Yet not alone;-on ocean's breast,
Though no green islet glows,
No sweet, refreshing spot of rest,
Where fancy may repose;

Nor rock, nor hill, nor tower, nor tree,
Breaks the blank solitude of sea ;-

No! not alone ;-her beauteous shade
Attends her noiseless way;
As some sweet memory, undecayed,
Clings to the heart for aye,
And haunts it-wheresoe'er we go,
Through every scene of joy and wo.

And not alone ;-for day and night
Escort her o'er the deep;

And round her solitary flight
The stars their vigils keep.

Above, below, are circling skies,
And heaven around her pathway lies.

And not alone ;-for hopes and fears

Go with her wandering sail;

And bright eyes watch, thro' gathering tears, Its distant cloud to hail;

And prayers for her at midnight lone

Ascend, unheard by all, save One.

And not alone; with her, bright dreams

Are on the pathless main ;

And o'er its moan-earth's woods and streams

Pour forth their choral strain;

When sweetly are her slumbers blest
With visions of the land of rest.

And not alone;-for round her glow
The vital light and air;

And something that in whispers low
Tells to man's spirit there,
Upon her waste and weary road,
A present, all-pervading God!

LINES TO A LADY.

N. P. WILLIS.

THE leaf floats by upon the stream,
Unheeded in its silent path;
The vision of the shadowy dream
A similar remembrance hath.

The cloud that steals across the moon
Scarce brightens ere its hues are gone;
The mist that shrouds the lake-as soon
Must vanish, when the night hath flown..

The dove hath cleft the pure blue sky,
No traces of his wing are there;
The light hath dwelt in beauty's eye;

It was but now-and now is-where?

The winds of night have passed the flowerHath morning found its gay leaf dim?

The bird hath sung by lady's bower,
To-morrow-will she think of him?

Thus, lady, have I crossed thy path,
Like bird, or mist, or leaf, or cloud-
My name a like remembrance hath ;

Deep shall its sleep be-in my shroud.

But still, the cloud may not forget

The moon's serene, but fleeting light-
The bird, the leaf, remember yet,

All that hath made their pathway bright.

And I though cold neglect be mine,
My name to deep oblivion given,
Will, while on earth, remember thine,
And breathe it to my lyre in Heaven.

ON LEAVING SCOTLAND.

W. KENNEDY.

I LOVE the land!

I see its mountains hoary,

On which Time vainly lays his iron hand; I see the valleys robed in sylvan glory,

And many a lake with lone, romantic strand; And streams, and towers, by immortal story

Ordained heart-stirring monuments to stand: Yet tower, stream, lake, cr valley could not move me, Nor the star-wooing mountain, thus to love thee, Old, honoured land!

I love the land!

I hear of distant ages

A voice proclaiming that it still was free; That from the hills where winter wildest rages Swept forth the rushing winds of liberty; That blazoned broadly on the noblest pages

E'er stamped by Fame its children's deeds shall be. O poor pretender to a poet's feeling

Were he who heard such voice in vain appealing: I love the land!

I love the land!

My fathers lived and died there;

But not for that the homage of their son ; I found the spirit in its native pride thereUnfettered thoughts-right actions boldly done: I also found-(the memory shall preside here, Throned in this breast, till life's tide cease to run) Affection tried and true from men high-hearted. as when from those kind friends I parted, God bless the land!

Once more,

PARTING WORDS.

MRS. HEMANS.

One struggle more, and I am free.-Byron.

LEAVE me, oh! leave me !--unto all below

Thy presence binds me with too deep a spell; Thou mak'st these mortal regions, whence I go, Too mighty in their loveliness-farewell,

That I may part in peace!

Leave me thy footstep with its lightest sound,
The very shadow of thy waving hair,

Wake in my soul a feeling too profound,

Too strong for aught that loves and dies to bear. Oh bid the conflict cease!

I hear thy whisper-and the warm tears gush
Into mine eyes, the quick pulse thrills my heart;
Thou bid'st the peace, the reverential hush,
The still submission from my thoughts depart.
Dear One! this must not be.

The past looks on me from thy mournful eye,
The beauty of our free and vernal days,
Our communings with sea, and hill, and sky—
Oh! take that bright world from my spirit's gaze!
Thou art all earth to me!

Shut out the sunshine from my dying room,
The jasmine's breath, the murmur of the bee;
Let not the joy of bird-notes pierce the gloom!
They speak of life, of summer, and of thee-
Too much-and death is here!

Doth our own spring make happy music now,
From the old beech-roots flashing into day?
Are the broad lilies imaged in its flow?
Alas! vain thoughts! that fondly thus can stray
From the dread hour so near!

If I could but draw courage from the light
Of thy clear eye, that ever shone to bless!