But why should I ask questions of a thing,
That hears not, sees not, knows not,-only grins? And grin you may, so long as quarters ring,
For, says the adage, "let him laugh that wins! Being a siren, well may you entice
The unwary once, you cannot cheat me twice.
Would I possess'd a charm to ope the cell Of glass, when thou art fasten'd like a reel Within a bottle: I could never tell
How this got in; but could my fingers feel That scaly skin of thine, there's 66 a shrewd doubt" 'T would be no puzzle why you'll not come out.
But go in peace, thou thing of "shreds and patches"- Go not, howe'er, where Doctor Mitchill is; For he will mangle thee, if he but catches
A glimpse of thy uncouth and monkey phiz, And then will swear, in spite of thy long tail, Thou art no more a fish than was his whale!
SON of the Hon. Prentiss Mellen, of Portland, Maine, was graduated at Harvard in 1818. He is now a lawyer, and resides at North Yarmouth in his native state. He is well known in the literary world by his various productions in prose and verse. As a poet, he sustains a high reputation. "Our Chronicle of 26," published in Boston, in 1827, is his largest work in poetry, though it is less popular than many of his smaller pieces. He is a writer of fertile imagination, and is peculiarly happy in the expression of tender and delicate sentiment. His writings manifest that he possesses learning as well as genuine talent, and were he to take a higher aim and form more exalted notions of his art, we venture to assure him that he might win a permanent fame.
I DREAMT that I went down into the sea Unpain❜d amid the waters-and a world Of splended wrecks, formless and numberless, Broke on my vision. It did seem the skies Were o'er me pure as fancy-yet waves Did rattle round my head, and fill mine ears Like the measureless roar of the far fight When battle has set up her trumpet shout! I seem'd to breathe the air; and yet the sea Kept dallying with my life as I sunk down. "T was in the fitful fashion of a dream- Water and air-walking, and yet no earth. The deep seem'd bare and dry-and yet I went With a rude dashing round my reeking face, Until my outstretched and trembling feet Stood still upon a bed of glittering pearls! The hot sun was right over me, at noon- Sudden it wither'd up the ocean—till
I seem'd amidst a waste of shapeless clay. A thousand bones were whitening in his rays, Mass upon mass,-confused and without end. I walk'd on the parch'd wilderness, and saw The hopeless beauty of a lifeless world!
Wealth that once made some poor vain heart grow light And leap with it into the flood, was there Clutch'd in the last mad agony. And gold, That makes of life a happiness and curse- That vaunts on earth its brilliancy, lay here- An outcast tyrant in his loneliness-
Beggar'd by jewels that ne'er shone through blood Upon the brow of kings! Here there were all The bright beginnings and the costly ends, Which envied man enjoys and expiates,- Splendor, and death-silence, and human hopes- Gems, and smooth bones-life's pageantry! the cross That thought to save some wretch in his late need Hugg'd in its last idolatry-all, all
Lay here in deathly brotherhood-no breath- No sympathy-no sound-no motion-and no hope! I stood and listen'd,-
The eternal flood rush'd to its desolate grave! And I could hear above me all the waves
Go bellowing to their bounds! Still I strode on,
Journeying amid the brightest of earth's things Where yet was never life, nor hope, nor joy! My eye could not but look, and my ear hear; For now strange sights, and beautiful, and rare, Seem'd order'd from the deep through the rich prism Above me and sounds undulated through
The surges, till my soul grew mad with visions! Beneath the canopy of waters I could see Palaces and cities crumbled-and the ships Sunk in the engorging whirlpool, while the laugh Of revelry went wild along their decks, and ere The oath was strangled in their swollen throats; For there they lay, just hurried to one grave With horrible contortions and fix'd eyes Waving among the cannon, as the surge Would slowly lift them—and their streaming hair Twining around the blades that were their pride. And there were two lock'd in each other's arms, And they were lovers!
Oh God, how beautiful! cheek to cheek And heart to heart upon that splendid deep, A bridal bed of pearls !-a burial Worthy of two so young and innocent. And they did seem to lie there, like two gems The fairest in the halls of ocean-both
Sepulchred in love—a tearless death-one look, One wish, one smile, one mantle for their shroud, One hope, one kiss-and that not yet quite cold! How beautiful to die in such fidelity! E'er yet the curse has ripen'd, or the heart Begins to hope for death as for a joy,
And feels its streams grow thicker, till they cloy With wishes that have sicken'd and grown old. I saw their cheeks were pure and passionless, And all their love had pass'd into a smile, And in that smile they died!
Sudden a battle roll'd above my head, And there came down a flash into the deep Illumining its dim chambers-and it pass'd; The waters shudder'd-and a thousand sounds Sung hellish echoes through the cavern'd waste. The blast was screaming on the upper wave, And as I look'd above me I could see
The ships go booming through the murky storm, Sails rent-masts staggering-and a spectre crew,— Blood mingled with the foam bathing their bows,-
And I could hear their shrieks as they went on Crying of murder to their bloody foes!
A form shot downward close at my feet; His hand still grasp'd the steel-and his red eye Was full of curses even in his death ;- For he had been flung into the abyss By fellow men before his heart was cold! Again I stood beside the lovely pair;-
The storm and conflict were as they'd not been. I stood and shriek'd and laugh'd, and yet no voice, That I could hear, came in my madness;
It hardly seem'd that they were dead--so calm, So beautiful! the sea-stars round them shone, Like emblems of their souls so cold and pure! The bending grass wept silent over them, Truer than any friend on earth-their tomb The jewelry of the ocean, and their dirge The everlasting music of its roar.
I seem'd to stand wretched in dreamy thought, Cursing the constancy of human hearts
And vanity of human hopes-and felt
As I have felt on earth in my sick hours ;- How thankless was this legacy of breath
To those who knew the wo of a scathed brain! Oh ocean-ocean! if thou coverest up The ruins of a proud and broken soul, And givest such peace and solitude as this, Thy depths are heaven to man's ingratitude I seem'd to struggle in an agony;
My streaming tears gush'd out to meet the wave; I woke in terror, and the beaded sweat Coursed down my temples like a very rain, As though I had just issued from the sea!
MOUNT of the clouds; on whose Olympian height The tall rocks brighten in the ether air, And spirits from the skies come down at night, To chant immortal songs to Freedom there! Thine is the rock of other regions; where The world of life which blooms so far below
Sweeps a wide waste: no gladdening scenes appear, Save where with silvery flash the waters flow Beneath the far off mountain, distant, calm, and slow.
Thine is the summit where the clouds repose, Or eddying wildly round thy cliffs are borne; When Tempest mounts his rushing car, and throws His billowy mist amid the thunder's home! Far down the deep ravines the whirlwinds come, And bow the forest as they sweep along; While roaring deeply from their rocky womb The storms come forth-and hurrying darkly on, Amid the echoing peaks the revelry prolong!
And when the tumult of the air is fled, And quench'd in silence all the tempest flame, There come the dim forms of the mighty dead, Around the steep which bears the hero's name. The stars look down upon them-and the same Pale orb that glistens o'er his distant grave, Gleams on the summit that enshrines his fame, And lights the cold tear of the glorious brave- The richest, purest tear, that memory ever gave!
Mount of the clouds! when winter round thee throws The hoary mantle of the dying year, Sublime amid the canopy of snows,
Thy towers in bright magnificence appear! 'Tis then we view thee with a chilling fear, Till summer robes thee in her tints of blue; When lo! in soften'd grandeur, far, yet clear,
Thy battlements stand clothed in heaven's own hue, To swell as Freedom's home on man's unbounded view!
YE have heard of spirits that sail the air, Like birds that float over the mountains bare- Upborne with pinions of beauty on,
When the farewell light of day is gone, And they gladly soar to the blue away,
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