SELECTED POETRY. 
THE KING OF THE SEA. 
Oh, the Whale is free of the boundless sea, 
He lives for a thousand years ; 
He sinks to rest in the billows’ breast, 
Nor the roughest tempest fears. 
The howling blast, as it hurries past, 
^ Is music to lull him to sleep ; 
And he scatters the spray in his boisterous play, 
As he dashes—the king of the deep. 
Oh, the rare old Whale, ’mid storm and gale, 
In his ocean home will be 
A giant in might, where might is right, 
And king of the boundless sea. 
A wond’rous tale could the rare old Whale 
Of the mighty deep disclose. 
Of the skeleton forms of by-gone storms, 
And of treasures that no one knows. 
He has seen the crew, when the tempest blew 
Drop down from the slipp’ry deck, 
Shaking the tide from his glassy side, 
And sporting with ocean and wreck. 
Then the rare old Whale, &c. 
Then the Whale shall still be dear to me, 
When the midnight lamp burns dim; 
For the student’s book and his fav’rite nook, 
Are illumed by the aid of him ; 
From none of his tribe could we e’er imbibe, 
So useful, so bless’d a thing, 
Then we’ll on land go hand in hand, 
To hail him the Ocean King. 
Oh, the rare old Whale, &c. 
J. 
