Easy, ere God had bid the ground be dry,
All but within those banks where rivers now
Stream, and perpetual draw their humid train.
The dry land Earth, and the great receptacle
Of congregated waters he called Seas.

JOHN MILTON.

[From Albion and Albanius, Act iii., Scene i.] Nereids rise out of the Sea, and sing:

FROM the low palace of old father Ocean,
Come we in pity our cares to deplore;

Sea-racing dolphins are trained for our motion,
Moony tides swelling to roll us ashore.

Every nymph of the flood, her tresses rending,
Throws off her armlet of pearl in the main ;
Neptune in anguish his charge unattending,
Vessels are foundering, and vows are in vain.

то

JOHN DRYDEN.

[From Song Written at Sea.]

all you

Ladies now at land

We men at sea indite;

But first would have you understand

How hard it is to write;

The Muses now, and Neptune too,

We must implore to write to you.

For though the Muses should prove kind,
And fill our empty brain,

Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind

To wave the azure main,

Our paper, pen, and ink, and we,
Roll up and down our ships at sea.

Then if we write not by each post,
Think not we are unkind,
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost
By Dutchmen, or by wind;

Our tears we'll send a speedier way,
The tide shall waft them twice a day.

The King, with wonder and surprise,
Will swear the seas grow bold,
Because the tides will higher rise,

Than e'er they us'd of old;

But let him know it is our tears

Bring floods of grief to Whitehall Stairs.

EARL OF Dorset.

[From Ocean.]

THE main! the main !

Is Britain's reign;

Her strength, her glory, is her fleet:

The main the main !

Be Briton's strain;

As Tritons strong, as Syrens sweet.

Thro' nature wide

Is nought descry'd

So rich in pleasure or surprise;
When all serene,

How sweet the scene!

How dreadful, when the billows rise,

And storms deface

The fluid glass,

In which erewhile Britannia fair

Look'd down with pride,

Like Ocean's bride,

Adjusting her majestic air!

When tempests cease,

And, hush'd in peace,

The flatten'd surges smoothly spread,

Deep silence keep,

And seem to sleep Recumbent on their oozy bed;

With what a trance,

The level glance,

Unbroken, shoots along the seas!

Which tempt from shore

The painted oar;

And every canvas courts the breeze!

When rushes forth

The frowning North

On black'ning billows, with what dread
My shuddering soul

Beholds them roll,

And hears their roarings o'er my head!

With terror mark

Yon flying bark!

Now centre-deep descend the brave;

Now, toss'd on high,

It takes the sky,

A feather on the tow'ring wave!

Now spins around

In whirls profound:

Now whelm'd; now pendant near the clouds;

Now stunn'd, it reels

Midst thunder's peals:

And now fierce lightning fires the shrouds.

All ether burns!

Chaos returns!

And blends, once more, the seas and skies :

No space between

Thy bosom green,

O deep and the blue concave, lies.

The northern blast,

The shatter'd mast,

The syrt, the whirlpool, and the rock,

The breaking spout,

The stars gone out,

The boiling streight, the monster's shock.

Let others fear;

To Britain dear

Whate'er promotes her daring claim;

Those terrors charm,

Which keep her warm

In chase of honest gain, or fame.

EDWARD YOUNG.

[From The What d'ye Call It? Scene viii.]

WAS when the seas were roaring

TWAS

With hollow blasts of wind;

A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclin'd.
Wide o'er the foaming billows
She cast a wistful look ;

Her head was crown'd with willows
That tremble o'er the brook.

"Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days.
Why didst thou, vent'rous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,
And let my lover rest :

Ah! what's thy troubled motion

To that within my breast?

"The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,

Sees tempest in despair;