Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm,
Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form!
Rocks, waves, and winds the shatter'd bark delay--
Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away.
But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep,
And sing to charm the spirit of the deep.
Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole,
Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul.
His native hills that rise in happier climes;
The grot that heard his song of other times;
His cottage home, his bark of slender sail,
His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossom'd vale,
Rush in his thought; he sweeps before the wind,
And treads the shore he sigh'd to leave behind!
_Pleasures of Hope._
* * * * *
LIGHTHOUSES.
[Illustration: Letter H.]
Hartlepool Lighthouse is a handsome structure of white freestone--the
building itself being fifty feet in height; but, owing to the additional
height of the cliff, the light is exhibited at an elevation of nearly
eighty-five feet above high-water mark. On the eastern side of the
building is placed a balcony, supporting a lantern, from which a small
red light is exhibited, to indicate that state of the tide which will
admit of the entrance of ships into the harbour; the corresponding
signal in the daytime being a red ball hoisted to the top of the
flag-staff.
Pages:
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307