WE have pleasure in introducing to our readers the following extracts from a beautiful poem entitled " The Wreck of the Homeward-Bound," by the well-known Author of " Ruins of Many Lands," " Pleasure," &c.

It is published in a neat form, suited for the drawing-room table, and any profits that may arise from its sale the Author has kindly proffered to the NATIONAL LIFE-BOAT INSTITUTION :— How beautiful is night at sea! When not a cloud the eye can trace, Staining Heaven's blue immensity, Or shading Ocean's glittering face; When from the sapphire-terraced skies, Peace, like an angel, downward flies, And spreads her pinions o'er the deep, Whose mighty heart is stilly lying, Like a wild infant rocked to sleep, Or as some secret it would keep, And now is gently dreaming, sighing; For sorrow seems in ocean's breast, Which e'en in hours of deepest rest Is sadly heaving, heaving ever, And cannot, spite of each endeavour, Cast off that weight of inward woe, Still moaning, heaving to and fro; Tet in its sorrow, holy, calm, As the pure bosom of a nun, Whose melancholy-chanted psalm Ascends on evening's breath of balm, Her weary tasks of penance done.

* * * * The stately ship, with masts upright, And colours idly downward streaming, While idly flap her sails of white, Bides on the waters smooth and bright, Like some proud creature dreaming: She just moves onward in her sleep, Somnambulist of this still deep, Then leans upon the shining billow, Her soft, supporting, yielding pillow.

* * * * No sound the kissing billows make, Parting before that queenly bow; Gently they linger in her wake, And fret, and shine, and bubble now, * The Wreck of the Homeward Bound ; or, the Boat of Mercy. By NICHOLAS MICHELL, Author of Ruins in Many Lands, Pleasure, &c. William Tegg, London; and by order, of all Booksellers.

Price One Shilling.

Leaving a line upon the sea, Which softly, slowly, melts away, Like joys from human memory— Joys that enchant, but cannot stay.

* * * * 'Tis changed—the moon and stars are gone; The sun hath flashed from out the wave, As a bright soul may quit the grave, And Heaven puts robes of splendour on.

Now the white deck a group displays Of happy faces, eager eyes; They've sailed broad ocean weary days, And panted long 'neath tropic skies; But home is near, and o'er the blue, Soon Albion's rocks will greet their view.

Lo! sign of land, a white sea-bird ! Hark! from the " tops " a voice is heard— " Land! land!"—each tongue takes up the cry, * * * * 'Tis changed—far south a small gray cloud Slow rises from the ocean's verge; Denser it spreads, and, like a shroud, Waves loosely o'er the darkened surge: And other clouds are mounting high, Creeping and spreading o'er the sky; The sun looks sicklied, glows like brass, And soon, behind a deepening mass Of sable vapours, shrinks from sight; The ocean, late so blue and bright, Is turning to a level sheet Of inky hue, and far off sweeping, Ruffling the sea, like stamping feet, The blast is running wild and fleet, Though here the shadow'd waves are keeping A gloomy hush, and death-like sleeping.

* * * * The blast hath come—it drives along, Scattering the spray like snow on high ; The noble ship, though firm and strong, Rocks as the whirlwind hurries by.

Though furled each sail, the masts are bending, The rolling seas their shocks are sending, Till every timber seems to start, And groans the vessel's labouring heart: .# * * * Now cries and prayers ascend to God From decks that joy so lately trod; The minute-gun is heard to swell, Hoarse-booming, like an ocean knell; The flash is seen by those on shore, And faint they catch the sullen roar.

Oh! minute-gun! how sad to hear Thy voice, which tells of peril near, * * * » Oh! minute-gun! a pang doth rend The heart to hear thee 'midst the blast! Most sad when aid we cannot lend, Knowing the doomed ones near their end, Listening till cease thy sounds at last.

* * * * She strikes!—upon the reef she's driven! Have mercy on them, pitying heaven'.

If fiends exult in human woe, And heighten horror here below, A scene more piteous, full of dread, They scarce could find in this our world; And here their wings they well might spread, To bar one beam that hope might shed.

* * * » They lower the boat—crowds rush to gain A place within ; their hope is vain; It heels—it sinks; * * * » With grappling hands the seamen now Frame a rude raft, and many a brow Flashes with hope,—deceptive fire, That like the ghastly, lurid light Which gleams on graves in winter's night, Burns, quivers, only to expire.

That raft, committed to the wave, A moment floats, a* though 'twould save j Then mountain billows, rolling on, Lift it on high—'tis lost—'tis gone.

* * * » The vessel parts—with shrieks of fear They hang, wild-clinging, o'er the waves, To rocking shroud, or bulwark near ; That deck must be a tossing bier, .Bearing them to their graves.

Columns of foam are dashing o'er them, Ocean behind, and fate before them; Men's limbs are numbed, and woman's hair Wild in the storm around her falls ; And many a shriek of fierce despair Breaks through the roar of surges there, From those whom death appals.

* * * * A cry,—a cry!—across the bay, What see their eager, glistening eyes ? Through raging tempest, rising spray, A boat doth shape its daring way; His oar the bending seaman plies.

* * * * Its course is tow'rd that ridge of rocks, Where fast their bark to billows' shocks Yields up her strength, and soon will be But shivered fragments on the sea.

* * * » On, lightly on, she makes her way, A meteor darting through the spray, A thing of bravery battling there With Terror in her awful lair, A sea-sprite that salvation brings, Wafting hope,—life, upon her wings. .

* * * * The young, the old, with eager eyes Watch the bold bark that tow'rd them flies : Tet still with winds, and ocean's rage, Dire conflict must the life-boat wage ; She struggles strongly, like a soul Racing with death for life's prized goal, And flashes through, or stoutly throws The billows off that rise like foes.

She toils, she strains, she draws more near, Then loud the sufferers raise their cheer, And toss their arms, and call on heaven To aid the hearts who have thus striven; The gallant boatmen come to save Wrecked strangers from an ocean grave.

* * * * 'Tis done,—despite the winds, the roll Of that storm-maddened, fearful sea, Bravery hath snatched each shivering soul, O greedy Death! from thee.

Not yet the wife shall press her pillow Beneath the cold and dreary billow: The mother and her bud of bloom Go down embracing into gloom: Earth yet its joys, i'ts sweets will give, O rapture! still to live—to live !.