43 



December 23. 



THE DOLPHIN. 



Does then the insatiate sea relent ? 

 And hath he back those treasures sent, 



His stormy rage devoured ? 

 All starred with gems the billows bound, 

 And emeralds, jacinths, sapphires round 



The bark in spray are showered. 



No, no ! 't is there the Dolphin plays ; 

 His scales, enriched with sunny rays, 



Celestial tints unfold; 

 And as he darts, the waters blue 

 Are streaked with gleams of many a hue, 



Green, orange, purple, gold ! 



And brighter still will shine your skin, 

 Poor fish, more dazzling play each fin, 



On deck when dying cast; 

 Like good men, who, expiring, bless 

 The Power that calls them, all confess 



Your brightest hour your last. 



And now the Spearman watchful stands ! 



The five-pronged grainse, which arms his hands, 



Your scales is doomed to gore ; 

 The lead will sink, and soon on high, 

 Borne from the deep, perforce you '11 fly, 



Nor e'er regain it more. 



Weep, Beauty, weep ! those vivid dyes, 

 Those splendours, but the harpooner's eyes 



To strike his victim call ! 

 Ambition, mark the Dolphin's close — - 

 To dangerous heights he only rose 



To find the heavier fall ! 



