THE STRANDED BARK AND THE

LIFE-BOAT.

SHE strikes, and she reels, and her high towering mast,

Like the forest oak, bends in the hurricane-blast; And the billows, whose awful tops seen in the clouds, Dash high o'er the wretches that fly to her shrouds. Again she hath struck, and the turbulent air

Is filled with wild horror, and shrieks of despair: Few moments must free her from breakers and spray,

Or entomb them in ocean for ever and aye.
Forsaken her helm, that, the dark waters o'er,
Had oft steered her safe to the sheltering shore;
And her beautiful pennant, that streamed ever
bright,

Like a sunbeam by day, and a meteor by night, Now twines round her topmast (how changed since the morn!)

Or, piecemeal the sport of the tempest, is torn.
No peal of alarm was discharged from her deck;
But the voice of despair from the perishing wreck
Found an echo in hearts, that in every wild form.
Have encountered the demon that yells in the

storm;

And that spirit, which makes them in danger more brave,

Only rose with the scene; on the tempest-tost wave They launched their light bark, and, in gallant

array,

Dashed from shore, with a true hearty British huzza. Far, far as the eye of the gazer could roam

There was nothing but breakers and billows of foam;

One moment she seemed in the boiling surge lost, The next, we beheld her still struggling, but tost At the merciless power of the deep booming sea;

But still forward she kept on her perilous trackOh, sailor-boy! sailor-boy! many for thee

Are the sighs and the tears that will welcome thee back.

Now high o'er the billows majestic she rides,
With her twelve noble rowers all lash'd to her sides;
Relax not one effort-one moment may save,

Or entomb them for ever beneath the dark wave;
For, hark! the last cry of despair is ascending,
As shivering they cling to the topmast, and rending
The heavens with their outcry-one effort, one more,
And 'tis gained ;-like a thunder-cloud, burst upon
shore

The gazers' applause, as the life-boat steered round them.

found them,

But who shall describe the poor rescued, or tell With what feelings these greater than conquerors [fell; As half naked, half dead, from the rigging they Or lifelessly sunk on their foreheads, as though The last torment was past-drained the last cup of

woe;

And now, with the shipwrecked and destitute crew, O'er the wild waste of waters their toil they renew; The billows are foaming around them, and loud, Like the roar of artillery, the tempest-charged cloud Breaks o'er them in thunder; still o'er the dark sea They push their light bark in its perilous trackOh, sailor-boy! sailor-boy! many for thee

Are the sighs and the tears that will welcome thee back.

P

The sea-gull flew wildly and mournfully round,
As if on the deep shoreless ocean she'd found
Some exiles, condemned o'er the wide world to roam;
Then, light as the billow, and white as the foam,
Winged her way on the breeze to her tempest-rock'd
home.

On the tiptoe of hope and of fear we beheld,
As their barks through the billows the rowers
impelled;

But at length, in smooth water we saw her safe moored:

And what was the boon for the danger endured? Avaunt, selfish hearts! what at first had inspired Brought its own bright reward, all the boon they desired;

"Twas enough to have saved, from the jaws of the

grave,

Hearts that beat like their own, true, undaunted, and brave.

THE RAINBOW.

ANON.

THE evening was glorious, and light through the

trees

Played the sunshine and rain-drops, the birds and the breeze;

The landscape, outstretching in loveliness, lay
On the lap of the year, in the beauty of May.

For the queen of the spring, as she pass'd down the

vale,

Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the

gale;

And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours, And flush in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers.

The skies, like a banner in sunset unroll'd,

O'er the west threw their splendour of azure and

gold;

But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increased, Till its margin of black touch'd the zenith and east.

We gazed on the scenes, while around us they glow'd,
When a vision of beauty appear'd on the cloud ;-
'Twas not like the sun, as at mid-day we view,
Nor the moon, that rolls nightly through star-light
and blue.

Like a spirit, it came in the van of a storm!
And the eye and the heart hail'd its beautiful form;
For it look'd not severe, like an angel of wrath,
But its garment of brightness illumed its dark path.

In the hues of its grandeur sublimely it stood
O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood;
And river, field, village, and woodlands grew bright,
As conscious they gave and afforded delight.

'Twas the bow of Omnipotence; bent in His hand,
Whose grasp at creation the universe spann'd;
'Twas the presence of God, in a symbol sublime;
His vow from the flood to the exit of time!

Not dreadful, as when in the whirlwind he pleadsWhen storms are his chariot, and lightnings his

steeds

The black clouds his banner of vengeance unfurl'd, And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world ;

In the breath of his presence, when thousands

expire,

And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire, And the sword, and the plague-spot, with death strew the plain,

And vultures, and wolves, are the graves of the slain ;

Not such was that rainbow, that beautiful one!
Whose arch was refraction, its key-stone-the sun;
A pavilion it seem'd which the Deity graced,
And Justice and Mercy met there, and embraced.

Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom,
Like Love o'er a death-couch, or Hope o'er the tomb,
Then left the dark scene; whence it slowly retired,
As Love had just vanish'd, or Hope had expired.

I gazed not alone on that source of my song:
To all who beheld it, these verses belong;
Its presence to all was the path of the Lord!
Each full heart expanded,-grew warm, and adored!

Like a visit the converse of friends-or a day,
That bow, from my sight, pass'd for ever away;
Like that visit, that converse, that day-to my heart,
That bow from remembrance can never depart.

'Tis a picture in memory distinctly defined With the strong and imperishing colours of mind: A part of my being beyond my control,

Beheld on that cloud, and transcribed on my soul. CAMPBELL.

London: J. Rider, Printer, 14, Bartholomew Closc.

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