call to memory--not, of course, the
subjects, but the _fact_, of our discussions on literature and the
belles-lettres at this time; and that, on asking me one morning whether
I had not been, according to Burns, "crooning to mysel'," when on deck
during the previous evening, what seemed from the cadence to be verse, I
ventured to submit to him, as my night's work, a few descriptive
stanzas. And, as forming in some sort a memorial of our voyage, and in
order that my friendly critic may be enabled, after the lapse of
considerably more than a quarter of a century, to review his judgment
respecting them, I now submit them to the reader:--

STANZAS WRITTEN AT SEA.

Joy of the poet's soul, I court thy aid;
* * * * *
Around our vessel heaves the midnight wave;
The cheerless moon sinks in the western sky;
Reigns breezeless silence!--in her ocean cave
The mermaid rests, while her fond lover nigh,
Marks the pale star-beams as they fall from high.
Gilding with tremulous light her couch of sleep.
Why smile incred'lous? the rapt Muse's eye
Through earth's dark caves, o'er heaven's fair plains, can sweep,
Can range its hidden cell, where toils the unfathom'd deep.

On ocean's craggy floor, beneath the shade
Of bushy rock-weed tangled, dusk, and brown,
She sees the wreck of founder'd vessel laid,
In slimy silence, many a fathom down
From where the star-beam trembles; o'er it thrown
Are heap'd the treasures men have died to gain.
And in sad mockery of the parting groan,
That bubbled 'mid the wild unpitying main,
Quick gushing o'er the bones, the restless tides complain.

Gloomy and wide rolls the sepulchral sea,
Grave of my kindred, of my sire the grave!
Perchance, where now he sleeps, a space for me
Is mark'd by Fate beneath the deep green wave.
It well may he! Poor bosom, why dost heave
Thus wild? Oh, many a care, troublous and dark.
On earth attends thee still; the mermaid's cave
Grief haunts not; sure 'twere pleasant there to mark,
Serene, at noontide hour, the sailor's passing barque.

Sure it were pleasant through the vasty deep,
When on its bosom plays the golden beam.
With headlong speed by bower and cave to sweep;
When flame the waters round with emerald gleam--
When, born