And the fluttering scallop behind would float,
And patter the water about the boat;

But he bailed her out with his colen-bell,

And he kept her trimmed with a wary tread, While on every side like lightning fell

The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade. Onward still he held his way,

Till he came where the column of moonshine lay
And saw beneath the surface dim

The brown-backed sturgeon slowly swim:
Around him were the goblin train;

But he sculled with all his might and main,
And followed wherever the sturgeon led,
Till he saw him upward point his head;
Then he dropped his paddle blade,
And held his colen goblet up

To catch the drop in its crimson cup.

With sweeping tail and quivering fin,
Through the wave the sturgeon flew,
And, like the heaven-shot javelin,
He sprung above the waters blue.
Instant as the star-fall light,

He plunged him in the deep again,
But left an arch of silver bright,

The rainbow of the moony main.
It was a strange and lovely sight
To see the puny goblin there;
He seemed an angel form of light,
With azure wing and sunny hair,
Throned on a cloud of purple fair,
Circled with blue and edged with white,
And sitting at the fall of even
Beneath the bow of summer heaven.

A moment, and its lustre fell;
But, ere it met the billow blue,
He caught within his crimson bell
A droplet of its sparkling dew-
I

Joy to thee, Fay! thy task is done,
Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won:
Cheerily ply thy dripping oar,

And haste away to the elfin shore.

BRONX.

I SAT me down upon a green bank-side,
Skirting the smooth edge of a gentle river,
Whose waters seemed unwillingly to glide,

Like parting friends who linger while they sever; Enforced to go, yet seeming still unready,

Backward they wind their way in many a wistful eddy.

Gray o'er my head the yellow-vested willow
Ruffled its hoary top in the fresh breezes,
Glancing in light, like spray on a green billow,

Or the fine frostwork which young winter freezes; When first his power in infant pastime trying, Congeals sad autumn's tears on the dead branches lying.

From rocks around hung the loose ivy dangling,
And in the clefts sumach of liveliest green,
Bright ising-stars the little beach was spangling,
The gold-cup sorrel from his gauzy screen
Shone like a fairy crown, enchased and beaded,
Left on some morn, when light flashed in their eyes
unheeded.

The humbird shook his sun-touch'd wings around,
The bluefinch caroll'd in the still retreat;
The antic squirrel capered on the ground
Where lichens made a carpet for his feet:
Through the transparent waves, the ruddy minkle
Shot up in glimmering sparks his red fin's tiny twin-
kle.

There were dark cedars with loose mossy tresses, White powdered dog-trees, and stiff hollies flauntGaudy as rustics in their May-day dresses,

[ing

Blue pelloret from purple leaves upslanting A modest gaze, like eyes of a young maiden Shining beneath dropp'd lids the evening of her wedding.

The breeze fresh springing from the lips of morn, Kissing the leaves, and sighing so to lose 'em, The winding of the merry locust's horn,

[som: The glad spring gushing from the rock's bare boSweet sights, sweet sounds, all sights, all sounds ex

celling, [ing. Oh! 'twas a ravishing spot formed for a poet's dwell

And did I leave thy loveliness, to stand

Again in the dull world of earthly blindness? Pained with the pressure of unfriendly hands,

Sick of smooth looks, agued with icy kindness? Left I for this thy shades, where none intrude, To prison wandering thought and mar sweet solitude? Yet I will look upon thy face again,

My own romantic Bronx, and it will be A face more pleasant than the face of men. Thy waves are old companions, I shall see A well-remembered form in each old tree, And hear a voice long loved in thy wild minstrelsy.

WILLIAM LEGGETT.

A SACRED MELODY.

IF yon bright stars which gem the night
Be each a blissful dwelling sphere,

Where kindred spirits reunite,

Whom death has torn asunder here;

How sweet it were at once to die,

And leave this blighted orb afar—
Mixed soul with soul, to cleave the sky,
And soar away from star to star.

But oh! how dark, how drear, how lone
Would seem the brightest world of bliss,
If, wandering through each radiant one,
We failed to find the loved of this!
If there no more the ties should twine,
Which death's cold hand alone can sever,
Ah! then these stars in mockery shine,
More hateful as they shine for ever.

It cannot be! each hope and fear

That lights the eye or clouds the brow,
Proclaims there is a happier sphere

Than this bleak world that holds us now!
There is a voice which sorrow hears,

When heaviest weighs life's galling chain; 'Tis heaven that whispers, “Dry thy tears: The pure in heart shall meet again!"

JOHN G. C. BRAINARD.

THE FALL OF NIAGARA.

Labitur et labetur.

THE thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain
While I look upward to thee. It would seem
As if God pour'd thee from his "hollow hand,"
And hung his bow upon thine awful front;

And spoke in that loud voice, which seem'd to him
Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake,
"The sound of many waters;" and had bade
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back,

And notch His cent'ries in the eternal rocks.

Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we,
That hear the question of that voice sublime?
Oh! what are all the notes that ever rung
From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side!
Yea, what is all the riot man can make

In his short life, to thy unceasing roar!
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to HIM,
Who drown'd a world, and heap'd the waters far
Above its loftiest mountains? a light wave
That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's might.

66

MR. MERRY'S LAMENT FOR LONG TOM."

"Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,

By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore."

THY cruise is over now,

Thou art anchor'd by the shore,

And never more shalt thou

Hear the storm around thee roar;

Death has shaken out the sands of thy glass.
Now around thee sports the whale,
And the porpoise snuffs the gale,
And the night-winds wake their wail,
As they pass.

The sea-grass round thy bier

Shall bend beneath the tide,
Nor tell the breakers near

Where thy manly limbs abide;

But the granite rock thy tombstone shall be.
Though the edges of thy grave
Are the combings of the wave,
Yet unheeded they shall rave
Over thee.