streams a deathly light!

He's on the beach, but stops not there;
He's on the sea! that dreadful horse!
Lee flings and writhes in wild despair!
In vain! The spirit-corse
Holds him by fearful spell; he cannot leap.
Within that horrid light he rides the deep.

It lights the sea around their track--
The curling comb, and dark steel wave:
There yet sits Lee the Spectre's back--
Gone! gone! and none to save!
They're seen no more; the night has shut them in.
May Heaven have pity on thee, man of sin!

The earth has washed away its stain;
The sealed-up sky is breaking forth,
Mustering its glorious hosts again,
From the far south and north;
The climbing moon plays on the rippling sea.--
Oh, whither on its waters rideth Lee?

PAUL AND ABEL

From 'Paul Felton'

He took a path which led through the fields back of his house, and wound
among the steep rocks part way up the range of high hills, till it
reached a small locust grove, where it ended. He began climbing a ridge
near him, and reaching the top of it, beheld all around him a scene
desolate and broken as the ocean. It looked for miles as if one immense
gray rock had been heaved up and shattered by an earthquake. Here and
there might be seen shooting out of the clefts, old trees, like masts at
sea. It was as if the sea in a storm had become suddenly fixed, with all
its ships upon it. The sun shone glaring and hot on it, but there was
neither life, nor motion, nor sound; the spirit of desolation had gone
over it, and it had become the place of death. His heart sunk within
him, and something like a superstitious dread entered him. He tried to
rouse himself, and look about with a composed mind. It was in vain--he
felt as if some dreadful unseen power stood near him. He would have
spoken, but he dared not in such a place.

To shake this off, he began clambering over one ridge after another,
till, passing cautiously round a beetling rock, a sharp cry from out it
shot through him. Every small jut and precipice sent it back with a
Satanic taunt; and the crowd of hollows and points seemed for the
instant alive with thousands of fiends. Paul's blood ran cold, and he
scarcely breathed as he waited for their cry again; but all was still.
Though his mind was of a superstitious cast, he had courage a