THE STORM-KING.

BY ROSWELL PARK.

THE mist descended from the snow
That whiten'd o'er the cliff;

The clouds were gather'd round its brow,
And solemn darkness reign'd below
The peak of Teneriffe.

For on that rocky peak and high,
Magnificent and lone,

The awful Storm-King of the sky,
Beyond the reach of mortal eye,
Had rear'd his cloudy throne.

By him the raging winds unfurl'd,
Swept o'er the prostrate land;
And thence, above the affrighted world,
The flashing thunderbolts were hurl'd
Forth from his red right hand.—

Uprising from his cave of jet,

While mists obscured his form,

With streaming locks and vesture wet,

The Spirit of the ocean met

The Spirit of the storm.

"And why so madly dost thou dare,

Proud Spirit of the sea,

To tempt the monarch of the air,

With the whirlwind's rage and the lightning's glare? What seekest thou of me?"

"I have risen afar from my coral caves,

Where the pearls are sparkling bright,

To roam o'er the isles I have girt with my waves;
And I hurl defiance at thee and thy slaves,

And I challenge thee here to the fight!”

"Take this in return!" and the thunderbolt rush'd
From the midst of a cloud of fire;

The tempest forth from his nostrils gush'd,
And the island forest his footsteps crush'd,

In the burning of his ire.

Now fierce o'er the waters mad hurricanes boom,
And the depths of the ocean uprend;

Now the waves lash the skies with their torrents of foam,
And whirlwinds and billows in furious gloom,

Meet, mingle, and fiercely contend.

But the monarch of ocean spurns his thrall,
And evades his fierce controul ;-

Away in his ice-clad crystal hall,
He still reigns absolute monarch of all

That surrounds his frozen pole.

The day breaks forth, and the storm is past,-
Again are the elements free;

But many a vessel is still sinking fast,

And many a mariner rests at last,

In the bosom of the sea!

SONG-ROSALIE CLARE.

BY C. F. HOFFMAN.

WHO Owns not she's peerless-who calls her not fair-
Who questions the beauty of Rosalie Clare?

Let him saddle his courser and spur to the field,
And though coated in proof, he must perish or yield;
For no gallant can splinter-no charger can dare
The lance that is couched for young Rosalie Clare.

When goblets are flowing, and wit at the board
Sparkles high, while the blood of the red grape is poured,
And fond wishes for fair ones around offered up
From each lip that is wet with the dew of the cup,-
What name on the brimmer floats oftener there,
Or is whispered more warmly, than Rosalie Clare?

They may talk of the land of the olive and vine-
Of the maids of the Ebro, the Arno, or Rhine ;-
Of the Houris that gladden the East with their smiles,
Where the sea's studded over with green summer isles;
But what flower of far away clime can compare
With the blossom of ours-bright Rosalie Clare?

Who owns not she's peerless-who calls her not fair?
Let him meet but the glances of Rosalie Clare!
Let him list to her voice-let him gaze on her form—
And if, hearing and seeing, his soul do not warm,
Let him go breathe it out in some less happy air
Than that which is blessed by sweet Rosalie Clare.

TO A PACKET SHIP.

BY ROSWELL PARK.

SPEED, gallant bark! to thy home o'er the wave! The clouds gather dark, and the mad billows rave;— The tempest blows o'er thee, and scatters the spray That lies in thy wake, as thou wingest thy way.

Speed, gallant bark! to the land of the free,
The home of the happy, beyond the wide sea!
Dear friends and near kindred, the lovely and fair,
Are waiting, impatient, to welcome thee there!

Speed, gallant bark! there's a seat at the board,
Which the dame and the damsel reserve for their lord;
And the fond-hearted maiden is sighing in vain,

To welcome her long-absent lover again.

Speed, gallant bark! richer cargo is thine,
Than Brazilian gem, or Peruvian mine ;
And the treasures thou bearest, thy destiny wait;
For they, if thou perish, must share in thy fate.

Speed, gallant bark! though the land is afar,
And the storm-clouds above thee have veil'd every star;
The needle shall guide thee, the helm shall direct,
And the God of the tempest thy pathway protect!

Speed, gallant bark! though the lightning may flash; And over thy deck the huge surges may dash ;Thy sails are all reef'd, and thy streamers are high; Unheeded and harmless the billows roll by!

Speed, gallant bark! the tornado is past;

Staunch and secure thou hast weather'd the blast ; Now spread thy full sails to the wings of the morn, And soon the glad harbour shall greet thy return!

MOONLIGHT.

BY ROBERT BARKER.

How dear to love the moonlight hour,
Beneath the calm transparent ether,
It seems as if by magic power

They breathe in unison together.
When forest glen and fountain bright
Are tinged with shades of mellow light,
And every earthly sound is still

Save murmur of the mountain rill;
"Tis then to lull the breast's commotion,
And waken every soft emotion,

To charm from sorrow's cheek her tears,
And place the smiles of rapture there,
"Celestial music of the spheres"

Comes floating on the evening air.
"T is then that fancy wings her flight
Beyond the bounds to mortals given;
To regions where the lamps of night

Illume the path which leads to heaven.
"T is then she holds communion sweet
With seraphs round the eternal throne,
Where long-departed spirits meet,
To worship him who sits thereon.