THE SPECTRE SHIP OF SALEM. But the vast crowd lingered still behind, With an over-powering dread; And many said that an evil pair From the quiet grave-yard drawn; Away-the good ship sped away, The day passed on-the sunlight fell The sun went down among the clouds, Tinging with sudden gold, The pall-like shadow of the storın, 59 60 THE SPECTRE SHIP OF SALEM. And then the lightning's eye looked forth, And the red thunder rolled. The storm came down upon the sea, In its surpassing dread, Rousing the white and broken surge Above its rocky bed; As if the deep was stired beneath All night the hurricane went on, The smothered cry of shipwrecked men The gray-haired man had scarcely known So wild a night before. Morn rose upon a tossing sea, The tempest's work was done; And freely over land and wave Shone out the blessed sun But where was she-that merchant-bark, Where had the good ship gone? Men gathered on the shore to watch Hoping, yet fearing much, some frail The fate of that disastrous ship, Of friends they loved so well. THE SPECTRE SHIP OF SALEM. None came the billows smoothed away And all was strangely calm, As if the very sea had felt A necromancer's charm,— And not a trace was left behind, The twilight came with sky of gold- And then a sudden cry rang out, Near and more near the ship came on, The night grew thick, but a phantom light And the gazers shuddered as on she came, They saw by the dim and baleful glare The upright forms of the well known crew, As pale and fixed as stone 61 And they called to them, but no sound came back, Save the echoed cry alone. The fearful stranger youth was there, And clasped in his embrace, 62 THE SPECTRE SHIP OF SALEM. The pale and passing sorrowful Gazed wildly in his face; Like one who had been wakened from The silent burial-place. A shudder ran along the crowd- And lo!-the vision passed away— And nought was left upon the waves, It passed away-that vision strange- Yet, long shall Naumkeag's annals tell The phantom-bark-the ghostly crew, The pale, encircling light. NAPOLEON. 63 NAPOLEON. BY GRENVILLE MELLEN. Napoleon, when in St Helena, beheld a bust of his son, and wept. LONG on the Parian bust he gazed, And his pallid lips moved not; But when his deep cold eye he raised, His glory was forgot; And the heated tears came down like rain, He who had tearless rode the storm Of human agony, And with ambition wild and warm, Sailed on a bloody sea, He bent before the infant head, And wept-as a mother weeps her dead!— The roar of all the world had passed— On a sounding rock alone, An exile, to the earth he cast |