He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
With Sheridan only five miles away!

MIDDLE PITCH--PURE.

How peaceful the grave--its quiet, how deep! Its zephyrs breathe calmly,
and soft is its sleep, and flowerets perfume it with ether!

ASPIRATE.

How ill this taper burns!
Ha! who comes here?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
That shapes this monstrous apparition.

It comes upon me! Art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That makest my blood cold, and my hair to stare?
Speak to me what thou art.

OROTUND--HIGH AND VARIED PITCH.

Confusion reigned below, and crowds on deck
With ashen faces and wild questionings
Rushed to her fated side; another crash
Succeeded, then a pause, an awful pause
Of terror and dismay. They see it all!
There floats the direful cause 'longside them now!
"Ahoy!" the seamen cry; "Ahoy! ahoy!
Four hundred souls aboard! Ahoy! ahoy!"