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Having again got hold of Rockall, we determined to abide by our firm friend till circumstances should render our return to the ship certain. In the mean time, we amused ourselves in forming plans for a future residence on this desolate abode, in the event of the ship being blown away during the night. If the weather should become more stormy, and our position to leeward should be rendered unsafe, in consequence of the divided waves running round and meeting, it was resolved that we should abandon the heaviest of the two boats, and drag the other up to the brow of the rock, so as to form, when turned keel upwards, a sort of hurricane-house. These and various other Robinson Crusoe kinds of resources, helped to occupy our thoughts, half in jest, half in earnest, till, by the increased gloom, we knew that the sun had gone down. It now became indispensable to adopt some definite line of operations, for the angry-looking night was setting in fast.
Fortunately, we were saved from further trials of patience or ingenuity by the fog suddenly rising, as it is called, - or dissipating itself in the air, — so completely, that, to our great joy, we gained sight of the ship once again.
It appeared afterwards that they had not seen our little island from the Endymion nearly so soon as we discovered her; and she was, in consequence, standing almost directly away from us, evidently not knowing whereabouts Rockall lay. This, I think, was the most anxious moment during the whole adventure; nor shall I soon forget the sensations caused by seeing the jib-sheet let fly, accompanied by other indications that the frigate was coming about.
I need not spin out the story any longer. It was almost dark when we got on board. Our first question was the reproachful one, “Why did you fire no guns to give us notice of your position ?” “ Fire guns!” said they ; “why, we have done nothing but blaze away every ten minutes for these last five or six hours.” Yet, strange to say, we heard not a single discharge !
EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION. th (vocal): - this, that, than, the, their, them, then, thence,
these, they, thine, thither, thou, though, thus, thy.
Her giant form
- Hush ! hush! thou vain dreamer ! this hour is her last. Five hundred souls, in one instant of dread,
Are hurried o'er the deck;
Becomes a lifeless wreck.
Her planks are torn asunder,
And a hideous crash, like thunder.
That gladdened late the skies,
Down many a fathom lies,
Gleamed softly from below,
O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow,
To the coral rocks are hurrying down,
0, many a dream was in the ship
Alive through all its leaves,
And the swallow's song in the eaves.
To the dangers his father had passed ;
Returned to her heart at last.
The whole ship's crew are there. Wailings around and overhead, Brave spirits stupefied or dead,
And madness and despair. Now is the ocean's bosom bare, Unbroken as the floating air ; The ship hath melted quite away, Like a struggling dream at break of day. No image meets my wandering eye, But the new-risen sun and the sunny sky. Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapor dull Bedims the waves so beautiful; While a low and melancholy moan Mourns for the glory that hath flown.
The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung, -
Where Delos rose and Phæbus sprung!
The Scian and the Teian muse,
The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
Their place of birth alone is mute
The mountains look on Marathon
And Marathon looks on the sea;
I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
A king sate on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in nations; all were his! He counted them at break of dayAnd when the sun set, where were they?
And where are they ? and where art thou,
My country On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now —
The heroic bosom beats no more! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?
'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush - for Greece a tear.
Must we but weep o'er days more blessed?
Must we but blush? — Our fathers bled. Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
What! silent still ? and silent all ?
- the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
“Let one living head, But one arise, we come, we come!” "Tis but the living who are dumb.
In vain - in vain : strike other chords;