Towards evening the captain, to avoid the danger of encountering a Barbary corsair steered for the French coast, and Adeline distinguished in the gleam of the setting sun the shores of Provence, feathered with wood and green with pasturage. La Luc, languid and ill, had retired to the cabin, whither Clara attended him. The pilot at the helm guiding the tall vessel through the sounding waters, and one solitary sailor leaning with crossed arms against the mast, and now and then singing parts of a mournful ditty, were all of the crew, except Adeline, that remained upon deck--and Adeline silently watched the declining sun, which threw a saffron glow upon the waves and on the sails gently swelling in the breeze that was now dying away. The sun at length sunk below the ocean, and twilight stole over the scene, leaving the shadowy shores yet visible, and touching with a solemn tint the waters that stretched wide around. She sketched the picture, but it was with a faint pencil. NIGHT O'er the dim breast of Ocean's wave Night spreads afar her gloomy wings, And pensive thought, and silence brings, Save when the distant waters lave; Or when the mariner's lone voice Swells faintly in the passing gale, Or when the screaming sea-gulls poise O'er the tall mast and swelling sail. Bounding the grey gleam of the deep, Where fancied forms arouse the mind, Dark sweep the shores, on whose rude steep Sighs the sad spirit of the wind. Sweet is its voice upon the air, At Evening's melancholy close, When the smooth wave in silence flows! Sweet, sweet the peace its stealing accents bear! Blest be thy shades, O Night! and blest the song Thy low winds breathe the distant shores along!