THE WRECK.

No mare, no more, o'er the dark blue sea,

Will the gallant vessel bound,

Fearless and proud as the warrior's plume

At the trumpet's startling sound;

No more will her banner assert its claim

To empire on the foam,

And the sailors cheer as the thunder rolls

From the guns of their wave-girt home!

Her white sails gleam'd like the sunny dawn

On the brow of the sapphire sky,

And her thunder echoed along the cliffs,

Awaking the seamew's cry;

Oh! it was glorious to see her glide

Triumphantly over the sea,

With her blue flag fluttering in the wind,

The symbol of victory.

But she lies forlorn in the breakers now,

Her stately masts are gone,

And cold are the hearts of the dauntless crew

That yielded their swords to none;

The gun is hush'd in her lofty sides,

And the flute on her silent deck;

Alas! that a queenly form like hers

Should ever have been a wreck!

Thus Hope's illusions droop away

From the heart which their beauty won,

And leave it forlorn as the gallant ship,

Ere its summer of life is begun.

It is peopled with lovely images,

As o'er the sea it glides,

But wreck'd is its deep idolatry

On the dark and stormy tides.

Deal.

G.R.C.