All where the eye delights, yet dreads to roam,
The breaking billows cast the flying foam
Upon the billows rising all the deep

Is restless change; the waves so swelled and steep,
Breaking and sinking, and the sunken swells,
Nor one, one moment in its station dwells;
But nearer land you may the billows trace,
As if contending in their watery chase;

May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach,
Then break and hurry to their utmost stretch;
Curled as they come, they strike with furious force,
And then re-flowing, take their grating course,
Raking the rounded flints, which ages past
Rolled by their rage, and shall to ages last.
The ocean too has winter views serene,
When all you see through densest fog is seen;
When you can hear the fishers near at hand
Distinctly speak, yet see not where they stand;
Or sometimes them and not their boat discern,
Or, half concealed, some figure at the stern:
The view's all bounded, and from side to side
Your utmost prospect but a few ells wide;
Boys who, on shore, to sea the pebble cast,
Will hear it strike against the viewless mast;
While the stern boatman growls his fierce disdain,
At whom he knows not, whom he threats in vain.

CRABBE

THE SOUND OF THE SEA.

HOU art sounding on, thou mighty Sea,
For ever and the same!

The ancient rocks yet ring to thee,
Whose thunders nought can tame.

Oh! many a glorious voice is gone
From the rich bowers of earth,

And hushed is many a lovely one

Of mournfulness or mirth.

The Dorian flute that sighed of yore
Along thy wave is still;

The harp of Judah peals no more

On Zion's awful hill:

And Memnon, too, hath lost the chord
That breathed the mystic tone;
And the songs at Rome's high triumphs poured
Are with her eagles flown:

And mute the Moorish horn, that rang
O'er stream and mountain free;
And the hymn the learned Crusaders sang
Hath died in Galilee.

But thou art swelling on, thou Deep,
Through many an olden clime,
Thy billowy anthem ne'er to sleep
Until the close of time.

Thou liftest up thy solemn voice
To every wind and sky,

And all our earth's green shores rejoice
In that one harmony!

It fills the noontide's calm profound,
The sunset's heaven of gold;

And the still midnight hears the sound
E'en as when first it rolled.

Let there be silence, deep and strange,
Where crowned cities rose !

Thou speak'st of One that doth not change-
So may our hearts repose.

MRS. HEMANS.

THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.

HAT hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells, Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious Main? Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-coloured shells, Bright things which gleam unrecked of and in vain. Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy Sea!

We ask not such from thee.

Yet more, the Depths have more !-What wealth untold, Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,

Won from ten thousand royal argosies.

Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful Main!

Earth claims not these again!

Yet more, the Depths have more !-Thy waves have rolled Above the cities of a world gone by!

Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,

Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry! Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful play, Man yields them to decay!

Yet more, the Billows and the Depths have more !-
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming water's roar,—
The battle-thunders will not break their rest,
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back the true and brave!

Give back the lost and lovely!-those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long;
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song!
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown,—

But all is not thine own!

To thee the love of woman hath gone down;

Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown! Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the dead! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee! Restore the dead, thou Sea!

MRS. HEMANS.

THE SEA SHORE.

LOVED to walk where none had walked before, About the rocks that ran along the shore; Or far beyond the sight of men to stray, And take my pleasure when I lost my way. For then 'twas mine to trace the hilly heath, And all the mossy moor that lies beneath. Here had I favourite stations where I stood, And heard the murmurs of the ocean-flood, With not a sound beside, except when flew Aloft the lapwing, or the gray curlew, Who with wild notes my fancied power defied, And mocked the dreams of solitary pride. I loved to stop at every creek and bay Made by the river in its winding way, And call to memory-not by marks they bear, But by the thoughts that were created there. Pleasant it was to view the sea-gulls strive Against the storm, or in the ocean dive, With eager scream; or when they dropping gave Their closing wings to sail upon the wave: Then as the winds and waters raged around, And breaking billows mixed their deafening sound, They on the rolling deep securely hung, And calmly rode the restless waves among. Nor pleased it less around me to behold Far up the beach the yeasty sea-foam rolled;

Or from the shore upborne, to see on high
Its frothy flakes in wild confusion fly;
While the salt spray, that clashing billows form,
Gave to the taste a feeling of the storm.

CRABBE.

A REFLECTION AT SEA.

EE how beneath the moonbeam's smile Yon little billow heaves its breast; And foams and sparkles for a while, And murmuring then subsides to rest!

Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,
Rises on Time's eventful sea;
And, having swelled a moment there,
Then melts into Eternity.

MOORE.

A REFLECTION AT SEA.

39OW richly glows the water's breast

Before us, tinged with evening hues, While, facing thus the crimson west, The boat her silent course pursues! And see, how dark the backward stream! A little moment past, so smiling! And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam, Some other loiterers beguiling. Such views the youthful bard allure; But heedless of the following gloom, He deems their colours shall endure Till peace go with him to the tomb.

WORDSWORTH.