Now poising o'er ocean thy delicate form,

Now breasting the surge with thy bosom so warm;

Now darting aloft with a heavenly scorn,

Now shooting along like a ray of the morn;

Now lost in the folds of the cloud-curtain'd dome,

Now floating abroad like a flake of the foam;

TO A SEA-GULL.

Now silently poised o'er the war of the main,
Like the spirit of charity brooding o'er pain;
Now gliding with pinion all silently furl'd,
Like an angel descending to comfort the world!
Thou seem'st to my spirit, as upward I gaze,
And see thee, now clothed in mellowest rays,
Now lost in the storm-driven vapours, that

Like hosts that are routed, across the broad sky,
Like a pure spirit, true to its virtue and faith,

'Mid the tempests of nature, of passion, and death!

Rise, beautiful emblem of purity! rise,

On the sweet winds of heaven, to thine own brilliant skies ;

Still higher! still higher! till, lost to our sight,

Thou hidest thy wings in a mantle of light;

And I think how a pure spirit, gazing on thee,

Must long for that moment-the joyous and free—
When the soul, disembodied from nature, shall spring,
Unfetter'd, at once to her Maker and King;

When, the bright day of service and suffering past,
Shapes fairer than thine shall shine round her at last ;
While, the standard of battle triumphantly furl'd,
She smiles like a victor, serene on the world!

GERALD GRIFFIN.

FAIR is the Swan, whose majesty prevailing
O'er breezeless water, on Locarno's lake,
Bears him on, while proudly sailing,
He leaves behind a moon-illumin'd wake:
Behold! the mantling spirit of reserve
Fashions his neck into a goodly curve;

An arch thrown back between luxuriant wings

Of whitest garniture, like fir-tree boughs
To which, on some unruffled morning, clings

A flaky weight of Winter's purest snows!