These white-capped waves roll on with pride, as if The myth that ancient poësy did tell Were true, and they did bear upon their breasts King Néreus with state most royal. How They leap and toss aloft their snowy crests; And now a tumbling billow springing up In air, does dash and bound—another comes— Then playfully they meet, with bursting swell Dashing their spray-wreaths on the shelving shore, And quick the ripples hasten back, as if To join the Ocëanides wild glee. But when the beaming sunlight fades away And storm-clouds gather—then the rolling waves, Without a light, sweep on, and soon is heard The under-current’s deep and solemn tones, As on the shore it breaks. How like to life These ocean waves! When beaming with the rays Of sunny Joy, Youths cresting billows bound, Its frolick waves leap up with gleeful laugh, Glitt’ring with pleasure’s light; but lo! a cloud Obscures Life’s sky, and sorrow’s storm awakes, The heavy swell of grief comes rolling on, And all the sparkles of Life’s waves are gone! * * * * * THE BRIDE OF THE BATTLE. A SOUTHERN NOVELET. BY W. GILMORE SIMMS. (_Concluded from page 91._) CHAPTER VIII.