Some voyage of love;-and on the fickle wave
Of that false sea perchance the worshipp'd one
Made shipwreck of their hopes, and so they were undone.

And some, dishearten'd at the world's cold frown
And chilly aspect of its frozen eye,

Weep like the clouds, until they seem to drown
The life of their young ears, and sigh on sigh
Exhausts their being's source, and so they lie
Down in the loveliness of innocent youth
And welcome the Deliverer, as they die
Siniling for joy; yet do we feel, in sooth,
How wild the loss to us- how dark the frantic truth.

I know not if they sleep without the dreams
Which grim delusion wraps around the core

Of hearts which were not made to feel their streams
Mix with unfathom'd lakes of guilty lore;—
I know not if their pure souls upward soar,
Or in the green earth's ample breast abide ;-
But he who wanders by the twilight shore
When long slow curls climb up its silent side,
May hear strange flitting notes die on the solemn tide.

But when in quick wild wrath the wave of fears,
Lash'd by careering winds from the fierce sleep
Where heavily groaning late he lay, uprears
The crested horror of his mountain heap;
Ah, then go stand by the tumultuous deep
Alone, and if thou darest, try to cast

Away the mortal dread which then shall creep

Into thy soul, as on the shrieking blast

Mad mirth and devilish shouts peal round thee loud and fast.

Away, ye pleasant fancies;-let me now
Recall my vision, and methought I stood
On a precipitous seashore's craggy brow ;-
It was at evening,-and the level flood

Where the fledged younglings of the tempest brood
Sported of late, lay fair and placid, save,

As thoughts of their glad play would oft intrude,
They now reposing in their azure cave,

Sent pealing laughter upwarc. on the curling wave.

Fold after fold of that long line of water Unfurl'd its sullen length, and like the stride Of a strong phalanx ripe for battle-slaughter, Came the firm slow march of the solemn tide Towards the broad beach, whose huge rocks, high and wide, Death-black as if the lightning of the thunder Had spent its wrath upon some mountain side, And half its monstrous bulk had riven asunder,There smiled on time and chance a mockery and a wonder.

Then as I stood by the bleak barren beach,
And gazed upon its vast magnificence,
While the proud waters vainly strove to reach
The bulwark'd summit of that rocky fence,-
Came on my soul some feelings so intense.
Roused by the glory of that mighty swell,
The exultation of my quivering sense

Joy'd in the power of some o'ermastering spell,
While from my unclosed lips these prompted accents fell:

Thou who hast grovell'd 'mid the things accursed
Which the world's dross hath spread about thy soul,
And thou, whose wayward bosom hath been nursed
'Mid frantic doubts which scorn Heaven's just control,-
Oh that ye heard with me the wondrous whole
Of these majestic waves' tumultuous din;
For standing where their starry summits roll,
Some overwhelming feeling must rush in

To blot for one blest moment each vile thought of sin.

Oh that the monarchs of the world were here,—
The demi-gods of fawning slaves who pour
The heartless tribute of their guilty fear

At the false shrines they hate while they adore ;—
For musing by this moralizing shore,

Its beautifully grand array in sight,

Methinks one little hour would teach them more How weakly faltering is their boasted height, Than philosophic texts preach'd on for ages might.

O that the full-swoln monsters of the world,—
The rich in groaning wretches' sighs, might stand,
And see these glittering ocean treasures hurl'd
In proud profusion towards the golden sand;-
Might see the far deep, venerably bland,

In silver hoary, and the lavish shore

Mock the free offering of its wasteful hand,Might feel some generous glow unfelt before, Or pious line sublime of gentle pity's lore.

O that the trampled world's nobility,
Proud of dull currents of degenerate blood,
And boastful of the antique pedigree

Which makes them worth contemptuous scorn, now stood Where the slow marching waters of the flood

In solemn state majestic dash below,

Then might they see each of that graceful brood

On the lone rock its destined being throw,

Though old Eternity saw its ancestral flow.

O thou illimitable ocean,-thou Shadowest the image of eternity ;— Thy many-sparkling waves are wanton now Like reckless voyagers on that gloomy sea : Ten thousand of thy billows momently Ripple to being, then upon the shore Shrink back to death and nothingness,— Wake to the energies of life and pour Our few sad sighs,-one gasp, and then are heard no more.

-so we

MARY E. BROOKS,

WIFE of James G. Brooks already mentioned. Her pieces have been published under the signature of Norna.

ROMANCE.

THE warrior knelt before the maid-
A blush came o'er her cheek;

Telling, as o'er her brow it play'd,
What not her tongue would speak.

"Ah! yes," he softly said, "thou 'lt be My own, my lily bride;"

And still, in maiden purity,

That maiden blush replied.

Life, love, and hope were in their spring,
Beneath a cloudless sky;

The wild bird spread its silken wing,
But breathed less melody.

Young nectar from the myrtle bower
The honey-bee might sip;

The warrior found a sweeter flower
In the dew of the maiden's lip.

Still does the wild bird cleave the sky, The honey-bee is glad :

Why dim with tears that maiden's eye, And why that warrior sad?

"Maiden! dost fear to meet the storm
That shades a soldier's way?
The gems that deck the lordling's form-
Dost sigh for such as they?

"I woo thee not with glittering braid
And jewels for thy hair-

The golden gift that wins the maid
An idle vow may bear."

Still does the wild bird cleave the sky,
The honey-bee is glad;

Why dim with tears that maiden eye,

And why that warrior sad?

"To horse! to horse! my melody
Shall be the battle cry,
And the war trump of victory

As sweet as woman's sigh!

"For fetter'd birds go free again,
And love can dream of scorn;
When woman idly weaves the chain,
As idly be it worn."

Still does the wild bird cleave the sky,

The honey bee is gay,

But tears bedimm'd that maiden's eye
As the warrior pass'd away.

"They say there's bliss in the princely train, And in a robe of pride;

Then wake for me the bridal strain

The maiden said and sigh’d.

Loud laughter fills the banquet hall,
There's music in the grove,
And steps as light as music's fall
To catch the voice of love.

She led the dance in merry glee,
Her song was on the wind,
And the red rose lay gracefully
Within her hair reclined.

But hark! the harper's minstrelsy—
Of other days a part!
She glanced upon the myrtle tree
And icy felt her heart;

And a shade was on the festal hour,

The jewel lights grew dim;

She only saw that myrtle bower,

She only thought of him.

"Oh! take me where the breezes swell,

Far from the haunts of pride,

For they say there's joy where wild flowers dwell,"The maiden said and sigh'd.

The forest blossoms bound her brow,
But the heart was cold below;
And if she wakes the harp-strings now,
What can they breathe but wo?

“That dream—that dream—it comes again,

Link'd with its broken vow;

As beautiful, as frail, as then,
They stand before me now!