Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/139

 1830-40.] GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 123 THE DEAD MARINER. Sleep on, sleep on ! above thy corse The winds their Sabbath keep ; The waves are round thee, and thy breast Heaves with the heaving deep. O'er thee mild eve her beauty flings, And there the white gull lifts her wings ; And the blue halcyon loves to lave Her plumage in the deep, blue wave. Sleep on ; no willow o'er thee bends With melancholy air, No violet springs, nor dewy rose Its soul of love lays bai-e ; But there the sea-flower, bright and young. Is sweetly o'er thy slumbers flung ; And, like a weeping mourner fair. The pale flag hangs its tresses there. Sleep on, sleep on ; the glittering depths Of ocean's coral caves Are thy bright ui-n — thy requiem The music of its waves ; The pui-ple gems forever burn In fadeless beauty round thy urn ; And pure and deep as infant love, The blue sea rolls its waves above. Sleep on, sleep on ; the fearful wrath Of mingling cloud and deep May leave its wild and stormy track Above thy place of sleep ; But, when the wave has sunk to rest. As now, 't will murmur o'er thy breast ; And the bright victims of the sea Perchance will make their home with thee. Sleep on ; thy corse is far away. But love bewails thee yet ; For thee the heart-wrung sigh is breathed. And lovely eyes are wet; And she, thy young and beauteous bride. Her thoughts are hovering by thy side, As oft she turns to view, with tears. The Eden of departed years. A NIGHT IN JUNE. Night steals upon the world ; the shades With silent flight, are sweeping down To steep, as day's last glory fades, In tints of blue the landscape brown ; The wave breaks not ; deep slumber holds The dewy leaves ; the night- wind folds Her melancholy wing ; and sleep Is forth upon the pulseless deep. The willows, mid the silent rocks. Are brooding o'er the waters mild, Like a fond mother's pendent locks Hung sweetly o'er her sleeping child ; The flowers that fringe the purple stream, Are sinkng to their evening dream ; And earth appears a lovely spot. Where sorrow's voice awakens not. But see ! such pure, such beautiful. And burning scenes awake to birth In yon bright depths, they render dull The loveliest tents that mantle earth ! The heavens are rolling blue and fair. And the soft night-gems clustering there Seem, as on high they breathe and burn, Bright blossoms o'er day's shadowy urn. At this still hour, when starry songs Are floating through night's glowing noon. How sweet to view those radiant throngs Glitter around the throne of June ! To see them in their watch of love. Gaze from the holy heavens above. And in their robes of brightness roam Like angels o'er the eternal dome ! Their light is on the ocean isles, 'Tis trembling on the mountain stream ; And the far hills, beneath their smiles. Seem creatures of a blessed dream ! Upon the deep their glory lies, As if untreasured from the skies,