And now that night hath stay'd thy race And can it be that for me alone Might through this sea without a fear Her silent journey take, Though the helmsman slept as if on land, And the oar had dropp'd from the rower's hand. How like a monarch would she glide, While the hush'd billow kiss'd her side With low and lulling tone, Some stately ship, that from afar List! how in murmurs of delight The joyous bark to pass one night O grief! that yonder gentle moon Should waste such smiles in vain. Haste! haste! before the moonshine dies, Dissolved amid the morning skies, While yet the silvery glory lies Bright mid surrounding brightness, Thou Scattering fresh beauty from thy prow, And lo! upon the murmuring waves A broad-wing'd vessel through the shower As if the beauteous ship enjoy'd The beauty of the sea, She lifteth up her stately head E'er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which My heart is awed within me when I think Lo! all grow old and die-but see, again, Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth There have been holy men who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seem'd Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them; and there have been holy men Who deem'd it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Retire, and in thy presence reassure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink, And tremble, and are still. O God! when thou The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods MIDNIGHT AT SEA. We suspect that few of our readers are acquainted with the Isle of Palms, by JOHN WILSON, who is better known as Christopher NORTH of Blackwood's Magazine, where he has published, in the form of prose, as much true poetry as any of his contemporaries. So thoroughly poetical is his temperament, that he cannot write half a dozen sentences without some flash of genius that reveals the poet. Withal, the Isle of Palms, his longest and best poem, has not achieved popularity; but it contains many fine passages, of which the following is a specimen. Ir is the midnight hour :-the beauteous Sea, As if the Ocean's heart were stirr'd With inward life, a sound is heard, Like that of dreamer murmuring in his sleep; Above the happy Deep. The Sea, I ween cannot be fann'd By evening freshness from the land, For the land it is far away; But God hath will'd that the sky-born breeze That makes her wakeful eye more bright: Hath now an undisturbed reign. And from her silent throne looks down, children of her own, As upon On the waves that lend their gentle breast My spirit sleeps amid the calm And hopes that she ne'er may wake again, But for ever hang o'er the lovely main And adore the lovely night. Scarce conscious of an earthly frame, She glides away like a lambent flame, Now touching softly the Ocean's breast, As if she sail'd on wings! Now bold as the brightest star that glows More brightly since at first it rose, Looks down on the far-off flood; And there all breathless and alone, As the sky where she soars were a world of her own, She mocketh the gentle Mighty One As he lies in his quiet mood. "Art thou," she breathes, "the tyrant grim That scoffs at human prayers, Answering with prouder roaring the while, As it rises from some lonely isle, Through groans raised wild, the hopeless hymn Of shipwreck'd mariners ? Oh! thou art as harmless as a child Weary with joy and reconciled For sleep to change its play; And now that night hath stay'd thy race And can it be that for me alone Might through this sea without a fear Her silent journey take, Though the helmsman slept as if on land, And the oar had dropp'd from the rower's hand. How like a monarch would she glide, While the hush'd billow kiss'd her side With low and lulling tone, Some stately ship, that from afar The joyous bark to pass one night Should waste such smiles in vain. Haste! haste! before the moonshine dies, Dissolved amid the morning skies, While yet the silvery glory lies Above the sparkling foam; Bright mid surrounding brightness, Thou Scattering fresh beauty from thy prow, And lo! upon the murmuring waves A broad-wing'd vessel through the shower Of glimmering lustre steering! As if the beauteous ship enjoy'd The beauty of the sea, She lifteth up her stately head |