SONNET.—THE MARINER.

Aboard his brittle bark, on the rough sea,

Lo! the bold mariner in safety rides,

Nor fears he waves, nor dreads he running tides;

Ocean his home, no other home seeks he—

Nor storm nor tempest can his course control,

Sways he the winds, in canvas them enchains,

Bidding them bear him ’cross the watery plains;

His guide the needle, pointing to the pole—

Freighted with wealth, his white-winged vessel goes,

Things useful fetching from each distant clime;

Thus mankind, knit in brotherhood sublime,

Learn all that Art and Science can disclose—

“Who go to sea in ships”—their native right—

Deem all apparent danger pleasure and delight.

W. A.