174

THE EAST INDIAMAN.

Nor dared to question where; nor dared to cast
One asking look-for that might be their last!

What frowns so steep in front-a cliff? a rock?
The groaning vessel staggers in the shock!
The last shriek rings.

Hark! whence that voice they hear
Loud o'er the rushing waters-loud and near?
Alas! they dream!-'tis but the ocean roar !—
Oh no! it echoes from the swarming shore!

Kind Heaven, thy hand was there. With swelling bound

The vast waves heaved the giant hull aground;
And, ebbing with the turning tide, became,
Like dying monsters, impotent and tame;
Wedged in the sand their chafing can no more
Than lave her sides, and deaden with their roar
The clamorous burst of joy. But some there were
Whose joy was voiceless as their late despair-
Whose heavenward eyes, clasped hands, and stream-
ing cheeks,

Did speak a language which the lip ne'er speaks!
O, he were heartless, in that passionate hour,
Who could not feel that weakness hath its power,
When gentle woman, sobbing and subdued,
Breathed forth her vow of holy gratitude,
Warm as the contrite Mary's, when-forgiven-
An angel smiled, recording it in heaven!

STANZAS

WRITTEN IN THE CHURCHYARD OF RICHMOND, YORKSHIRE.

BY HERBERT KNOWLES.

It is good for us to be here: if thou wilt, let us make here three Tabernacles, one for thee, one for Moses, and one for Elias.

ST. MATTHEW.

METHINKS it is good to be here,

If thou wilt, let us build-but for whom?
Nor Elias nor Moses appear;

But the shadows of eve that encompass with gloom
The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb.

Shall we build to Ambition? Ah no!
Affrighted, he shrinketh away,-

For see, they would pin him below

In a dark narrow cave, and, begirt with cold clay,
To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey.

To Beauty? Ah no! she forgets

The charms which she wielded before;

Nor knows the foul worm that he frets

The skin that but yesterday fools could adore,

For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore.

Shall we build to the purple of Pride,
The trappings which dizen the proud?
Alas! they are all laid aside,

And here's neither dress nor adornment allowed

Save the long winding-sheet and the fringe of the Shroud.

To Riches? Alas, 'tis in vain ;

Who hid in their turns have been hid;

The treasures are squandered again ;
And here in the grave are all metals forbid,
Save the tinsel that shines on the dark coffin lid.

To the pleasures which Mirth can afford,
The revel, the laugh, and the jeer?

Ah! here is a plentiful board!

But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer,
And none but the worm is a reveller here.

Shall we build to Affection and Love?
Ah, no! They have withered and died,
Or fled with the spirit above:

Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by side,
Yet none have saluted, and none have replied.

Unto sorrow?-The dead cannot grieve;
Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear

Which Compassion itself could relieve.

Ah sweetly they slumber, nor love, hope, or fear, Peace! peace! is the watchword, the only one here.

Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow?
Ah, no! for his empire is known,

And here there are trophies enow!

Beneath the cold head, and around the dark stone,
Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown.

The first tabernacle to Hope we will build,
And look for the sleepers around us to rise!

The second to Faith, which ensures it fulfilled;
And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice,
Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the
skies.

ON HEARING THE ROAR OF THE SEA AT NIGHT.

VOICE of the mighty deep,
Piercing the drowsy night,
Thou scarest the gentle sleep,

Whose opinions will not light
Where thou intrudest busy thought,
With depths dark as thy secrets fraught.

Thy mystic sounds I hear,
Peal of unwonted things;
Of wonders far and near
The hollow music rings,

Its notes borne wild around the world,
Where'er thy dark blue waves are curled.

Oh no, I cannot sleep,

Thou vast and glorious sea!

While thou dost thus the vigil keep
Of thy great majesty,

I think God's image near me is,

In all its awful mysteries.

Thou art a spirit, Ocean, thou!
Giant of earth and air,
Spanning the universe; and now,
While making music here,
Ten thousand leagues afar thy wave,
Is rolling on an empire's grave!

Thine arm that shakes me here,

Thunders upon the shore

Of North, and South, and central sphere,
Fuego, Labrador;

178

ROAR OF THE SEA AT NIGHT.

From flaming Equinox to frigid Pole,
Belting the earth thy waters roll.

Engulfing mountains at a sweep
Beneath their angry sway,
Or raising islands from the deep
In their triumphant way,

Or murmuring sweet round Scian isles,
In cadence soft as beauty's smiles.

'Tis midnight!-earth and air
Are hushed in lair and rest-
Thy energy from thy long birth
Hath never needed rest:

Thou dost not tire-thou feel'st not toil

Thou art not formed, like me, of soil.

Why dost thou thunder so?

What in thy depths profound,
Thus as a strong man with his foe,
Gives out that angry sound;
On earth no foe can ever be,
Prince of creation, worthy thee!

Age thou hast never known-
Thou shalt be young and free,
Till God command thee give thine own,
And all is dumb save thee;
And happy when the sun is blood,
Unchanged shall be thy mighty flood.