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CHARLES E. CAPEN, EASTPORT, MAINE.

FROM out the green and silent deeps
Where many a weed-decked mermaid sleeps,
He lures the glistening, flnny hordes,
The best Poseidon's store affords.

What kind so e'er his meshes fill,
"All is good grist comes to his mill."
His chiefest joy that smaller catch,
Sardinia's best would scarcely match.
Ye merry, hearty gods of eld,
Who riot on Olympus held,
Too soon ye lived nor knew the bliss
Attendant on a dish like this.
Nectar! Ambrosia! crumbs indeed
To all who may on sardines feed!
Or knowing well the dish sublime
You guard your secret for all time.
Useless your care, in vain your ire;
As once Prometheus stole your fire,
Your food is taken by the man
Whose strength lies in the words "I CAN!"
Now mortals all from east to west
United rise to call him blest.
His bounty broad as 'Quoddy Bay,
His kindly heart as deep, they say.

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