THE CORAL GROVE. 239 THE CORAL GROVE. BY J. G. PERCIVAL. DEEP in the wave is a Coral grove, Where the purple mullet, and gold-fish rove, Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, That never are wet with falling dew, But in bright and changeful beauty shine, Far down in the green and glassy brine. The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow; From coral rocks the sea-plants lift Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow; The water is calm and still below, For the winds and waves are absent there, And the sands are bright as the stars that glow In the motionless fields of upper air: There with its waving blade of green, The sea-flag streams through the silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter: There with a light and easy motion, The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean Are bending like corn on the upland lea. And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms, Has made the top of the wave his own: 240 WE MEET AGAIN. And when the ship from his fury flies, The purple mullet, and gold-fish rove, WE MEET AGAIN. BY GEORGE LUNT. WE meet again-there is no power The glow that smooths the burnished lake,- We meet again-those locks that flow Those love-wreathed lips,—this heartfelt sigh, The tokens of this hour of bliss, Our melting hearts, this entred kissy THE SPIRIT OF THE AIR. Swear for me that I will not stain We meet again,-no lonely spot I AM the spirit of the viewless air, 241 242 THE SPIRIT OF THE AIR. And curl the light-green ripples on the lake; To gather up the pearls that speck it o'er, When the fair planet smiles, and brightly throws Till every cloud, that passes by her, glows, A magic light, that safely guides him through; And hills, and woods, and lakes are left behind: When clouds are gathering, or when whirlwinds blow, When Heaven is dark with storms, or brightly fair, Where'er the viewless waves of ether flow, Calm, or in tempest rolling, I am there. The wave is resting on the ocean; And far and near The silent air Just lifts the flag with faintest motion. There is no gale To fill the sail, No wind to heave the curling billow; The streamers droop, And trembling stoop, Like boughs, that crown the weeping willow. From off the shore Is heard the roar Of waves in softest motion rolling ; The twinkling stars, And whispering airs Are all to peace the heart controlling. The moon is bright, Her ring of light, In silver, pales the blue of Heaven, Or tints with gold, Where lightly rolled, Like fleecy snow, the rack is driven. |