The Portland Sketch Book. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ might have been selected. Several writers who did not forward their contributions as expected, have been omitted altogether, as the editor could find nothing of theirs extant which was adapted to a work strictly literary.

      In order to avoid all appearance of partiality, it has been thought advisable to make an alphabetical arrangement of names, and to let chance decide the position of each author in the Book.

      The compiler has a word of apology to offer, before she consigns her little book to the public. Reasons which will be easily understood would have prevented her appropriating any considerable portion to herself; but she had contracted with the publishers to furnish a volume, which should be at least two thirds original, and when the pages forwarded to her were found insufficient for her object, she was obliged, however unwillingly, to supply the deficiency.

      The Editor now submits her Portland Book to the public, with much solicitude that it may meet with approbation—feeling certain that indulgence would be extended to her, could it be known how much labor and difficulty have attended her slender exertions, in the literature of a city she has never ceased to love.

      P. S. Among the papers omitted from necessity, is one by the Rev. Dr. Nichols, which, owing to accident, did not arrive till the arrangements for the work were entirely completed. In the absence of the Editor, whose own leading article arrived almost too late for insertion, we have taken the liberty to state the facts, that our readers may understand the cause of an omission so extraordinary.

      THE

       PORTLAND SKETCH BOOK.

       Table of Contents

DIAMOND COVE.

       Table of Contents

      A beauteous Cove, amid the isles

       That sprinkle Casco's winding bay,

       Where, like an Eden, nature smiles

       In all her wild and rich array.

       'Tis sheltered from the ocean's roar

       By beetling crags and foam-girt rifts,

       And mossy trees, that ages hoar

       Have braved the sea-gales on its cliffs!

       The broad-armed oak, the beech and pine,

       And elm, their branches intertwine

       Above its tranquil, glassy face,

       So that the sun finds scarcely space

       At mid-day, for his fervid beam

       To shimmer on the limpid stream;

       And in its rugged, sparry caves,

       Worn by the winter's tempest waves,

       Gleams many a crystal wildly bright

       Like diamonds, flashing radiant light, And hence the fairy spot is 'hight.'

      The forests far extending round,

       Ne'er to the spoiler's axe resound;

       Nor is man's toil or traces there;

       But resteth all as lone and fair—

       The sunny slopes, the rocks and trees,

       As desert isles in Indian seas,

       That sometimes rise upon the view

       Of some far-wandering, wind-bound crew,

       Sleeping alone mid ocean's blue.

      The lonely ospray rears her brood

       Deep in the forest-solitude;

       And through the long, bright summer day,

       When ocean, calm as mountain lake,

       Bears not a breath its hush to break,

       The snow-winged sea-gull tilts away

       Upon the long, smooth swell, that sweeps,

       In curving, wide, unbroken reach,

       Into the cove from outer deeps,

       Unwinding up the pebbly beach.

      Oft blithly ring the wide old woods,

       Within their loneliest solitudes,

       To youthful shout, and song, and glee,

       And viol's merry minstrelsy,

       When summer's stirless, sultry air

       Pervades the city's thoroughfare,

       And drives the throng to seek the shades

       Of these green, zephyr-breathing glades!

       The dance goes round; the trunks so tall—

       Rough columns of the festal hall—

       Sustain a broad and lofty roof

       Of nature's greenest, loveliest woof!

       The maiden weaves, in lieu of wreath,

       The bending fern-plumes in her hair,

       And the wild flowers with scented breath,

       That spring to blossom every where

       Around; the forest's dream-like rest

       Drives care and sorrow from each breast,

       And makes the worn and weary blest!

      And when the broad, dim waters blush

       Beneath the tints of ebbing day,

       When comes the moon out in the hush

       Of eve, with mellow, timid ray,

       And twilight lingers far away

       On the blue waste, the fisher's skiff

       Comes dancing in, and 'neath the cliff

       Is moored to rest, till morning's train

       Beams with fresh beauty o'er the main,

       And wakes him to his toil again!

      O, lovely there is sunset-hour!

       When twilight falls with soothing power

       Along the forest-windings dim,

       And from the thicket, sweet and low,

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