Chrysaor, rising out of the sea,

Showed thus glorious and thus emulous, Leaving the arms of Callirrhoe,

For ever tender, soft, and tremulous.

Thus o'er the ocean faint and far

Trailed the gleam of his falchion brightly;

Is it a God, or is it a star,

That, entranced, I gaze on nightly!

THE SECRET OF THE SEA.

АH! what pleasant visions haunt me,
As I gaze upon the sea!
All the old romantic legends,

All my dreams, come back to me.

Sails of silk and ropes of sendal,
Such as gleam in ancient lore;
And the singing of the sailors,

And the answer from the shore!

Most of all, the Spanish ballad
Haunts me oft and tarries long,
Of the noble Count Arnaldos,
And the sailor's mystic song.

Like the long waves on a sea-beach,
Where the sand as silver shines,
With a soft, monotonous cadence,
Flows its unrhymed lyric lines;-

Telling how the Count Arnaldos,
With his hawk upon his hand,
Saw a fair and stately galley
Onward steering to the land ;-

How he heard the ancient helmsman
Chant a song so wild and clear,
That the sailing sea-bird slowly
Poised upon the mast to hear.

Till his soul was full of longing,

And he cried, with impulse strong."Helmsman! for the love of heaven,

Teach me, too, that wondrous song!

"Wouldst thou,"-so the helmsman answered, "Learn the secret of the sea? Only those who brave its dangers Comprehend its mystery?"

In each sail that skims the horizon,
In each landward-blowing breeze,
I behold that stately galley,

Hear those mournful melodies;

Till my soul is full of longing
For the secret of the sea,

And the heart of the great ocean
Sends a thrilling pulse through me.

TWILIGHT.

THE twilight is sad and cloudy,
The wind blows wild and free,
And like the wings of sea-birds
Flash the white caps of the sea.

But in the fisherman's cottage
There shines a ruddier light,
And a little face at the window,
Peers out into the night.

Close, close it is pressed to the window

As if those childish eyes

Were looking into the darkness,

To see some form arise.

And a woman's waving shadow
Is passing to and fro,

Now rising to the ceiling,

Now bowing and bending low.

What tale do the roaring ocean,
And the night-wind, bleak and wild,
As they beat at the crazy casement,
Tell to that little child?

And why do the roaring ocean,

And the night-wind, wild and bleak, As they beat at the heart of the mother, Drive the colour from her cheek?

SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.

SOUTHWARD with fleet of ice
Sailed the corsair Death;

Wild and fast blew the blast,

And the east wind was his breath.

His lordly ships of ice

Glistened in the sun;

On each side, like pennons wide,
Flashing crystal streamlets run.

His sails of white sea-mist

Dripped with silver rain;

But where he passed there were cast
Leaden shadows o'er the main.

Eastward from Campobello

Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed; Three days or more seaward he bore, Then, alas! the land-wind failed.

Alas! the land-wind failed,

And ice-cold grew the night;
And never more, on sea or shore,
Should Sir Humphrey see the light.

He sat upon the deck,

The Book was in his hand;

"Do not fear! Heaven is as near," He said, "by water as by land!"