THE SIRENS.

Now had the broad-winged bark crept wearily

O'er many a league of the unquiet main,

And through the mist high cliffs began to peer,

And from the broad beach stretched along below

Voices came, like the clear notes of the lark

When on the morning breezes he uplifts

His praise to the Creator, - voices sweet

As on the evening air the nightingale

Spreads through the gloomy groves, - sweet as the words

Unto a maiden by her lover given;

And still this seemed the burden of the song:-

O mariner, wearied with ceaseless strife,

With storms and tempests and the cruel sea,

Why do you longer labor for that life

Which Jove upon the earth doth yield to thee?

A little moment, and ye cease to be.