THE OCEAN. 17 



The water is calm and still below, 

 For the winds and the waves are absent there ; 



And the sands are bright as the stars that glow 

 In the motionless fields of the upper air. 



There, with its waving blade of green. 

 The sea-flag streams through the silent water, 



And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 

 To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter. 



There, with a light and easy motion, 

 The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea, 



And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 

 Are blended like corn on the upland lea. 



And life, in rare and beautiful forms. 



Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, 

 And is safe when the wrathful spirit of storms 



Has made the top of the waves his own. 



We should, however, look far above the imaginary 

 beings with which poetry has peopled the deep. " O 

 my God," said Fenelon, " he who does not see Thee in 

 thy works, has seen nothing. He who does not confess 

 thy hand in the beautiful productions of this well-ordered 

 world, is a stranger to the best affections of the heart. 

 He exists as though he existed not, and his life is no 

 more than a dream." 



