Still as the surging waves retire,
They seem to gasp with strong desire,
Such signs of love old Ocean gives,

We cannot choose but think he lives.

JOHN KEBLE.

The Ocean.

HE that in venturous barks hath been

A wanderer on the deep,

Can tell of many an awful scene,
Where storms for ever sweep.

For many a fair, majestic sight
Hath met his wandering eye,
Beneath the streaming northern light,
Or blaze of Indian sky.

Go! ask him of the whirlpool's roar,
Whose echoing thunder peals
Loud, as if rush'd along the shore
An army's chariot-wheels;

Of icebergs, floating o'er the main,
Or fixed upon the coast,
Like glittering citadel or fane,

Mid the bright realms of frost ;

Of coral rocks from waves below
In steep ascent that tower,

And, fraught with peril, daily grow,
Form'd by an insect's power;

Of sea-fires, which at dead of night
Shine o'er the tides afar,

And make the expanse of ocean bright,
As heaven with many a star.

O God! Thy name they well may praise
Who to the deep go down,

And trace the wonders of thy ways

Where rocks and billows frown!

If glorious be that awful deep
No human power can bind,
What then art Thou, who bid'st it keep
Within its bounds confined!

Let heaven and earth in praise unite!

Eternal praise to Thee,

Whose word can rouse the tempest's might,

Or still the raging sea!

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS.

The Treasures of the Deep.

WHAT

and cells,

hidest thou in thy treasure-caves
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 waters 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!

F. D. HEMANS.

A Thought of the Sea.

MY earliest memories to thy shores are bound,

Thy solemn shores, thou ever-chanting main!
The first rich sunsets, kindling thought profound
In my lone being, made thy restless plain
As the vast, shining floor of some dread fane,
All paved with glass and fire. Yet, O blue deep!
Thou that no trace of human hearts dost keep,
Never to thee did love with silvery chain

Draw my soul's dream, which through all nature sought
What waves deny, -some bower of steadfast bliss,
A home to twine with fancy, feeling, thought,

As with sweet flowers :-But chasten'd hope for this
Now turns from earth's green valleys, as from thee,
To that sole changeless world, where "there is no more sea."
F. D. HEMANS.

Distant Sound of the Sea at Evening.

YET, rolling far up some green mountain-dale,

Oft let me hear, as ofttimes I have heard,
Thy swell, thou deep! when evening calls the bird
And bee to rest; when summer tints grow pale,
Seen through the gathering of a dewy veil;
And peasant-steps are hastening to repose,
And gleaming flocks lie down, and flower-cups close
To the last whisper of the falling gale.

Then, midst the dying of all other sound,

When the Soul hears thy distant voice profound,
Lone-worshipping, and knows that through the night
"Twill worship still, then most its anthem-tone
Speaks to our being of the Eternal One,

Who girds tired nature with unslumbering might.

F. D. HEMANS,

A Hymn of the Sea.

HE sea is mighty, but a mightier sways

THE

His restless billows. Thou, whose hands have scooped

His boundless gulfs and built his shore, thy breath,

That moved in the beginning o'er his face

Moves o'er it evermore. The obedient waves

To its strong motion roll, and rise and fall.

Still from that realm of rain thy cloud goes up,

As at the first, to water the great earth,