From the lonely beacon's height,
As the watchmen gaz'd around,
They saw their flashing light
Drive swift athwart the night;

Yet the wind was fair, and right.
To the Sound.

But no mortal pow'r shall now
That crew and vessel save-

They are shrouded as they go
In a hurricane of snow,

And the track beneath her prow

Is their grave.

There are spirits of the deep,
Who, when the warrant's given,
Rise raging from their sleep
On rock, or mountain steep,

Or mid thunder-clouds that keep

The wrath of heav'n.

High the eddying mists are whirl'd
As they rear their giant forms;
See! their tempest flag's unfurl'd,-
Fierce they sweep the prostrate world,
And the with'ring lightning's hurl'd

Through the storms.

O'er Swilly's rocks they soar,
Commissioned watch to keep;

Down, down, with thund'ring roar,

The exulting demons pour

The Saldanah floats no more

O'er the deep!

The dreadful hest is past

All is silent as the grave;

One shriek was first and last

Scarce a death sob drunk the blast,

As sunk her tow'ring mast

Beneath the wave.

"Britannia rules the waves".
O vain and impious boast!
Go mark, presumptuous slaves,
Where He, who sinks or saves,
Scars the sands with countless graves

Round your coast.

HUMAN SORROW.

ABOUT two years ago, I was witness to a scene of deep and dreadful affliction, which left a very strong impression on my mind. A most intimate and dear friend of mine was going to be married to a woman whom he loved with the extremity of all-engrossing affection-to one who, as I heard, was every way worthy of such love from such a man, and who returned it with all that additional fondness and fervour, which the perfection of love in woman always possesses over and above the perfection of love in man. I was to be present at their marriage ;-but shortly before the time for which it was fixed, I received a letter from a relation of my friend, entreating me to set out to join him without delay-as he was in a most alarming state, from the shock he had sustained by the sudden death of his betrothed. It ap

peared that she had burst a blood-vessel, and died in a few hours.

The letter which conveyed to me this intelligence did not reach me for some days later than it should have done-in consequence of my having been a short time absent from my usual place of residence. The instant I did receive it, I set out for the house of the father of Miss which was where she had died, and where my friend then was. I arrived there on the morning that the funeral was to take place. Stranger as I was to the whole family, I was received with the utmost earnestness,-for the condition in which L was, was so appalling, that they almost feared the removal of the body would be fatal to him; and as I was supposed to have more influence over him than any and than all, my arrival was greeted with joy. Heavy and crushing as the blow was to the parents, the witnessing such affliction as L's served to relieve and dissipate their own, by making them dread, that the loss of him who was a son to their hearts, would be added to that of her who was their daughter in blood as well as in affection. It compelled them to make exertion for him, -and we all know that that is the strongest of all medicines for recent sorrow.

I went to Limmediately. He was in the room with the corpse; and was sitting beside it when I entered. The moment he beheld me, he fell upon my neck and wept-for the first time, as I was afterwards told, since the catastrophe had happened. He wept long, very long. At last he seemed relieved; he raised himself took me by the hand, and led me to the coffin.

I had never seen her during life-but even now she was surpassingly beautiful. Cold, marble-pale, and

rigid, she looked like one of those beautiful sculptures which are placed upon old tombs, in effigy of those who sleep below. The delicate and extreme clearness of the skin was become sheet-white-partly, as I believe, from the common effect of Death,-and partly from the nature of her particular malady. The face alone was uncovered-long grave clothes closely enveloped the whole frame to the neck-and a napkin was over her brow. So smooth and softly white was the flesh, that it could scarcely be distinguished where the one ended, and the other began. From beneath this, however, one long tress of hair escaped, which, passing across the cheek, rested upon the shroud. This struck me more than all, for this gave the contrast of life with the perfect deadliness of all else. So still in the stillness of peace, so calm in the calmness of purity, was this corpse of loveliness and virtue, that one scarce could think that the King of Terrors had claimed it for his own. It looked, as I have said, more like the figure on a pale sarcophagus-or perhaps, more like one in a deep, a very deep, sleep-than the soulless wreck of passed humanity. But this one tress of bright hair, shining on the white skin-like a fling of golden sunlight upon snow-recalled the terrible truth at once. The hair is the latest portion of the human frame to betray the consequence of death. While the eyes become glazed, and the nerves fixed, and the flesh grows colourless and icy cold, the hair is the same that it was when it added so much beauty to beautiful life-when it waved in the wind, or gleamed in the sun, as the quick motion of youth might influence.

Yes, she was, indeed, lovely!—and what was this loveliness now ?-almost already touched by that decay from which, though we know it to be invariable, our

nature causes us to shrink so sickeningly! Sad, indeed, is it to gaze upon a face we love, beaming in all the brightness of beautiful youth, and reflect that that flesh will moulder, and finally become dust,-that those eyes will cease to be,-and nought remain but an hideous and revolting bone, undistinguishable from that which formed the head of the coarsest or most brutal. What, then, must it be to look upon a countenance thus beautiful, and thus loved, when this terrible and disgusting process has nearly begun ?-But this is a part of the subject too horrid to be dwelled upon.

There is, however, another idea, which has always risen within me, with a revolted feeling, when I have gazed on one thus about to be placed in the grave. I mean all the preparation (I might almost say decoration) which the senseless clay has undergone, to be laid to its fellow-earth. Why that livery of death-that uniform of the grave, in which all are equally wrapped? The Ruling Passion even of Narcissa is not strong after death; we then, surely, need no adornment The dress in which we chanced to be habited when the spirit passed, might, one would think, suffice to decorate the physical body which is left behind. But this coffin, into which I looked, was, besides all this, quilted throughout with satin, and a pillow of the same material supported the head,—as if the fair cheek could now taste its softness! Alas, alas, how paltry do these mockeries appear to us at such a moment!

I had ample time to gaze my fill, and to think of all these things, and many more;-for L-placed himself at the head of the coffin, and remained there, with his head bowed in his hands upon its edge. Low deep groans struggled from him at intervals-and the cold sweat was clammy on his brow. At length they