
Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below:

I heard a fair one cry ;
MRS. CELIA THAXTER.

But give to me the snoring breeze

And white waves heaving high, SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BER

And white waves heaving high, my boys, MUDA.

The good ship tight and free ; WHERE the remote Bermudas ride

The world of waters is our home,
In the ocean's bosom unespied,

And merry men are we.
From a small boat that rowed along
The listening winds received this song :

There's tempest in yon hornéd moon, “What should we do but sing His praise

And lightning in yon cloud; That led us through the watery maze

And hark the music, mariners ! Where he the huge sea monsters wracks,

The wind is piping loud,

The wind is piping loud, my boys,
That lift the deep upon their backs,
Unto an isle so long unknown,

The lightning flashing free;
And yet far kinder than our own ?

While the hollow oak our palace is,
He lands us on a grassy stage,

Our heritage the sea.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 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

SONG OF THE ROVER.
On daily visits through the air.

FROM "THE CORSAIR.”
He hangs in shades the orange bright
Like golden lamps in a green night,

O'ER the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
And docs in the pomegranates close

Our thoughts as boundless and our souls as free, Jewels more rich than Ormus shows :

Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, He makes the figs our mouths to meet,

Survey our empire, and behold our home!
And throws the melons at our feet;

These are our realms, no limits to their sway, But apples, plants of such a price,

Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey. No tree could ever bear them twice.

Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
With cedars chosen by his hand

From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
From Lebanon he stores the land ;

0, who can tell ? not thou, luxurious slave! And makes the hollow seas that roar

Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave; Proclaim the ambergris on shore.

Not thon, vain lord of wantonness and ease! He cast (of which we rather boast)

Whom slumber soothes not, - pleasure cannot The gospel's pearl upon our coast;

please. — And in these rocks for us did frame

0, who can tell save he whose heart hath tried, A temple where to sound his name.

And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, O let our voice his praise exalt

The exulting sense, the pulse's maddening play, Till it arrive at heaven's vault,

That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way! Which then perhaps rebounding may

That for itself can woo the approaching fight; Echo beyond the Mexique bay!” —

And turn what some deem danger to delight; Thus sung they in the English boat

That seeks what cravens shun with more than

zeal, A holy and a cheerful note; And all the way, to guide their chime,

And where the feebler faint can only feel —
With falling oars they kept the time.

Feel to the rising boson's inmost core,
Andrew Marvell. Its hope awaken and its spirit soar ?

THOMAS DIBDIN.

No dread of death — if with us die our foes - Who goes there? Stranger, quickly tell ;
Save that it seems even duller than repose : A friend, — the word. Good night; all's well.
Come when it will — we snatch the life of life-
When lost - what recks it - by disease or strife ? Or sailing on the midnight deep,
Let him who crawls enamored of decay,

When weary messmates soundly sleep,
Cling to his couch and sicken years away; The careful watch patrols the deck,
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied To guard the ship from foes or wreck;
head :

And while his thoughts oft homewards veer,
Ours — the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed. Some friendly voice salutes his car, -
While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul, What cheer ? brother, quickly tell ;
Ours with one pang - one bound -escapes con | Above, - below. Good night ; all's well.

trol.
His corso may boast its urn and narrow cave,
And they who loathed his life may gild his grave :
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.

HEAVING OF THE LEAD.
For us, cven banquets fond regrets supply
In the red cup that crowns our memory;

For England wlien with favoring gale
And the brief epitaph in danger's day,

Our gallant ship up channel steered, When those who win at length divide the prey,

And, scudding under casy sail, And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow,

The high blue western land appeared ; How had the brave who fell exulted now!

To heave the lead the scaman sprung,
And to the pilot cheerly sung,

“By the deep -- nine !"

BYRON.

MY BRIGANTINE.

And bearing up to gain the port,

Some well-known object kept in view, -
An abbey-tower, a harbor-fort,

Or beacon to the vessel true;
While oft the lead the seaman flung,
And to the pilot cheerly sung,

“ By the mark - seven !"

Just in thy mould and beauteous in thy form,
Gentle in roll and buoyant on the surge,
Light as the sea-fowl rocking in the storm,
In breeze and gale thy onward course we urge,

My water-queen!

Lady of nine,
More light and swift than thou nonc thread the

sea,
With surer keel or steadier on its path,
We brave each waste of ocean-mystery
And laugh to hear the howling tempest's wrath,

For we are thine.

“My brigantine !
Trust to the mystic power that points thy way,
Trust to the eye that pierces from afar;
Trust the red meteors that around thee play,
And, fearless, trust the Sea-Green Lady's Star,
Thou bark divine !"

JANES FENINORE COOPER.

And as the much-loved shore we near,

With transport we behold the roof
Where dwelt a friend or partner dear,

Of faith and love a matchless proof.
The lead once more the seaman flung,
And to the watchful pilot sung,

“Quarter less — five !"

Now to her berth the ship draws nigh :

We shorten sail, -she feels the tide, – “Stand clear the cable" is the cry, —

The anchor's gone ; we safely ride. The watch is set, and through the night We hcar the seamen with delight

Proclaim, — “All's well !”

CHARLES DIBDIN.

THE WHITE SQUALL.

IN THE MEDITERRANEAN.

ALL'S WELL.

FROM "THE BRITISH FLEET."
DESERTED by the waning moon,
When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon,
On tower, or fort, or tented ground
The sentry walks his lonely round;
And should a footstep haply stray
Where caution marks the guarded way,

Ox deck, beneath the awning,
I dozing lay and yawning;
It was the gray of dawning.

Erc yet the sun arose •