X.

COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SHORE.

WHAT mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret,
How fancy sickens by vague hopes beset,
How baffled projects on the spirit prey,
And fruitless wishes eat the heart away,
The Sailor knows; he best, whose lot is cast
On the relentless sea that holds him fast
On chance dependent, and the fickle star
Of power, through long and melancholy war.
O, sad it is, in sight of foreign shores,

Daily to think on old familiar doors,

Hearths loved in childhood, and ancestral floors;
Or, tossed about along a waste of foam,
To ruminate on that delightful home

Which with the dear Betrothed was to come,
Or came and was and is, yet meets the eye
Never but in the world of memory;

Or in a dream recalled, whose smoothest range.
Is crossed by knowledge, or by dread, of change,
And if not so, whose perfect joy makes sleep
A thing too bright for breathing man to keep!
Hail to the virtues which that perilous life
Extracts from Nature's elemental strife;
And welcome glory won in battles fought
As bravely as the foe was keenly sought!
But to each gallant Captain and his crew

A less imperious sympathy is due,

Such as my verse now yields, while moonbeams play
On the mute sea in this unruffled bay;

Such as will promptly flow from every breast,
Where good men, disappointed in the quest
Of wealth and power and honors, long for rest;
Or, having known the splendors of success,
Sigh for the obscurities of happiness.

XI.

THE Crescent-moon, the Star of Love,
Glories of evening, as ye there are seen

With but a span of sky between,

Speak one of you, my doubts remove,

Which is the attendant Page and which the Queen?

XII.

TO THE MOON.

(Composed by the Sea-side, on the Coast of Cumberland.)

WANDERER! that stoop'st so low, and com'st so

near

To human life's unsettled atmosphere;

Who lov'st with Night and Silence to partake,

So might it seem, the cares of them that wake;
And, through the cottage-lattice softly peeping,
Dost shield from harm the humblest of the sleeping;
What pleasure once encompassed those sweet names
Which yet in thy behalf the Poet claims,
An idolizing dreamer as of yore! -

I slight them all; and, on this sea-beat shore
Sole-sitting, only can to thoughts attend

That bid me hail thee as the SAILOR'S FRIEND; So call thee for Heaven's grace through thee made known,

By confidence supplied and mercy shown,
When not a twinkling star or beacon's light
Abates the perils of a stormy night;

And for less obvious benefits, that find

Their way, with thy pure help, to heart and mind; Both for the adventurer starting in life's prime, And veteran ranging round from clime to clime, Long-baffled hope's slow fever in his veins,

And wounds and weakness oft his labor's sole remains.

The aspiring Mountains and the winding Streams, Empress of Night! are gladdened by thy beams; A look of thine the wilderness pervades,

And penetrates the forest's inmost shades;
Thou, checkering peaceably the minster's gloom,
Guid'st the pale Mourner to the lost one's tomb;
Canst reach the Prisoner, to his grated cell
Welcome, though silent and intangible! —

And lives there one, of all that come and go
On the great waters, toiling to and fro,

One, who has watched thee at some quiet hour, Enthroned aloft in undisputed power,

Or crossed by vapory streaks and clouds that move Catching the lustre they in part reprove,

Nor sometimes felt a fitness in thy sway

To call up thoughts that shun the glare of day, And make the serious happier than the gay?

Yes, lovely Moon! if thou so mildly bright Dost rouse, yet surely in thy own despite, To fiercer mood the frenzy-stricken brain, Let me a compensating faith maintain ; That there's a sensitive, a tender part Which thou canst touch in every human heart, For healing and composure. But, as least And mightiest billows ever have confessed Thy domination; as the whole vast Sea Feels through her lowest depths thy sovereignty ; So shines that countenance with especial grace On them who urge the keel her plains to trace, Furrowing its way right onward. The most rude, Cut off from home and country, may have stood, Even till long gazing hath bedimmed his eye, Or the mute rapture ended in a sigh, Touched by accordance of thy placid cheer, With some internal lights to memory dear, Or fancies stealing forth to soothe the breast, Tired with its daily share of earth's unrest,

Gentle awakenings, visitations meek;

A kindly influence whereof few will speak, Though it can wet with tears the hardiest cheek.

And when thy beauty in the shadowy cave Is hidden, buried in its monthly grave; Then, while the Sailor, 'mid an open sea Swept by a favoring wind that leaves thought free, Paces the deck, no star perhaps in sight,

And nothing save the moving ship's own light
To cheer the long, dark hours of vacant night, -
Oft with his musings does thy image blend,
In his mind's eye thy crescent horns ascend,
And thou art still, O Moon, that SAILOR'S FRIEND!

1835.

XIII.

TO THE MOON.

(RYDAL.)

QUEEN of the stars! so gentle, so benign,
That ancient Fable did to thee assign,
When darkness creeping o'er thy silver brow
Warned thee these upper regions to forego,
Alternate empire in the shades below, -
A Bard, who lately, near the wide-spread sea
Traversed by gleaming ships, looked up to thee
With grateful thoughts, doth now thy rising hail