Swings round the purple peaks remote:

Round purple peaks

It sails, and seeks
Blue inlets and their crystal creeks,
Where high rocks throw,

Through deeps below,

A duplicated golden glow.

Far, vague, and dim,
The mountains swim;
While on Vesuvius' misty brim,
With outstretched hands,

The gray smoke stands
O'erlooking the volcanic lands.

Here Ischia smiles

O'er liquid miles;

And yonder, bluest of the isles,

Calm Capri waits,

Her sapphire gates

Beguiling to her bright estates.

*By courtesy of J. B. Lippincott & Co.

I heed not, if

My rippling skiff

Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff;

With dreamful eyes

My spirit lies

Under the walls of Paradise.

Under the walls

Where swells and falls

The Bay's deep breast at intervals
At peace I lie,

Blown softly by,

A cloud upon this liquid sky.

The day, so mild,

Is Heaven's own child,

With Earth and Ocean reconciled;
The airs I feel

Around me steal

Are murmuring to the murmuring keel.

Over the rail

My hand I trail

Within the shadow of the sail,

A joy intense,

The cooling sense

Glides down my drowsy indolence.

With dreamful eyes

My spirit lies

Where Summer sings and never dies,―

The

World of

Waters

The

World of
Waters

O'erveiled with vines

She glows and shines.

Among her future oil and wines.

Her children, hid

The cliff's amid,

Are gambolling with the gambolling kid,
Or down the walls,

With tipsy calls,

Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls.

The fisher's child,

With tresses wild,

Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled,
With glowing lips

Sings as she skips,

Or gazes at the far-off ships.

Yon deep bark goes

Where traffic blows,

From lands of sun to lands of snows;
This happier one,-

Its course is run

From lands of snow to lands of sun.

O happy ship,

To rise and dip,

With the blue crystal at your lip!

O happy crew,

My heart with you

Sails, and sails, and sings arew!

No more, no more

The worldly shore

Upbraids me with its loud uproar:

With dreamful eyes

My spirit lies

Under the walls of Paradise!

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

Tacking Ship Off Shore*

The weather-leech of the topsail shivers,
The bowlines strain, and the lee-shrouds
slacken,

The braces are taut, the lithe boom quivers,
And the waves with the coming squall-cloud
blacken.

Open one point on the weather-bow,

Is the light-house tall on Fire Island Head.
There's a shade of doubt on the captain's brow,
And the pilot watches the heaving lead.

I stand at the wheel, and with eager eye
To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze,
Till the muttered order of " Full and by!"
Is suddenly changed for " Full for stays!"

66

The ship bends lower before the breeze,

As her broadside fair to the blast she lays; *By courtesy of The Churchman.

The World of

Waters

The And she swifter springs to the rising scas, World of As the pilot calls, "Stand by for stays!"

Waters

It is silence all, as each in his place,

With the gathered coil in his hardened hands,
By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace,
Waiting the watchword impatient stands.

And the light on Fire Island Head draws near,
As, trumpet-winged, the pilot's shout
From his post on the bowsprit's heel I hear,
With the welcome call of "Ready! About!"

No time to spare! It is touch and go;

And the captain growls, "Down helm! hard down!"

As my weight on the whirling spokes I throw,
While heaven grows black with the storm-
cloud's frown.

High o'er the knight-heads flies the spray,
As we meet the shock of the plunging sea;
And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay,
As I answer, "Ay, ay, sir! Ha-a-rd a-lee!"
With the swerving leap of a startled steed

The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind,

The dangerous shoals on the lee recede,

And the headland white we have left behind.

The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse,

And belly and tug at the groaning cleats;