And life, in rare and beautiful forms, The purple mullet and gold-fish rove, Through the bending twigs of the coral grove. J. G. PERCIVAL. THE SONG OF THE SEA-SHELL. I CAME from the ocean, a billow past o'er me, The skylark at morn pours a carol of pleasure, Yet I sigh for the loud-breaking billows that tost me, And when guests with officious intrusion accost me, Since I left the blue deep, I am ever regretting, I have known them, the ties they once cherished forgetting, Oft trust to new friendships and cling to new love. Oh! is it so hard to maintain true devotion? Let mortals who doubt seek a lesson from me : I am bound by mysterious ties to the ocean, And no language is mine but the sound of the sea. MRS. ABDY. ON A BOOK OF SEA-MOSSES. THESE many-colored, variegated forms, These fairy textures, lightly moored at morn. J. T. FIELDS. ARIEL'S SONGS. 1. COME unto these yellow sands, (The wild waves whist!) Foot it featly here and there; And sweet sprites, the burden bear. Hark, hark! Bowgh, wowgh. [dispersedly. The watch-dogs bark. [dispersedly. Bowgh, wowgh. Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo. II. Full fathom five thy father lies, Those are pearls that were his eyes; Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : [Burden, ding-dong. Hark, now I hear them; - ding, dong, bell! SHAKSPEARE. GULF-WEED. A WEARY Weed, tossed to and fro, Drearily drenched in the ocean brine, Soaring high and sinking low, Lashed along without will of mine; Sport of the spoom of the surging sea, Flung on the foam, afar and anear; Mark my manifold mystery, Growth and grace in their place appear. I bear round berries, grey and red, My spangled leaves, when nicely spread, Corals curious coat me o'er White and hard in apt array; Hearts there are on the sounding shore, Like this weary weed of the sea; Grace informing with silent soul. C. G. FENNER. I SAW FROM THE BEACH. I SAW from the beach, when the morning was shining, A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on; I came, when the sun o'er that beach was declining, The bark was still there, but the waters were gone! Ah! such is the fate of our life's early promise; So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known: Each wave, that we danced o'er at morning, ebbs from us, And leaves us at eve, on the bleak shore alone! |