Tins cousaih.

XVI.

From Crag to crag descending — swiftly spedStern Conrad down, nor once he turned his head ;But shrunk whene'er the windings of his wayForced on his eye what he would not survey, 5ioII is lone, lmt lovely dwelling on the steep,That hailed him first when homeward from thedeep :

And she — the dim and melancholy star,Whose ray of beauty reached him from afar,On her he must not gaze, he must not think,There he might rest — lmt on Destruction’s brink :Yet once almost lie slopped — and nearly gaveHis fate to chance, his projects to the wave;But no — it must not he — a worthy chiefMay melt, hut nothetray to woman’s grief. 52011 c sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind.And sternly gathers all his might of mind :Again lie hurries on — and as he hearsThe clang of tumult vibrate on his ears,

The busy sounds, tbe hustle of the shore,

The shout, the signal, and the dashing oar;

As marks his eye the seaboy on the mast.

The anchor’s rise, the sails unfurling fast.

The waving kerchiefs of the crowd that urgeThat.mute adieu to those who stem the surge;