Pursuit, and flight, and mad return of wave on wave, and savage struggling, ending in a spouting-up of foam that whitens the black night; incessant change of place, and form, and hue; constancy in nothing but eternal strife: on, on, on they roll, and darker grows the night, and louder howl the winds, and more clamorous and fierce. become the million voices in the sea; when the wild cry goes forth upon the storm, "A SHIP!"

2. Onward she comes, in gallant combat with the elements, her tall masts trembling, and her timbers starting on the strain: onward she comes, now high upon the curling billows, now low down in the hollows of the sea, as hiding for the moment from its fury; and every stormvoice in the air and water cries more loudly yet, "A SHIP!" Still she comes striving on; and, at her boldness and the spreading cry, the angry waves rise up above each other's hoary heads to look; and round about the vessel, far as the mariners on her decks can pierce into the gloom, they press upon her, forcing each other down, and starting up, and rushing forward from afar, in dreadful curiosity.

3. High over her they break, and round her surge and roar, and, giving place to others, moaningly depart, and dash themselves to fragments in their baffled anger: still she comes onward bravely. And though the eager multitude crowd thick and fast upon her all the night, and dawn of day dissevers the untiring train yet bearing down upon the ship in an eternity of troubled water, onward she comes, with dim lights burning in her hull, and people there, asleep, as if no deadly element were peering in at every seam and chink, and no drowned seaman's grave, with but a plank to cover it, were yawning in the unfath omable depths below.

1.

LESSON CXL

THE SAILOR'S EARLY HOME.

REV. S. D. PHELPS.

WAY, away, o'er the dashing spray,

A My bark spy, delight and free,

And the piping gale, through the straining sail,
Whistles loud in its merry glee;

And the stars at night, with luster bright,

Shine out o'er the vast expanse ;

And the moon from her throne on high looks down On the restless billows' dance.

2. There's a charm in the eye when the waves leap

high,

And a music in their roar;

And the stars, as they shine in their spheres divine, A joy on the spirits pour.

But the sea in its might, and the stars with their

light,

That glance on the crested foam,

Can not make me gay; for my thoughts are away In my childhood's early home.

3. And dreams come fast of the blissful past,
Ere my heart had felt or known

The ills of life, and the cares and strife
That oppress and weigh it down;

Or experience, bought by suffering, taught
The lesson sad and drear,

That each sparkling joy finds its sad alloy,

And hope is chilled by fear.

4. In a quiet nook, by a gentle brook,
Stands that home to memory dear;

And the purling stream, as it glides in the beam
Of the sun, shines bright and clear.
I am there again with a happy train,—
The same who in other years

Held their festive play with spirits gay,
And eyes undimmed by tears.

5. Those years as they passed have shadows cast
On them, as they have on me,

And none remain who swelled the train

Of joy 'neath the household tree;

And I weep as the thought with sadness fraught
Settles dark on my troubled brain,

That the bliss I proved and the friends I loved
Shall never be mine again.

6. To the church-yard nigh, where the wild winds sigh, With a low and mournful tone,

And the peaceful rest of earth's tranquil breast,
The cherished ones are gone.

There, clustering round, in that hallowed ground,
Affection's tablets stand;

And the last stone reared on that spot endeared
Was raised by my trembling hand.

7. Away, far away, o'er the dashing spray,
My bark bears me fast and free;
And my destiny lies under other skies
Than those so beloved by me.

And downward apace o'er my storm-beaten face,
Tears fall like the summer rain,

As my thoughts wander back from my ocean track
To the home I shall ne'er see again.

1.

LESSON CXII.

THE FIREMAN.

R. T. CONRAD.

HE City slumbers! () O'er its mighty walls
Night's dusky mantle, soft and silent, falls;
Sleep o'er the world slow waves its wand of lead,
And welcome torpors wrap each sinking head.
Stilled is the stir of labor and of life;

Hushed is the hum, and tranquillized the strife.
Man is at rest, with all his hopes and fears;
The young forget their sports, the old their cares;
The grave or gay, all those who joy or weep,
Now rest unconscious on the arm of sleep.

2. Sweet is the pillowed rest of Beauty now, And slumber smiles upon her tranquil brow; Her bright dreams lead her to the moonlit tide, Her heart's own partner wandering by her side. (p.) 'Tis summer's eve: the soft gales scarcely rouse The low-voiced ripple and the rustling boughs ; And, faint and far, some minstrel's melting tone Breathes to her heart a music like its own.

3. But hark! (") O horror! what a crash is there! What shriek is that which fills the midnight air? (ff.) 'Tis fire! 'TIS FIRE! She wakes to dream no more!" The hot blast rushes through the blazing door!

The dun smoke eddies round; and, hark! that cry!

66

Help! HELP!-Will no one aid? I die! I DIE!" =) She seeks the casement: shuddering at its hight, She turns again; the fierce flames mock her flight;

Along the crackling stairs they fiercely play,
And roar, exulting, as they seize their prey.
Help! HELP!- Will no one come?'

no more,

She can

But, pale and breathless, sinks upon the floor.

4. Will no one save thee'? Yes'; there yet is one
Remains to save, when hope itself is gone;
When all have fled, when all but he would fly,
The FIREMAN comes, to rescue or to die!

He mounts the stair

it wavers 'neath his tread; He seeks the room-flames flashing round his head; He bursts the door; he lifts her prostrate frame, And turns again to brave the raging flame.

5. The Fire-blast smites him with his stifling breath;
The falling timbers menace him with death;
The sinking floors his hurried step betray,
And ruin crashes round his desperate way.
Hot smoke obscures-ten thousand cinders rise-
Yet still he staggers forward with his prize.
He leaps from burning stair to stair. On! ON!
COURAGE! One effort more, and all is won!

The stair is passed-the blazing hall is braved!
Still on! yet on!
Once more! THANK HEAVEN,

SHE'S SAVED!

6. The hardy seaman pants the storm to brave,
For beckoning Fortune wooes him to the wave;
The soldier battles 'neath his smoky shroud,
For Glory's bow is painted on the cloud;
The fireman also dares each shape of death,
But not for Fortune's gold nor Glory's wreath.