XXIV.

The captain stared aghast at mate, The pilot at th' apprentice; No fancy of the German Sea Of Fiction the event is: But when they at the compass look'd, It seem'd non compass mentis.

XXV.

Now north, now south, now east, now west, The wavering point was shaken, 'Twas past the whole philosophy Of Newton, or of Bacon; Never by compass, till that hour, Such latitudes were taken!

XXVI.

With fearful speech, each after each Took turns in the inspection; They found no gun--no iron--none-- To vary its direction; It seem'd a new magnetic case Of Poles in Insurrection!

XXVII.

Farewell to wives, farewell their lives, And all their household riches; Oh! while they thought of girl or boy, And dear domestic niches, All down the side which holds the heart, That needle gave them stitches.

XXVIII.

With deep amaze, the Stranger gazed To see them so white-livered: And walked abaft the binnacle, To know at what they shivered; But when he stood beside the card, St. Josef! how it quivered!

XXIX.

No fancy-motion, brain-begot, In eye of timid dreamer-- The nervous finger of a sot Ne'er showed a plainer tremor; To every brain it seemed too plain, There stood th' Infernal Schemer!

XXX.

Mix'd brown and blue each visage grew, Just like a pullet's gizzard; Meanwhile the captain's wandering wit, From tacking like an izzard, Bore down in this plain course at last, "It's Michael Scott--the Wizard!"

XXXI.

A smile passed o'er the ruddy face: "To see the poles so falter I'm puzzled, friends, as much as you, For with no fiends I palter!

Michael I'm not--although a Scott-- My Christian name is Walter."

XXXII.

Like oil it fell, that name, a spell On all the fearful faction; The captain's head (for he had read) Confess'd the needle's action, And bow'd to Him in whom the North Has lodged its main attraction!

THE GHOST.

A VERY SERIOUS BALLAD.

"I'll be your second."--LISTON.

In Middle Row, some years ago, There lived one Mr. Brown; And many folks considered him The stoutest man in town.

But Brown and stout will both wear out-- One Friday he died hard, And left a widow'd wife to mourn, At twenty pence a yard.

Now widow B. in two short months Thought mourning quite a tax; And wished, like Mr. Wilberforce, To _manumit_ her blacks.

With Mr. Street she soon was sweet; The thing came thus about: She asked him in at home, and then At church, he asked her out!

Assurance such as this the man In ashes could not stand; So like a Phoenix he rose up Against the Hand in Hand!

One dreary night the angry sprite Appeared before her view; It came a little after one, But she was after two!

"O Mrs. B., O Mrs. B.!

Are these your sorrow's deeds, Already getting up a flame, To burn your widows' weeds?

"It's not so long since I have left For aye the mortal scene; My memory--like Rogers's-- Should still be bound in green!

"Yet if my face you still retrace, I almost have a doubt-- I'm like an old Forget-me-not, With all the leaves torn out!

"To think that on that finger joint Another pledge should cling; O Bess! upon my very soul It struck like 'Knock and Ring,'"

"A ton of marble on my breast Can't hinder my return; Your conduct, ma'am, has set my blood A-boiling in my urn!"

"Remember, oh! remember, how The marriage rite did run,-- If ever we one flesh should be 'Tis now--when I have none!

"And you, Sir--once a bosom friend-- Of perjured faith convict, As ghostly toe can give no blow, Consider you are kick'd.

"A hollow voice is all I have, But this I tell you plain, Marry come up!--you marry, ma'am, And I'll come up again."

More he had said, but chanticleer The spritely shade did shock With sudden crow,--and off he went, Like fowling-piece at cock!

THE FALL.

"Down, down, down, ten thousand fathoms deep."

_Count Fathom_.

Who does not know that dreadful gulf, where Niagara falls, Where eagle unto eagle screams, to vulture vulture calls; Where down beneath, Despair and Death in liquid darkness grope, And upward, on the foam there shines a rainbow without Hope; While, hung with clouds of Fear and Doubt, the unreturning wave Suddenly gives an awful plunge, like life into the grave; And many a hapless mortal there hath dived to bale or bliss; One--only one--hath ever lived to rise from that abyss!

Oh, Heav'n! it turns me now to ice with chill of fear extreme, To think of my frail bark adrift on that tumultuous stream!

In vain with desperate sinews, strung by love of life and light, I urged that coffin, my canoe, against the current's might: On--on--still on--direct for doom, the river rush'd in force, And fearfully the stream of Time raced with it in its course.

My eyes I closed--I dared not look the way towards the goal; But still I viewed the horrid close, and dreamt it in my soul.

Plainly, as through transparent lids, I saw the fleeting shore!