FLIGHT OF THE WILD GEESE.

RAMBLING along the marshes,
On the bank of the Assabet,
Sounding myself as to how it went,
Praying that I might not forget,
And all uncertain

Whether I was in the right,
Toiling to lift Time's curtain,

And if I burnt the strongest light;
Suddenly,

High in the air,

I heard the travelled geese
Their overture prepare.

Stirred above the patent ball,
The wild geese flew,

Nor near so wild as that doth me befall,

Or, swollen Wisdom, you.

In the front there fetched a leader, Him behind the line spread out, And waved about,

As it was near night,

When these air-pilots stop their flight.

Cruising off the shoal dominion
Where we sit,

Depending not on their opinion,
Nor hiving sops of wit;
Geographical in tact,

Naming not a pond or river,

Pulled with twilight down in fact,
In the reeds to quack and quiver,
There they go,

Spectators at the play below,
Southward in a row.

That rolled the wild, profound, eternal bass

In nature's anthem, and made music such

As pleased the ear of God! original, Unmarred, unfaded work of Deity! And unburlesqued by mortal's puny skill;

From age to age enduring, and unchanged,

Majestical, inimitable, vast, Loud uttering satire, day and night, on each

Succeeding race, and little pompous work

Of man; unfallen, religious, holy sea! Thou bowedst thy glorious head to none, fearedst none,

Heardst none, to none didst honor, but to God

Thy Maker, only worthy to receive Thy great obeisance.

OCEAN.

POLLOK.

SEE living vales by living waters

blessed,

Their wealth see earth's dark caverns

yield,

See Ocean roll in glory dressed, For all a treasure, and round all a shield.

CHARLES SPRAGUE,

SEA SONG.

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.

There's tempest in yon hornèd moon,

And lightning in yon cloud; And hark, the music, mariners!

The wind is wakening loud. The wind is wakening loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free; The hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

SEA.

O'ER the glad waters of the darkblue 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.

Oh! who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!

Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave;

DEEP in the wave is a coral grove, Where the purple mullet and goldfish rove;

Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue,

That never are wet with falling dew, But in bright and changeful beauty shine

Far down in the green and glassy brine.

The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift,

And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow:

From coral rocks the sea-plants lift Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow;

The water is calm and still below, For the winds and the waves are absent there,

And the sands are bright as the stars that glow

In the motionless fields of upper air: of There with its waving blade