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O! change - stupendous change!

There lies the soulless clod!
The sun eternal breaks;
The new immortal wakes -

Wakes with his God.

MARINER'S HYMN. LAUNCH thy bark, mariner!

Christian, God speed thee! Let loose the rudder-bands

Good angels lead thee! Set thy sails warily,

Tempests will come; Steer thy course steadily;

Christian, steer home! Look to the weather-bow,

Breakers are round thee; Let fall the plummet now,

Shallows may ground thee.
Reef in the foresail, there!

Hold the helm fast!
So let the vessel wear -

There swept the blast.

“ What of the night, watchman?

What of the night?”
“ Cloudy — all quiet-

No land yet — all's right.”
Be wakeful, be vigilant -

Danger may be
At an hour when all seemeth

Securest to thee.
How! gains the leak so fast?

Clean out ine hold
Hoist up thy merchandise,

Heave out thy gold;
There — let the ingots go-

Now the ship rights;
Hurra! the harbor's near

Lo! the red lights :
Slacken not sail yet

At inlet or island;
Straight for the beacon steer,

Straight for the high land;
Crowd all thy canvas on,

Cut through the foam-
Christian! cast anchor now

Heaven is thy home.

JOSEPH BLANCO WHITE.

our

1775–1841. [Born at Seville, Spain, July 11, 1775; of an Irish Catholic family; ordained a priest, 1799, came to England in 1810; left the Catholic Church, and became a tutor in the family of Lord Holland; resided in London as a man of letters, contributing to leading reviews and periodicals, and producing several works in Spanish and English. Among his works were, Letters from Spain, 1822; Practical and Internal Evidence Against Catholicism, 1825; Second Travels of an Irish Gentleman in Search of a Religion, 1833. Died at Liverpool, May 20, 1841. His Sonnet to Night was called by Coleridge the finest in the language.] NIGHT AND DEATH.

And lo! creation widened in man's

view. MYSTERIOUS Night! when first Who could have thought such darkness parent knew

lay concealed Thee from report divine, and heard Within thy beams, O sun! or who thy name,

could find, Did he not tremble for this lovely Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood reframe,

vealed, This glorious canopy of light and That to such countless orbs thou blue?

mad'st us blind! Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, Why do we then shun Death with Bathed in the rays of the great set

anxious strife? ting flame,

If light can thus deceive, wherefore Hesperus with the host of heaven came, not life?

CHARLES LAMB.

1775–1834.

(BORN in the Temple, London, February 10, 1775; was educated at Christ's Hospital, with Coleridge for a school-fellow; became clerk in the India House, 1792; retired on a pension, 1825; died December 27, 1834. His poetry is as follows: - Poems by S. T. Coleridge, second Edition, to which are now added poems by Charles Lamb and Charles Lloyd, 1797. Blank Verse, by Charles Lloyd and Charles Lamb, 1798. Poetry for Children, entirely original; by the Author of Mrs. Leicester's School, 1809. Poems in The Works of Charles Lamb, 1818. Album Verses, with a few others, by Charles Lamb, 1830.]

THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.

How some they have died, and some

they have left me, And some are taken from me; all are

departed; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

THE GRANDAME.

I HAVE had playmates, I have had com

panions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful

school-days; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been laughing, I have been

carousing, Drinking late, sitting late, with my

bosom cronies; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I loved a love once, fairest among wo

men; Closed are her doors on me, I must not

see her All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no

man; Like an ingrate, I left my friend

abruptly; Left him, to muse on the old familiar

faces.

On the green hill top, Hard by the house of prayer, a modest

roof, And not distinguished from its neigh

bor-barn, Save by a slender-tapering length of

spire, The Grandame sleeps. A plain stone

barely tells The name and date to the chance pas

senger. For lowly born was she, and long had

eat, Well-earned, the bread of service:

hers was else A mounting spirit, one that entertained Scorn of base action, deed dishonorable, Or aught unseemly. I remember well Her reverend image: I remember, too, With what a zeal she served her mas

ter's house : And how the prattling tongue of garruDelighted to recount the oft-told tale Or anecdote domestic. Wise she was, And wondrous skilled in genealogies, And could in apt and voluble terms dis.

course Of births, of titles, and alliances;

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of

my childhood, Earth seemed a desert I was bound to

traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces.

lous age

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a

brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's

dwelling? So might we talk of the old familiar

faces

Of marriages, and intermarriages;
Relationship remote, or near of kin;
Of friends offended, family disgraced
Maiden high-born, but wayward, dis-

obeying
Parental strict injunction, and regard-

less Of unmixed blood, and ancestry remote, Stooping to wed with one of low de

gree. But these are not thy praises; and I

wrong Thy honored memory, recording chiefly Things light or trivial. Better 'twere

to tell, How with a nobler zeal, and warmer

love,

She served her heavenly master. I

have seen That reverend form bent down with age

and pain, And rankling malady. Yet not for

this Ceased she to praise her Maker, or

withdrew Her trust in him, her faith, and humble

hopeSo meekly had she learned to bear her

cross

For she had studied patience in the

school Of Christ, much comfort she had thence

derived, And was a follower of the Nazarene.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

1775-1864. (Walter Savage LANDOR was born at Warwick, Jan. 30, 1775; died at Florence, Dec. 17, 1864. He resided in Italy almost continuously from 1815 to 1835, and afterwards twenty-one years in Bath. His writings, the dates of which range from 1795 to almost the year of his death, were first collected by himself in two large volumes (1846), and afterwards (1876), with his Life, by Mr. John Forster, in eight vols. 8vo.] THE SHELL.

Its polisht lips to your attentive ear

And it remembers its august abodes, [From Gebir, Book I.]

And murmurs as the ocean murmurs

there. I am not daunted, no; I wili engage. But first, said she, what wager will you lay?

PRAYERS. A sheep, I answered, add whate'er you will.

[From Book V.) I cannot, she replied, make that return: YE men of Gades, armed with brazen Our hided vessels in their pitchy round

shields, Seldom, unless from rapine, hold a And ye of near Tartessus, where ths sheep.

shore But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue | Stoops to receive the tribute which all Within, and they that lustre have imbibed

To Baetis and his banks for their attire, In the Sun's palace-porch, where when Ye too whom Durius bore on level unyoked

meads, His chariot-wheel stands midway in the Inherent in your hearts is bravery:

For Earth contains no nation where Shake one and it awakens, then apply

owe

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came

The generous horse and not the warlike The big wave blacken'd o'er the mouth man.

supine: But neither soldier now nor steed avails : Then, when my Tamar trembles at the Nor steed nor soldier can oppose the

tale, Gods :

Kissing his lips half open with surprise, Nor is there aught above like Jove him- Glance from the gloomy story, and with self,

glee Nor weighs against his purpose, when Light on the fairer fables of the Gods. once fixt,

– Thus we may sport at leisure when Aught but, with supplicating knee, the Prayers.

Where, loved by Neptune and the Swifter than light are they, and every Naiad, loved face,

By pensive Dryad pale, and Oread Tho' different, glows with beauty; at The sprightly nymph whom constant the throne

Zephyr woos, Of mercy, when clouds shut it from Rhine rolls his beryl-color'd wave; than mankind,

Rhine They fall bare-bosom'd, and indignant What river from the mountains ever

Jove Drops at the soothing sweetness of their More stately? most the simple crown voice

adorns The thunder from his hand: let us Of rushes and of willows intertwined arise

With here and there a flower: his lofty On these high places daily, beat our

brow breast,

Shaded with vines and mistletoe and oak Prostrate ourselves and deprecate his He rears, and mystic bards his fame rewrath.

sound. Or gliding opposite, th' Illyrian gulf

Will harbor us from ill.” While thus TAMAR AND THE NYMPH.

she spake, (From Book VI.]

She toucht his eyelashes with libant lip, “Oh seek not destin'd evils to divine, And breath'd ambrosial odors, o'er his Found out at last too soon! cease here

cheek the search,

Celestial warmth suffusing: grief dis'Tis vain, 'tis impious, 'tis no gift of persed, mine;

And strength and pleasure beam'd upon I will impart far better, will impart

his brow. What makes, when Winter comes, the Then pointed she before him: first arose Sun to rest

To his astonisht and delighted view So soon on Ocean's bed his paler brow, The sacred ile that shrines the queen of And Night to tarry so at Spring's return.

love. And I will tell sometimes the fate of It stood so near him, so acute each

sense, Who loos’d from drooping neck the That not the symphony of lutes alone restless arm

Or coo serene or billing strife of doves. Adventurous, ere long nights had satis- But murmurs, whispers, nay the very fied

sighs The sweet and honest avarice of love; Which he himself had utter'd once, he How whirlpools have absorb'd them,

heard. storms o'erwhelm’d,

Next, but long after and far off, appear And how amid their struggles and their The cloudlike cliffs and thousand towers prayers

of Crete,

men

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