Wrecked and wretched, lost and lonely, Crushed by grief's oppressive weight With a prayer for Clifford only, I resign me to my fate. Chains that bind the soul I've proven Strong as they were iron woven. Deep the wo that fast is sending From my cheek its healthful bloom; Sad my thoughts as willows bending O'er the borders of the tomb! Without Clifford, not a blessing In the world is worth possessing. Wealth!--a straw within the balance Opposed to love, 'twill strike the beam: Kindred, friendship, beauty, talents?-- All to love as nothing seem; Weigh love against all else together, And solid gold against a feather. Hope is flown--away disguises Naught but death relief can give-- For the love he little prizes Can not cease, and Julia live! Soon my thread of life will sever-- Clifford, fare thee well--for ever! The Main-Truck; Or, A Leap for Life A Nautical Ballad. [Founded upon a well-known tale from the pen of the late William Leggett, Esq.] Old Ironsides at anchor lay, In the harbor of Mahon; A dead calm rested on the bay-- The waves to sleep had gone; When little Jack, the captain's son, With gallant hardihood, Climbed shroud and spar--and then upon The main-truck rose and stood! A shudder ran through every vein-- All eyes were turned on high! There stood the boy, with dizzy brain, Between the sea and sky! No hold had he above--below, Alone he stood in air! At that far height none dared to go-- No aid could reach him there. We gazed--but not a man could speak!-- With horror all aghast In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, We watched the quivering mast. The atmosphere grew thick and hot, And of a lurid hue, As, riveted unto the spot, Stood officers and crew. The father came on deck--He gasped, "O, God, Thy will be done!" Then suddenly a rifle grasped, And aimed it at his son! "Jump far out, boy! into the wave! Jump, or I fire!" he said: "That only chance your life can save! Jump--jump, boy!"--He obeyed. He sank--he rose--he lived--he moved-- He for the ship struck out! On board we hailed the lad beloved With many a manly shout. His father drew, in silent joy, Those wet arms round his neck, Then folded to his heart the boy And fainted on the deck! Poetry. To me the world's an open book Of sweet and pleasant poetry; I read it in the running brook That sings its way toward the sea. It whispers in the leaves of trees, The swelling grain, the waving grass, And in the cool, fresh evening breeze That crisps the wavelets as they pass. The flowers below, the stars above, In all their bloom and brightness given, Are, like the attributes of love, The poetry of earth and heaven. Thus Nature's volume, read aright, Attunes the soul to minstrelsy, Tinging life's clouds with rosy light, And all the world with poetry. The Croton Ode. [See Notes] Written at the request of the corporation of the city of New York.