Parnassus

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.

OUR boat to the waves go free, By the bending tide, where the curled wave breaks,

Like the track of the wind on the white snowflakes: Away, away! 'Tis a path o'er the sea.

Blasts may rave, - spread the sail, For our spirits can wrest the power from the wind,

And the gray clouds yield to the sunny mind,

Fear not we the whirl of the gale.

Waves on the beach, and the wild sea-foam,

With a leap, and a dash, and a sudden cheer,

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.

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: There with its waving blade of green,

The sea-flag streams through the silent water,

And the crimson leaf of the dulse is

seen

To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter:

There with a light and easy motion The fan coral sweeps through the clear deep sea;

And the yellow and scarlet tufts of

ocean

Are bending like corn on the upland lea;

And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of

stone,

In my fo'castle bunk, in a jacket dry,

Eight bells have struck and my watch is below.

WALTER MITCHEL.

SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA.

WHERE the remote Bermudas ride In the ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat that rowed along, The listening winds received this song:

"What should we do but sing His praise,

That led us through the watery

maze

Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks,

That lift the deep upon their backs,
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own?
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storms, and prelate's
rage:

He gave us this eternal spring
Which here enamels every thing,
And sends the fowls to us in care
On daily visits through the air.
He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows:
He makes the figs our mouths to
meet,

And throws the melons at our feet;
But apples, plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice.
With cedars chosen by his hand
From Lebanon he stores the land;
And makes the hollow seas that roar
Proclaim the ambergris on shore.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The gospel's pearl upon our coast;
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound his name.
Oh! let our voice his praise exalt
Till it arrive at heaven's vault,
Which then perhaps rebounding may
Echo beyond the Mexique bay.'
Thus sung they in the English boat
A holy and a cheerful note:
And all the way, to guide their
chime,