204 STANZAS. STANZAS. BY J. G. C. BRAINARD. THE dead leaves strew the forest walk, I learned a clear and wild toned note, There perched and raised her song for me. Too mild the breath of southern sky, Finds leaves too green, and buds too fair; No mountain top with sleety hair Bends o'er the snow its reverend head. THE DEAD MARINER. Go there with all the birds, and seek And mark where all its glories shone→→→ THE DEAD MARINER. BY GEORGE D. PRENTICE. SLEEP on-sleep on-above thy corse O'er thee, mild eve her beauty flings, And the blue halcyon loves to lave Sleep on-no willow o'er thee bends With melancholy air, No violet springs, nor dewy rose, Its sou of love lays bare ; But there the sea-flower bright and young 205 206 THE DEAD MARINER And, like a weeping mourner fair, The pale flag hangs its tresses there. Sleep on-sleep on-the glittering depths Sleep on-sleep on-the fearful wrath 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, the young and beauteous bride, TO THE DAUGHTER OF A FRIEND. 20'1 TO THE DAUGHTER OF A FRIEND. BY J. G. C. BRAINARD. I PRAY thee by thy mother's face That hovered round the resting place And by the voice that soothed thine ear, Is not the nestling, when it wakes Its eye upon the wood around, And on its new fledged, pinions takes Its taste of leaves and boughs and brakesOf motion slight and sound, Is it not like the parent? Then Be like thy mother, child, and when Thy wing is bold and strong; As pure and steady be thy lightAs high and heavenly be thy flight— As holy be thy song. 208 THE SEA BOY TO HIS BARQUE. THE SEA BOY TO HIS BARQUE. BY GEORGE D. STRONG. GLIDE gaily forth, my gallant barque! The dolphin sports along thy track Then launch upon thy watery way, The amorous waves to press. How beauteous floats thy swan like form Along the mighty deep, While the moon's rays in silent pomp Upon the billows sleep! To rival thee, earth's loveliest charms In vain display their store, As from thy prow in sparkling gems |