On the margin of the flood The gathered waves, that took their stand, Then the light of morning lay With her chosen horsemen prancing, In a rich and boastful ring All around her furious king. But the Lord from out his cloud, The Lord looked down upon the proud; And the host drave heavily Down the deep bosom of the sea. With a quick and sudden swell Prone the liquid ramparts fell; Over Pharaoh's crown of gold, Down they sank, they sank like lead, Down without a cry or groan. Its meridian radiance then Cast on a wide sea, heaving as of yore, Against a silent, solitary shore. Then did Israel's maidens sing, To Him, the King of kings! that in the sea, And our timbrels' flashing chords, Lo! a glorious triumph now Lo! against thy people come JOHN WILSON, PROFESSOR Of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, has not attained the popularity which his poetic merits deserve. His powers of mind are great and varied, his heart manifestly "o'erflowing with the milk f human kindness;" his style perfectly original, teeming with the most delightful fancies, and abounding in noble appeals to the best feelings of the human heart. THE SEA BY MOONLIGHT. From THE ISLE OF PALMS. Ir is the midnight hour:-the beauteous sea, Like that of dreamer murmuring in his sleep, Above the happy deep. The sea, I ween, cannot be fanned, By evening freshness from the land, For the land it is far away: But God hath willed that the sky-born breeze, Should ever sport and play. The mighty moon she sits above, That makes her wakeful eye more bright; On waves that lend their gentle breast, The sleep of a new delight; And hopes that she ne'er may wake again, Scarce conscious of an earthly frame, Now touching softly the ocean's breast, Now bold as the brightest star that glows Looks down on the far-off flood, And there all breathless and alone, As the sky where she soars were a world of her own, She mocketh that gentle mighty one, As he lies in his quiet mood. "Art thou," she breathes, "the tyrant grim That scoffs at human prayers, Answering with prouder roar the while, As it rises from some lonely isle, Through groans raised wild, the hopeless hymn Of shipwrecked mariners? Oh! thou art harmless as a child, For sleep to change its play; And now that night hath stayed thy race, As if thy dreams were gay." THE SHIP. AND, lo! upon the murmuring waves A broad-winged vessel, through the shower A lovely path before her lies, She sails amid the loveliness Like a thing with heart and mind. Fit pilgrim through a scene so fair, A glorious phantom of the deep, Risen up to meet the moon. The moon bids her tenderest radiance fall On her wavy streamer and snow-white wings, And the quiet voice of the rocking sea, To cheer the gliding vision sings. Oh! ne'er did sky and water blend Or bathe in brighter quietude So far the peaceful soul of heaven It seems as if this weight of calm O world of waters! the steadfast earth Is she a vision wild and bright, Ah, no! an earthly freight she bears, Thus left by herself on the moonlight sea, In loneliness that rolls, Five hundred human souls! THE SHIPWRECK. Bur list! a low and moaning sound, gray Soon as his light has warmed the seas, From the parting cloud fresh blows the breeze! No fears hath she! her giant form O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm 'Mid the deep darkness white as snow! So stately her bearing, so proud her array, The main she will traverse for ever and aye, Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast; -Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last, Five hundred souls in one instant of dread Are hurried o'er the deck; And fast the miserable ship |