POETRY.

THE TORPEDO.

BY seven tall consorts circled round The careless cruiser lay, Watched by the dwarfish forts that crowned

The hills above the Bay—

The great guns frowning from the height :

The stately ships below—

And still towards them in the night Came on the hidden foe.

For through the salt, sweet dark I crept, Nigher and ever nigher; Though round the restless searchlight swept Its shifting fan of fire.

Th e sentries stared from ship and land :

Their eyes were strong and keen,—

Too late the treacherous wave they scanned, Where I had passed unseen.

Till, with a sudden awful roar, Beneath their armoured keel, As one may rend a scroll, I tore That wall of tempered steel.

Steel plate and oaken beam were cleft By one fierce bolt of flame; And through the gaping wound it left The invading billow came.

And the great warship shuddering sprang Even as the bison springs, When to his throat with claw and fang The thirsty leopard clings. Upon the seething wave : Then headlong in the cloven deep Plunged to her ocean grave.

The sea closed o'er her where she sank, And not a bubbling breath Told of the hundred souls that drank The cup of bitter death.

The outer waters were not stirred, Where crouched beside his gun The foe that far off thunder heard, And knew my task was done.

For to one cunning master true, I serve and never tire.

Man's fingers made me, and I do The bidding of my sire.

He speeds me o'er the midnight wave : And on that path untrod, The slave of His more mighty slave, I work the will of God.

EDWARD SYDNEY TYLEE.