And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie,
Lift the fair sail, and cheat th' experienced eye.

Be it the Summer-noon: a sandy space
The ebbing tide has left upon its place;
Then just the hot and stony beach above,
Light twinkling streams in bright confusion move;
Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps
An equal motion; swelling as it sleeps,
Then slowly sinking; curling to the strand,
Faint, lazy waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand,
Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow,
And back return in silence, smooth and slow.
Ships in the calm seem anchor'd; for they glide
On the still sea, urged solely by the tide :
Art thou not present, this calm scene before,
Where all beside is pebbly length of shore,
And far as eye can reach, it can discern no more?

Yet sometimes comes a ruffling cloud to make The quiet surface of the ocean shake;

As an awaken'd giant with a frown

Might show his wrath, and then to sleep sink down.
View now the Winter-storm! above, one cloud,
Black and unbroken, all the skies o'ershroud;
Th' unwieldy porpoise through the day before
Had roll'd in view of boding men on shore ;

And sometimes hid and sometimes show'd his form,
Dark as the cloud, and furious as the storm.

All where the eye delights, yet dreads to roam, The breaking billows cast the flying foam

Upon the billows rising—all the deep

Is restless change; the waves so swell'd and steep,
Breaking and sinking, and the sunken swells,

Nor one, one moment, in its station dwells:
But nearer land you may the billows trace,
As if contending in their watery chase;

May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach,
Then break and hurry to their utmost stretch;
Curl'd as they come, they strike with furious
force,

And then re-flowing, take their grating course,

Raking the rounded flints, which ages past
Roll'd by their rage, and shall to ages last.

Far off the Petrel in the troubled way
Swims with her brood, or flutters in the spray;
She rises often, often drops again,

And sports at ease on the tempestuous main.
High o'er the restless deep, above the reach
Of gunner's hope, vast flights of Wild-ducks stretch;
Far as the eye can glance on either side,
In a broad space and level line they glide;
All in their wedge-like figures from the north,
Day after day, flight after flight, go forth.
In-shore their passage tribes of Sea-gulls urge,
And drop for prey within the sweeping surge;
Oft in the rough opposing blast they fly
Far back, then turn, and all their force apply,
While to the storm they give their weak complaining

cry;

Or clap the sleek white pinion to the breast,
And in the restless ocean dip for rest.

Darkness begins to reign; the louder wind Appals the weak and awes the firmer mind; But frights not him, whom evening and the spray In part conceal―yon Prowler on his way: Lo! he has something seen; he runs apace, As if he fear'd companion in the chase ; He sees his prize, and now he turns again, Slowly and sorrowing-" Was your search in vain ?” Gruffly he answers, ""Tis a sorry sight!

"A seaman's body: there'll be more to-night!”

Hark! to those sounds! they're from distress at sea: How quick they come! What terrors may there be! Yes, 'tis a driven vessel: I discern

Lights, signs of terror, gleaming from the stern ;
Others behold them too, and from the town
In various parties seamen hurry down;

Their wives pursue, and damsels urged by dread,
Lest men so dear be into danger led ;

"No!

Their head the gown has hooded, and their call
In this sad night is piercing like the squall.
See one poor girl, all terror and alarm,
Has fondly seized upon her lover's arm;
"Thou shalt not venture; " and he answers
"I will not❞—still she cries, "Thou shalt not go."
No need of this; not here the stoutest boat
Can through such breakers, o'er such billows float,
Yet may they view these lights upon the beach,
Which yield them hope, whom help can never reach.

From parted clouds the moon her radiance throws On the wild waves, and all the danger shows;

But shows them beaming in her shining vest,
Terrific splendour! gloom in glory dress'd!
This for a moment, and then clouds again
Hide every beam, and fear and darkness reign.

Such are our Winter-views: but night comes on— Now business sleeps, and daily cares are gone; Now parties form, and some their friends assist To waste the idle hours at sober whist; The tavern's pleasure or the concert's charm Unnumber'd moments of their sting disarm; Play-bills and open doors a crowd invite, To pass off one dread portion of the night; And show and song and luxury combined, Lift off from man this burthen of mankind.

Others advent'rous walk abroad and meet
Returning parties pacing through the street;
When various voices, in the dying day,

Hum in our walks, and greet us in our way;
When tavern-lights flit on from room to room,
And guide the tippling sailor staggering home:
There as we pass, the jingling bells betray
How business rises with the closing day :
Now walking silent, by the river's side,
The ear perceives the rippling of the tide ;
Or measured cadence of the lads who tow
Some enter'd hoy, to fix her in her row;
Or hollow sound, which from the parish-bell
To some departed spirit bids farewell!

THE CHURCH

WHAT is a Church?"—Let Truth and Reason

speak,

They would reply, "The faithful, pure, and meek ; "From Christian folds, the one selected race, "Of all professions, and in every place."

"What is a Church?". "A flock," our Vicar cries, "Whom bishops govern and whom priests advise ; “Wherein are various states and due degrees, "The Bench for honour, and the Stall for ease; "That ease be mine, which, after all his cares, "The pious, peaceful prebendary shares.”

"What is a Church?"-Our honest Sexton tells, "'Tis a tall building, with a tower and bells; "Where priest and clerk with joint exertion strive "To keep the ardour of their flock alive; "That, by his periods eloquent and grave; "This, by responses, and a well-set stave : "These for the living; but when life be fled, "I toll myself the requiem for the dead."

'Tis to this Church I call thee, and that place Where slept our fathers when they'd run their race :