YE

THE OCEAN.

"Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
Stops with the shore--Upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffin'd, and unknown."

Childe Harold.

ES! thou art sounding on, thou chainless deep, And, rolling-ceaseless, onward to the shoreAs if thy waves o'er plains and hills would sweep, Till valleys echoed with thy thunder roar !

A liquid universe, whose realms abound

With waving trees, and flowers, and teeming Life; The heaving rival of the rooted ground

Ah! wherefore should the two have endless strife?

Who knows but yet thy living waves shall meet,
And breakers kiss, and dance,-nor meet a shore?
While marbled halls-festooned with thy green sleet,-
And monsters crawl-where Beauty danced before?

Why

but for God, who every limit gives
To worlds, to planets, though not boundless Pride,
While rainbows span, then man securely lives
Upon a spot-left by thy measured tide.

The Earth is but a mote in God's right hand,
The Ocean but a drop within His palm;

Then what is Man upon his wave-left land,

That he should strut as if he Storm could calm ?—

Poor, dreaming-boasting-selfish-empty elf,

Who speaks of Grandeur-when the breath's not his

A pensioned Worm upon his 'lotted shelf,

Whose Life's a day,-whose Death's a dark abyss! 1

MS. -Whose Life's a day-while Death sows Woe, or Bliss !

Ah! let his arrogance be laid aside,—

Think on his littleness, and power of God! Yea! think for whom-and why-a Saviour died, And humbly tread along Life's rocky road! What is the wisdom of the wisest sage?—

But picking Science from Thy wave-worn side!— While Truth's vast Ocean spreads her boundless page, And shows new beauties with each ebbing tide.

THE WAYWORN CRAB.

ON SEEING A POOR CRAB CRAWLING IN A GUTTER IN
NORTH STREET.

DREARY thou art, poor desolate crab!

So far from thy native surf-beaten shore,—

Oh, for the wand of a good Queen Mab,
To take thee to Ocean back once more!

Last when I saw thee, in sea-born pool,

Bearing in triumph thy soft-clinging mate;

But, alas! now a fisherman's old rusty shool

Hath flung thee like dirt 'mongst mussels for bait.

Ah! vain dost thou search that mock,-filthy strand,
With tottering crawl, as if weary of life-
Poor emblem of Man,-who, on drearier land,—
Bears a Spirit-crushed down by a cold world's strife.

Transplanted too oft, heart-broken as thee-

Ah! destined by Fate, without power to say nay,— Misplaced by as cruel-more stern a decree,

Crawls on to the Grave through Darkness, for Day!

THE BOY AND GIRL; or, TRY'D,

JUST TRY'D.

ON HEARING THE CONVERSATION OF A LITTLE BOY AND GIRL TRYING TO CROSS A BROOK.

"With sobbing heart the lassie cried

RY'D,—just try'd!" "I'm feared-I canna try'd,"

"What far no'? be quick,-I canna wait,—
Stap owre, or gang the ither gate!"

The speakers were a Boy and Girl,

One parent ushered in the world;

The ferry was a little brook,

Which at a bound the brother took.

Three slippery stones was all the ford―
The tripple emblem of the Lord-
The little stream, was Human Life!
The stones were typical of Strife.
And stood like priests to weaker mind,
Which sturdy Reason left behind ;-
Unawed by such a poor control,

That stood betwixt him and his goal,
And spurned such barriers of his Soul.

Then let us leap Time's fickle ford,

With perfect confidence in the Lord;
We'll land beyond the Bourne of Death,
If, like the Boy, we've equal Faith!

TO WILLIE.

ON BEING ASKED BY A YOUNG GIRL TO STRING A FEW LINES TOGETHER FOR A FAITHLESS OR FICKLE LOVER.

"It is the lesser blot, Modesty finds

Women to change their shapes, than men their minds."-Shakespeare.

H Willie! dear Willie !-why have you

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forsaken

The heart that still throbs so fondly for thee?

Ah! cruel indeed! but yet you may waken,

And come back again to Honour and me.