surrounded by the stench of sickening odors and rank corruptions, doth our Father in heaven prepare the precious essence of life, the pure cold water; but in the green glade and glassy dell, where the wild deer wanders and the child loves to play-there God brews it; and down, down in the deepest valleys, where the fountains murmur and the rills sing; and high up on the mountain-tops, where the naked granite glitters like gold in the sunlight, where the storm-clouds brood and the thunder-storms crash- there He brews it; and away, far out on the wide, wide sea, where the hurricanes howl music, and the mighty waves roar the chorus, sweeping the march of God - there He brews it that beverage of life - health-giving water!

And everywhere it is a thing of beauty; whether gleaming in the dewdrop, pattering in the summer rain, shining in the icegem till the trees all seem turned into living jewels, spreading a golden veil over the setting sun, or a bright halo around the midnight moon, roaring in the cataract, sleeping in the glaciers, dancing in the hail-storm, folding its pearly white mantle gently about the wintry world, or weaving the many-colored iris, that seraph's zone of the sky, whose woof is the sunbeam of heaven, all checkered over with celestial flowers by the mystic hand of radiation — still always it is beautiful, that blessed life-water!

There are no poison-bubbles on its brink! Its foam brings no sadness or sorrow! There are no blood-stains in its limpid glass! Broken-hearted wives, pale widows, and starving orphans shed no tears in its depths! No drunkard's shrieking ghost from the grave curses it in words of eternal despair! But it is beautiful, pure, blest, and glorious. Give me forever the sparkling, pure, heavenly water!

DRIFTING.

Y soul to-day

M'Is far away,

Sailing the Vesuvian Bay;

My winged boat,

A bird afloat,

Swims round the purple peaks remote:

Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff;

With dreamful eyes

My spirit lies

Under the walls of Paradise.

Under the walls

Where swells and falls

The Bay's deep breast at intervals
At peace I lie,

Blown softly by,

A cloud upon this liquid sky.

The day, so mild,

Is heaven's own child,

With earth and ocean reconciled

The airs I feel

Around me steal

Are murmuring to the murmuring keel.

Over the rail

My hand I trail

Within the shadow of the sail;
A joy intense,

The cooling sense

Glides down my drowsy indolence.

With dreamful eyes

My spirit lies

Where summer sings and never dies-
O'erveiled with vines,

She glows and shines

Among her future oil and wines.

Her children, hid

The cliffs amid,

Are gambolling with the gambolling kid; Or down the walls,

With tipsy calls,

Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls.

The fisher's child,

With tresses wild,

Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled,
With glowing lips

Sings as she skips,

Or gazes at the far-off ships.

Yon deep bark goes

Where Traffic blows,

From lands of sun to lands of snows;
This happier one,

Its course is run

From lands of snow to lands of sun.

O happy ship,

To rise and dip,

With the blue crystal at your lip!

O happy crew,

My heart with you

Sails, and sails, and sings anew!

No more, no more
The worldly shore

Upbraids me with its loud uproar!
With dreamful eyes

My spirit lies

Under the walls of Paradise!

THE CHARNEL SHIP.

THE night, the long, dark night, at last

Passed fearfully away;

'Mid crashing ice, and howling blast, They hailed the dawning day,

Which broke to cheer the whaler's crew, And wide around its gray light threw.

The storm had ceased; its wrath had rent
The icy wall asunder;

And many a piercing glance they sent
Around in awe and wonder;

And sailor hearts their rude praise gave
To God, that morn, from o'er the wave.

The breeze blew freshly, and the sun
Poured his full radiance far

On heaps of icy fragments, won,

Sad trophies, in the past night's war
Of winds and waters, and in piles
Now drifted by bright shining isles.

But lo! still farther off appears
A form more dim and dark;
And anxious eyes, and hopes, and fears
Its slow, strange progress mark.

It hastens to them, by the breeze
Borne onward from more Northern seas.

Near, and more near; and can it be, (More venturous than their own,)

A ship, whose seeming ghost they see
Among the icebergs thrown?
With broken masts, dismantled all,
And dark sails like a funeral pall?

God of the mariner! protect

Her inmates as she moves along,

Through perils, which ere now had wrecked,
But that Thine arm is strong!

Ha! she has struck! she grounds! she stands
Still, as if held by giant hands!

"Quick, man the boat!" Away they sprang,

The stranger ship to aid,

And loud their hailing voices rang,

And rapid speed they made;

But all in silence, deep, unbroke,

The vessel stood; none answering spoke.

'Twas fearful! not a sound arose,

No moving thing was there,
To interrupt the dread repose

Which filled each heart with fear.
On deck they silent stepped, and sought,
Till one, a man, their sad sight caught.

He was alone, the damp-chill mould
Of years hung on his cheek;

While the pen within his hand had told

The tale no voice might speak:

"Seventy days," the record stood,

"We have been in the ice, and wanted food!"

They took his book, and turned away,

But soon discovered where

The wife, in her death-sleep, gently lay

Near him in life most dear,

Who, seated beside his young heart's pride,
Long years before had calmly died.