Seems-not the ship like an island-of-rest,
Bright and alone on-the-shadowy-main
Like a heart-cherish'd home on some desolate plain ?
Who-as she smiles in the silvery light,
Spreading her wings on the bosom of night-
Alone on-the-deep, as the moon in-the-sky,
A phantom of beauty,—could deem, with a sigh,
That so-lovely-a-thing is the mansion of sin,
And souls that-are-smitten lie bursting within?
Who, as he watches her silently gliding,
Remembers that wave-after-wave is dividing
Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever,
Hearts that are parted and broken for ever?
Or dreams that he watches, afloat on the wave,
The death-bed of hope, or the young spirit's grave?
"T is thus with our life:—while it passes along,
Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song,
Gaily we glide in the gaze of the world,
With streamers afloat and with canvass unfurl'd;
All gladness and glory to wandering eyes,
Yet charter'd by sorrow, and freighted with sighs:
Fading and false is the aspect it wears,
As the smile we put-on just to cover our tears;
And the withering thoughts that the world cannot know, Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below,
Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore
Where the dreams of our childhood are vanish'd and o’er.
THE rocky ledge runs far into the sea;
And, on its outer point, some miles away,
The lighthouse lifts its massive masonry
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day.
Even at this distance, I can see the tides
Upheaving break along its base,
A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides
In the white lip and tremour of the face.
And, as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,
Through the deep purple of the twilight air,
Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light,
With strange, unearthly, splendour in its glare.
Not one alone; from each projecting cape
And perilous reef along the ocean's verge, Starts into life a dim gigantic shape,
Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge.
Like the grim giant Christopher, it stands
Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave ;
Wading far out among the rocks and sands,
The night-o'ertaken mariner to save.
And the great ships sail outward and return,
Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells,
And ever joyful, as they see it burn,
They wave their silent welcomes and farewells.]
They come forth from the darkness; and their sails Gleam for a moment only in the blaze:
And eager faces, as the light unveils,
Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze!
The mariner remembers, when a child,
On his first voy'ge he saw it fade and sink ; And, when returning from adventures wild, He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink.
Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same
Year after year, through all the silent night Burns on for evermore that quenchless flame, Shines on that unextinguishable light!
It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp
The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of It sees the wild-wind lift it in their grasp, And hold it up and shake it like a fleece .
The startled waves leap over it; the storm
Smites it with all the scourges of the rain, And steadily against its solid form
Press the great shoulders of the hurricane.
The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din
Of wings and winds and solitary cries
Blinded and maddened, by the light within
Dashes himself against the glare, and dies.
A new Prometheus, chain'd upon the rock,
Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove,
It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock,
But hails the mariner with words of love.
"Sail on "! it says, "sail on, ye stately ships!
And with your floating bridge the ocean span;
Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse
Be yours to bring man nearer unto man!"
All have got their Tork to do.
WHY these murmurs and repinings,
Who can alter what is done ?
See the Future brightly shining,
There are goals yet to be won:
Grieving is, at best, a folly,
Oftentimes it is a sin;
When we see a glaring error,
We should a reform begin.
We must all be up and stirring,
With determination true;
Young and old men, rich and poor men,
All have got their work to do.
Though we see, on looking round us,
Man to wickedness is prone,
Though the snares-of-vice surround us,
Virtue's paths but rarely known;
Well we know that in our nature
Is a spark of life divine
We must free the soul from thraldom,
If we wish that spark to shine.
We must all be up and stirring,
With determination true;
Young and old men, rich and poor men,
All have got their work to do.
Life is but a scene of labour,
Every one's his task assign'd,
We must each assist our neighbour
When we see him lag behind;
We must strive by education
Man's condition to improve,
And bind men of every station
In a bond of mutual love.
All must then be up and stirring,
With determination true;
Young men old men - rich men - poor men!
Ye all have your work to do.
THE Owl to her mate is calling;
The river his hoarse song sings;
But the oak is mark'd for falling,
That has stood for a hundred springs.
Hark! a blow, and a dull sound follows;
A second-he bows his head;
A third-and the wood's dark hollows
Now know that their king is dead.
His arms from their trunk are riven;
His body all bark'd and squared;
And he's now, like a felon, driven
In chains to the strong dock-yard!
He's sawn through the middle and turn'd
For the ribs of a frigate free;
And he 's caulk'd, and pitch'd, and burn'd;
And now-he is fit for sea!
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