A book of English poetry; ed. by T. Shorter

POBJIS OJ' OH.A.RAarJ!!~ ·~D JOSOIIILLil'llroUS, 397

The human soul ia like a bnrge

Afloat on Slumber's mystic ocean,

That drifts into the heavenly marge,

And sways to Life's enchanted motion.

The huma.n soul ia li)te the tongue

That tella ill aleeJ;l Life's bidden story,

But wakes to hear 1ts music B1lDg

By listening seraphs in their glory.

HARRIS.

Tma bt'eeze had sunk to rest, the noonday-sun was hiRh,
And Ocean's breath lay motionless beneath a cloudleas sky.
There was silence in the air, there wu silence in the deep;
And ic seem'd aa though the burning calm were Nature's final
sleep.

The mid-day watch was set, beneath the blue of light,.
When there came a cry from the tall mast-head, "A sail! 11
aail, in aight I"
And o'et the fair horizon, a anowy apeck appear'd,
And every eye waa stn.in'd to watch the "Yesselu abe near' d.

There was no breath ·of air, yet she bounded on her way,
And the dAncing wans around her prow were !la&hing into
spray.
She anawer'd not their hail, alongside aa she pua'd:
There were none who trod her spacious deck ; not a scnm.1n
on tho mast;

No hand to guide her helm; yet on she held her eonr•e,
She swept along that wanleas sea, as with a tempest's force:
A ailence as of death was o'er that vessel spread:
She aeem'd a thing of another world, the world where dwell the
dead.

She pass'd away from sight., the deadly co.lm was o'er,
.And the spell-bound ship pnraued her course before the breeze
once more;
And clouds across the 11ty obscured the nooud11.y sun,
And the winds arose at the tempest's call be(oro ~he day w&$
done.