the sea. The subject suggested in Boswell's Johnson, by General
Oglethorpe, as a noble theme for a poem--namely, "The Mediterranean," is
still unsung, at least by any competent bard. Mrs Hemans has one sweet
strain on the "Treasures of the Deep." Allan Cunningham's "Wet Sheet and
Flowing Sea," and Barry Cornwall's "The Sea, the Sea," are in
everybody's mouth. We remember a young student at Glasgow College, long
since dead--George Gray by name--a thin lame lad, with dark mild eyes,
and a fine spiritual expression on his pale face, handing in to
Professor Milne of the Moral Philosophy class, some lines which he read
to his class, and by which they, as well as the old, arid, although
profound and ingenious philosopher, were perfectly electrified. We shall
quote all we remember of them, and it will be thought much, when we
state that twenty-five years have elapsed since we read them. They
began--


"The storm is up; the anchor spring,
And man the sails, my merry men;
I must not lose the carolling
Of ocean in a hurricane;
My soul mates with the mountain storm,
The cooing gale disdains.
Bring Ocean in his wildest form,
All booming thunder-strains;
I'll bid him welcome, clap his mane;
I'll dip my temples in his yeast,
And hug his breakers to my breast;
And bid them hail! all hail, I cry,
My younger brethren hail!