Around her and below,

The waste of waters roared,

And answered the crash of the falling mast
As they cast them overboard.
At every billow's shock

Her quivering timbers strain;
And as she rose on a crested wave,

That strange ship passed again.

And o'er that stormy sea

She flew before the gale,

Yet she had not struck her lightest spar,
Nor furled her loftiest sail.

Another blinding flash,

And nearer yet she seemed,
And a pale blue light along her sails
And o'er her rigging gleamed.

But it showed no seaman's form,
No hand her course to guide;
And to their signals of distress
The winds alone replied.
The Phantom Ship passed on,
Driven o'er her pathless way,
But helplessly the sinking wreck
Amid the breakers lay.

The angry tempest ceased,

The winds were hushed to sleep,
And calm and bright the sun again
Shone out upon the deep.
But that gallant ship no more
Shall roam the ocean free;
She has reached her final haven,
Beneath the dark blue sea.

And many a hardy seaman,

Who fears nor storm nor fight,
Yet trembles when the Phantom Ship
Drives past his watch at night;
For it augurs death and danger;
It bodes a watery grave,

With sea-weeds for his pillow,

For his shroud, the wandering wave.

ANONYMOUS

141.

THE SERPENT OF THE STILL.

THEY tell me of the Egyptian asp,
The bite of which is death:
The victim yielding, with a gasp,
His hot and hurried breath.
The Egyptian queen, says history,
The reptile vile applied;
And, in the arms of agony,
Victoriously died.

They tell me that in Italy
There is a reptile dread,
The sting of which is agony,

And dooms the victim dead.

But it is said that music's sound
May soothe the poisoned part,
Yea, heal the galling, ghastly wound,
And save the sinking heart.

They tell me, too, of serpents vast,
That crawl on Afric's shore,
And swallow men: historians past

But there is yet one, of a kind
More fatal than the whole,
That stings the body and the mind:
Yea, it devours the soul.

"Tis found almost o'er all the earth,
Save Turkey's wide domains;
And there, if e'er it had a birth,
'Tis kept in mercy's chains.
'Tis found in our own gardens gay,
In our own flowery fields;
Devouring, every passing day,
Its thousands at its meals.

The poisonous venom withers youth,
Blasts character and health.
All sink before it: hope and truth,

And comfort, joy, and wealth.

It is the author, too, of shame;
And never fails to kill.

Reader, dost thou desire the name ?
The SERPENT OF THE STILL.

ANONYMOUS.

142. WASHINGTON.

LAND of the West! though passing brief
The record of thine age,
Thou hast a name that darkens all
On history's wide page!

Let all the blasts of fame ring out—
Thine shall be loudest far:
Let others boast their satellites-
Thou hast the planet star.

Rome had its Cæsar, great and brave;
But stain was on his wreath :
He lived the heartless conqueror,
And died the tyrant's death.
France had its eagle; but his wings,
Though lofty they might soar,
Were spread in false ambition's flight,
And dipped in murder's gore.

Those hero-gods, whose mighty sway
Would fain have chained the waves-
Who fleshed their blades with tiger zeal,
To make a world of slaves-

Who, though their kindred barred the path.
Still fiercely waded on-

Oh, where shall be their "glory" by

The side of Washington?

No car of triumph bore him through
A city filled with grief;

No groaning captives at the wheels,
Proclaimed him victor chief;

He broke the gyves of slavery,
With strong and high disdain,
And cast no sceptre from the links
When he had crushed the chain.

He saved his land, but did not lay
His soldier trappings down
To change them for the regal vest,
And don a kingly crown.

Fame was too earnest in her joy—
Too proud of such a son-
To let a robe and title mask
A noble Washington.

ELIZA COOL.

143. THE SEVENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT.

'Twas morn-the rising splendor rolled
On marble towers and roofs of gold;
Hall, court, and gallery below,
Were crowded with a living flow;
Egyptian, Arab, Nubian there,
The bearers of the bow and spear;
The hoary priest, the Chaldee sage,

The slave, the gemmed and glittering page

Helm, turban, and tiara, shone

A dazzling ring round Pharaoh's throne.

There came a man-the human tide
Shrank backward from his stately stride:
His cheek with storm and time was tanned;
A shepherd's staff was in his hand;

A shudder of instinctive fear

Told the dark king what step was near;
On through the host the stranger came,
It parted round his form like flame.

He stooped not at the footstool stone,
He clasped not sandal, kissed not throne;
Erect he stood amid the ring,

His only words" Be just, Ŏ king!"

On Pharaoh's cheek the blood flushed high, A fire was in his sullen eye;

Yet on the chief of Israel

No arrow of his thousands fell:
All mute and moveless as the grave

Stood chilled the satrap and the slave.

"Thou'rt come," at length the monarch spoke;
Haughty and high the words outbroke :
"Is Israel weary of its lair,

The forehead peeled, the shoulder bare ?
Take back the answer to your band;
Go, reap the wind; go, plough the sand;
Go, vilest of the living vile,

To build the never-ending pile,

Till, darkest of the nameless dead,
The vulture on their flesh is fed.
What better asks the howling slave
Than the base life our bounty gave?"

Shouted in pride the turbaned peers,
Upclashed to heaven the golden spears.
"King! thou and thine are doomed!-Behold!"
The prophet spoke-the thunder rolled!
Along the pathway of the sun

Sailed vapory mountains, wild and dun.
"Yet there is time," the prophet said:
He raised his staff-the storm was stayed:
King! be the word of freedom given:

66

What art thou, man, to war with heaven?"

There came no word-the thunder broke !
Like a huge city's final smoke,

Thick, lurid, stifling, mixed with flame,
Through court and hall the vapors came.
Loose as the stubble in the field,
Wide flew the men of spear and shield;
Scattered like foam along the wave,
Flew the proud pageant, prince and slave:
Or, in the chains of terror bound,

Lay, corpse-like, on the smouldering ground.

66

Speak, king!-the wrath is but begun

Still dumb ?—then, Heaven, thy will be done!"

Echoed from earth a hollow roar
Like ocean on the midnight shore