Daily National Intelligencer

From the Enquirer.

We cannot place the following Verses in the hands of the reader, without expressing the satisfaction which their perusal has given ourselves. It is a sweet and diversified description of the "Son of Ocean," in the various shapes in which his favorite element may place him, and in some of the situations into which chance may cast him. And shall we give up these noble "Sons of the Ocean" to the press gang of a passionate or Capricious Briton? Shall we not make one solitary effort to rescue the American tar from impressment? The dangers of the deep are enough for him to encounter, without incurring a captivity in the floating dungeons of Britain.

THE SON OF OCEAN

Son of the rough and roaring wave!
To every clime and danger known,
Thy dauntless energy we crave,
Thy dauntless energy we own—
Son of the Sea! at that bright name,
The Muses love their lyres to swell,
To deck the laurel'd wreath of Fame,
And deathless deeds of glory tell.

Son of the wildly-warring waste!
Where ships in battle bold unite:
Where gallant hearts to quarters haste,
Terrific frown, and frowning fight;
But when the leeward flash is seen,
And Peace her soothing accents lend.
The Son of Ocean smiles serene,
And calls the vanquish'd foeman, "friend!"

Son of the howling mountain wave!
Where thunders roll, and lightnings flash,
Where loud the vert tornadoes rave,
And spars descend, and timbers crash—
Tho' long the wrecking ruin reigns,
And waves on waves the deck o'erwhelm,
The Son of Ocean ne'er complains,
But guides, with steady hand, his helm.

Son of the lofty heaving deep!
Where Zephyr smiles though tempests steal,
Where, raved to rest, the billows sleep,
Or murmur mildly round the keel ;
When virgin hopes on shore are strong:
To see again the sailor youth,
The Son of Ocean helms along,
And sings to rosy Love and Truth.

Son of the flashing surge sublime!
Where fiery flakes thy brow illume!
On shore. when flames infuriate climb
And wrap in death the tott'ring dome ;
When helpless beauty, fearful, sighs,
And many a trembling pray'er prefers,
The Son of Ocean hears her cries,
And saves or gives his life with her's.

Son of the waving waters wild!
O'er which thy bark the breeze impels;
On shore, when lorn Affliction's child,
With feeble voice and figure, tells
How hard, tho' different once, she lives,
By loss of friends and weight of years,
The Son of Ocean feels, and gives,
If nothing else to give—his tears!

Son of this fondly favoring gale!
That homeward on this quarter plays,
Thy name thy faithful minstrels hail
In mingled songs of love and praise;
And, lo ! thy happy natal shore,
Where kindred dear and true-love dwell!
Where ocean waves are heard no more—
Son of the dimpling flood!—farewell!

SEDLEY.