206

ON THE LOSS OF THE SALDANAH.

"Rule, Britannia," sung the crew,
When the stout Saldanah sailed;
And her colours, as they flew,
Flung the warrior-cross to view,
Which in battle, to subdue,

Ne'er had failed.

Bright rose the laughing morn,
(That morn that sealed her doom,)
Dark and sad is her return,
And the storm-lights faintly burn,
As they toss upon her stern,

'Mid the gloom.

From the lonely beacon's height,
As the watchmen gazed around,
They saw their flashing light
Drive swift athwart the night;
Yet the wind was fair, and right
To the Sound.

But no mortal power shall now
That crew and vessel save ;-
They are shrouded as they go
In a hurricane of snow,

And the track beneath her prow
Is their grave.

There are spirits of the deep,
Who, when the warrant's given,
Rise raging from their sleep,
On rock, or mountain steep,
Or, 'mid thunder-clouds, that keep

The wrath of Heaven.

ON THE LOSS OF THE SALDANAH.

High the eddying mists are whirled,
As they rear their giant forms;
See! their tempest flag's unfurled,-
Fierce they sweep the prostrate world,
And the withering lightning's hurled
Through the storms.

O'er Swilly's rocks they soar,
Commissioned watch to keep;
Down, down, with thundering roar,
The exulting demons pour.-

The Saldanah floats no more

O'er the deep!

The dread behest is past !-
All is silent as the grave;
One shriek was first and last-
Scarce a death-sob drunk the blast,

As sank her towering mast

Beneath the wave.

"Britannia rules the waves"-
O vain and impious boast!
Go mark, presumptuous slaves,
Where He, who sinks or saves,

Scars the sands with countless graves
Round your coast.

207

A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE.

BY ALARIC A. WATTS.

I SAW her in her morn of hope, in life's delicious spring,

A radiant creature of the earth, just bursting on the

wing;

Elate and joyous as the lark, when first it soars on high, Without a shadow in its path,-a cloud upon its sky.

I see her yet so fancy deems-her soft, unbraided hair,

Gleaming, like sunlight upon snow, above her forehead fair;

Her large dark eyes, of changing light, the willing smile that played,

In dimpling sweetness, round a mouth Expression's self had made!

And light alike of heart and step, she bounded on her way,

Nor dreamed the flowers that round her bloomed would ever know decay ;

She had no winter in her note, but evermore would sing

(What darker season had she proved?) of spring-of only spring!

Alas, alas! that hopes like hers, so gentle and so bright,

The growth of many a happy year, one wayward hour should blight;—

Bow down her fair but fragile form, her brilliant brow

o'ercast,

And make her beauty-like her bliss-a shadow of the

past!

Years came and went-we met again,—but what a change was there!

The glossy calmness of the eye, that whispered of despair ;

The fitful flushing of the cheek-the lips compressed and thin,—

The clench of the attenuate hands,-proclaimed the strife within!

Yet for each ravaged charm of earth some pitying power had given

Beauty, of more than mortal birth-a spell that breathed of heaven;

And as she bent, resigned and meek, beneath the chastening blow,

With all a martyr's fervid faith her features seemed to glow!

No wild reproach, no bitter word, in that sad hour was spoken,

For hopes deceived, for love betrayed, and plighted pledges broken ;

Like Him who for his murderers prayed, she wept, but did not chide,

And her last orisons arose for him for whom she died!

Thus, thus, too oft the traitor man repays fond woman's

truth;

Thus blighting, in his wild caprice, the blossoms of her youth:

And sad it is, in griefs like these, o'er visions loved and

lost,

That the truest and the tenderest heart must always

suffer most!

THE LAST SWALLOW.

BY RICHARD HOWITT.

AWAY, away, why dost thou linger here,
When all thy fellows o'er the sea have passed?
Wert thou the earliest comer of the year,
Loving our land, and so dost stay the last?
And is the sound of growing streams unheard?
Dost thou not see the woods are fading fast,

Whilst the dull leaves with wailful winds are stirred? Haste, haste to other climes, thou solitary bird!

Thy coming was in lovelier skies-thy wing,
Long wearied, rested in delightful bowers;
Thou camest when the living breath of spring
Had filled the world with gladness and with flowers!
Skyward the carolling lark no longer towers-
Alone we hear the robin's pensive lay;

And from the sky of beauty darkness lours:
Thy coming was with hope, but thou didst stay
'Midst melancholy thoughts, that dwell upon decay.

Blessed are they who have before thee fled!
Their's have been all the pleasures of the prime;
Like those who die before their joys are dead,
Leaving a lovely for a lovelier clime,

Soaring to beautiful worlds on wings sublime;
Whilst thou dost mind me of their doom severe,
Who live to feel the winter of their time;
Who linger on, till not a friend is near,

Then fade into the grave and go without a tear.