The vessel presses on the deep,

Her pennon dances in the gale;
Her sculptur'd prow's resistless sweep
Dashes the foam like wind-tossed hail;
On-on she sweeps, as gallant bark
As ever swam where all is cold and dark.

Now doth the rosy morning's blush

Come painting deep the vessel's sides;
Crimson the foam-the billow's rush

Is golden streak'd; on, on she slides,
Her shadow stretching o'er the stream,
Her broidered flag ting'd in the morning's gleam.

Close round the billows dash and roar,

Yet far away the waves are still ;

A whirlwind drives her on before,

Yet not a breeze slides down the hill.

Waves, winds, and storms her course enclose,
Yet elsewhere heaven and sea taste but

repose.

Look on the helmsman's pallid cheek,
He trembles at the yielding helm ;
Upon the sea a bloody streak

Lies thick, nor waves can overwhelm

Its purple hue; upon the flood

It follows, pointing to their deeds of blood!

Toss'd in the foam around her prow,
Whirl'd by the furious gale, she drives,
Tho' elsewhere wind nor gale doth blow,
Nor on the sea one billow strives;
Strange mists around her hang and cling,
And strange wild whisperings in her cordage sing.

The morning's done; and softer noon
And grey-eyed eve come on the sea;
How bright, how short-lived;—and how soon
The night spreads out her canopy;

On drives the bark by wave and wind,
Leaving the track of foam and blood behind.

Now comes the lustrous moon, and studs
Of blue that deck her diadem-
The crystal stars, like violet buds
Hung round a fairer lily's stem;

Yet o'er the vessel darkness clings,
With all its moodiest and fitful things.

A cloudy speck lies on before,

The helmsman hears the signal" land!"
And answers" curse the Heldgeland shore;
A curse upon its barren sand;

This morn we cross'd the sea, and yet

The spell returns us ere the night has set."

And now the vessel's dashing prow
Sweeps the white surf upon the beach,
Roaring amidst the knell of woe,

The dismal owl and raven's screech;
Her anchor's cast, her sails are stay'd,
Her mariners on deck, yet none dismay'd.

Tho' from their restless home they see,
Lit by the moonlight's silver ray,
Dead mothers-infants-on their lee
Upon the wither'd mountain lay;
And think the eyes that death has glaz'd
Again light up and on their bark are rais'd.

Strong stubborn men, they have no fear, But curse the still more stubborn wind. "The pining pris'ners we have here

Work'd thus the spell-leave them behind;

We shall not prosper, take my word,"

The helmsman cries," with such as these on board."

"Approv'd!" they shout, "yet give the seas
A bribe a fairer voyage to gain:
Our whining prisoners will please
The palate of old dainty main ;
And calm and smooth he will convey
Our vessel to her own and welcome bay."

Wild piercing shrieks rise on the night;
Bound back to back by cruel hand,
Their murder'd infants in their sight,
The pris'ners on the vessel stand;
Theyplunge, and as they sink beneath,
Their murd'rers cry, We ransom you with death.'

Now doth the helm the hand obey,
The sails swell proudly in the gale,
The waves arise, she scuds away,
Just as the east with morn is pale;

The gale's a whirlwind now-she flies
Thro' mountain billows which before her rise.

The day comes on, and noon day glows,
And evening spreads her purple shades,
Yet o'er the seas in storms she goes,
Till day and light from heaven fades;

Then spite of helm, of sail, or oar,
Again she bursts upon the Heldgeland shore!

'Tis now the courage of their hearts,

Their trembling nerves and breasts forsake
They sail where down the moonlight darts,
Dead men from out the billows break;

Half risen from the waves, they clasp
Each other's hair with cold and stiffen'd grasp.

Sickening and faint they put about,
Again the storms around them low'r;
They cross the seas-nor curse nor shout
Escapes them in this heavy hour;
And though by day they cross the main,
Yet night returns them to that shore again!

Months-years pass by, e'en cent'ries go,
Yet may they never change their course;
The dreadful curse hath work'd their woe,
Obey they must obey perforce;

A higher hand than theirs ordains
The ills that ever o'er the bark remains.

Age upon age doth rise and fall,

Men pass away from off the earth;
Things are-are not-is-was-and all
Sink in the death that follows birth ;

Yet is the vessel's course unchang'd,
Tho' all else being from her estrang'd.

Oh Time! thou master of all things,
How hast thou scath'd her with thy scythe;
Her once fair deck now creaking springs,
And 'neath the lightest step doth writhe;

Her cordage rattling, banners torn,

Her mast half fall'n, and sails to tatters worn.

Her mariners-a remnant sav'd
From generations long gone by;

Their sunken cheeks-their brows engraved
With misery-the speechless eye,

The tomb-fed voice-the shrivell'❜d skin

Mark well thy iron reign, thou ruthless king!

The world is still, no music creeps
At eve upon the curdling sea-
No warriors shout-no maiden weeps
Her lover dead, nor sigheth he

To gain a smile; nor nightingale
Can now accompany his midnight tale.

Earth fadeth fast; her green is gone,
Her palaces are mould'ring tombs,
Decaying-mould'ring-still-forlorn!
Such is the fate her Master dooms.

Her proud inhabitants have fled!

Ah, whither? naught can tell but this-they're dead!

Her streams exhausted are-no more

Their crystal moisture shall run down,

Nor ocean's restless booming roar
The cry of mariner shall drown;

Nor they upon her bosom sail

Like old men's blood she flows;-time shall prevail.

No more shall morning fire the east,
Or eve come soothing,-they are past.
The moon is dark, the sun hath ceas'd
To travel o'er the empty vast;

Yet not quite cold-a sickly gleam,

Like twilight's haze, comes from his cheerless beam!

The world is closing-nearly dark,
And to eternity doth sink;

One cent'ry more is gone; the bark

Hath dwindled to the tideless brink ;

Her mariners fell one by one,

And all but he who had the helm is gone!
His eye rests on a human form,
Standing ashore 'mid sickly light,
Gazing upon him ;— and the storm
Of human fear doth stir its might;
The helmsman shrieks, yes, shrieketh he,
And plunges from him in the waveless sea.

The lonely raven on the mast,

Frighten'd falls down, and flutt'ring dies;
The vessel slowly sinks at last,

Inch down by inch, while round her sighs

The little wind disturbed, and down

She slowly sinks, till all of her is gone.

Then kneels the form on shore-to heav'n
His eye is bent, 'tis sank and wan,
He prays for all to be forgiv'n;

The sinner prays; the sad last man,

He who the cross stood close beneath,
And curs'd our Saviour with his dying breath.

He trembles; and the earth doth shake
Like the last writhe of dying heart;
The sun goes out-the heavens break,
And all that once was-now depart,
Mingling shapeless and formless, where
All seeing, hearing, feeling, all bewilder'd are!

W. G. B.