And he had themes on which to dwell, And memories that were not mine, Which formed a separating spell, And drew a mystic boundary line. His thoughts were wanderers--and the things Which brought back friendship's joys to me, To him were but the spirit's wings Which bore him o'er the distant sea. For he had seen the evening star Glancing its rays o'er ocean's waves, And marked the moonbeams from afar, Lighting the Grecian heroes' graves. And he had gazed on trees and flowers Beneath Italia's sunny skies, And listened, in fair ladies' bowers, To genius' words, and beauty's sighs. His steps had echoed through the halls Of grandeur, long left desolate; And he had climbed the crumbling walls, Or op'd perforce the hingeless gate; And mused o'er many an ancient pile, In ruin still magnificent, Whose histories could the hours beguile With dreams, before to fancy lent. Such recollections come to him, With moon, and stars, and summer flowers; To me they bring the shadows dim Of earlier and of happier hours. I would those shadows darker fell-- For life, with its best powers to bless, Has but few memories loved as well, Or welcome as _forgetfulness_. ON SHIP-BOARD. BY THEODORE S. FAY. Now freshening breezes swell the sail, Now leans the vessel to the gale; So slant her deck, you have to cling A moment to the nearest thing; So far she bends into the deep, Across her deck the white waves sweep; Bursts through the flood the pointed prow, That loves the startled foam to throw, And thunders on before the wind, Long breaks of whirl and froth behind; And when the seas the bows o'erwhelm, The captain mutters, "mind your helm!" At night, when stormy shadows fall, "All hands on deck," the captain's call. Darkness around, save when below Dim light the bursting billows throw-- And heave the waves, and beats the rain-- The labouring vessel groans with pain; Strains--lurches--thunders--rocks and rolls, We smile--but tremble in our souls! Fierce howls the blast through sail and shroud, And rings the tempest long and loud; But sweet the change, when tranquilly In sunshine sleep the air and sea. Pen may not paint each magic dye On the soft wave and sunny sky, When comes the charming silent eve, And gentle billows idly heave. The liquid floor bends smooth and bright, Like molten silver to the light; Till, as the western clouds enfold The fiery sun, it turns to gold, And then a thousand colours, straying From heaven to earth, and sweetly playing Upon the ocean's giant breast, Compose his savage soul to rest. And thus, within the human mind, When waves are hushed and still the wind, When passion's storm has passed away, And vice no more obscures the day, The beams of virtue and of love Break softly, falling from above, O'er half-breathed wordly wishes shine,