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O'er the deep! o'er the deep!

Where the whale and the shark and the swordfish sleep;

Outflying the blast and the driving rain,
The petrel telleth her tale in vain.
For the mariner curseth the warning bird
Which bringeth him news of the storm
unheard.

Ah! thus does the prophet of good or ill
Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still;
Yet he never falters-so, petrel, spring
Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing.

THE ABSENT.

Reu. B. Champson.

LONELY-nay, that I am not!
Loving spirits and confiding,
By my distant hearth abiding,
Hover round me here.

Happy-nay, that I am not!

For these silent tears and burning
Witness well a secret yearning
For the far and dear.

Mournful-nay, that I am not!
For the friends of my affections
Wreathe me in their recollections,
And are ever near.

Hopeful-yes, that mood is mine!
Once again in home's sweet union,
With the loved to join communion,
Fills my heart with cheer.

THE TRAVELS OF THE LEAF.

Anon.

FROM the hill to the valley, the grove to the

plain,

From the branch where thou never wilt blossom again;

Thy green beauties faded, sere, wither'd, and

dying,

Brown leaf of the forest! oh, where art thou flying?

'I know not, I heed not, I go with the blast, Which swept me away with the bough as it passed;

The storm-gust, which shattered the oak where I hung,

Had ruth for the feeble, but none for the

strong.

It has rent the tough branch, once my glory and stay,

And the wind for my wild mate-I'm whirled

away.

What rede I, or reek? On its cold bosom

lying,

I haste to where all things in nature are hieing.

And the sweet garden rose-leaf floats off with the breeze,

Where the zephyr wafts blossoms and buds from the trees,

So lightly I drive to my destiny too;

And it may be to glad me-it may be to rueMy companions the ilex, the ash, the bright laurel,

And the beech, with its death-bloom as ruddy as coral.

Now read my sad riddle, Sir Seer, and its moral.'

THE SEA DIVER.

Longfellow.

My way is o'er the bright blue sea,
My sleep upon its rocking tide;
And many an eye has followed me
Where billows clasp the worn sea-side.

My plumage bears the crimson blush,
When ocean by the sun is kissed!
When fades the evening's purple flush,
My dark wing cleaves the silver mist.

Full many a fathom down beneath
The bright arch of the splendid deep;
My ear has heard the sea shell breathe,
O'er living myriads in their sleep.

They rested by the coral throne,
And by the pearly diadem;

Where the pale sea-grape had o'ergrown
The glorious dwellings made for them.

At night upon my storm-drenched wing,
I poised above a helmless bark,
And soon I saw the shattered thing
Had passed away, and left no mark.

And when the wind and storm had done,
A ship that had rode out the gale,
Sunk down-without a signal gun,
And none was left to tell the tale.

I saw the

pomp of day depart,

The cloud resign its golden crown; When to the ocean's beating heart The sailor's wasted corpse went down.

Peace be to those whose graves are made Beneath the bright and silver sea; Peace that their relics there were laid, With no vain pride and pageantry.

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

Bemans.

THEY grew in beauty side by side,
They filled one home with glee;
Their graves are severed far and wide,
By mount and stream and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair sleeping brow;
She had each folded flower in sight;
Where are those dreamers now?

One 'midst the forest of the west,
By a dark stream is laid;

The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the cedar shade.

The sea-the blue lone sea hath one,
He lies where pearls lie deep;
He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his lone grave may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are drest,
Above the nobles slain;

He wrapt his colors on his breast,
On a blood-red field in Spain.

And one-on her the myrtle showers
Its leaves, by soft winds fanned;
She faded 'midst Italian bowers,
The last of that fair band.

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