In every clime the magnet of his soul,
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole;
For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace,
The heritage of nature's noblest race,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
While in his softened looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend;
There woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life!
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel guard of loves and graces lie;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?
Art thou a man? a patriot?-look around,

O, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home!

SLAVERY THAT WAS.

Ages, ages have departed,

Since the first dark vessel bore
Afric's children, broken hearted,
To the Caribbean shore;

She, like Rachel,
Weeping, for they were no more.

Millions, millions have been slaughter'd,
In the fight and on the deep;
Millions, millions more have watered,
With such tears as captives weep,
Fields of travail,

Where their bones till doomsday sleep.

Mercy, mercy, vainly pleading,

Rent her garments, smote her breast, Till a voice from Heaven proceeding, Gladden'd all the gloomy west,

"Come, ye weary,

Come, and I will give you rest!"

Tidings, tidings of salvation!

Britons rose with one accord,
Purged the plague-spot from our nation,
Negroes to their rights restored;

Slaves no longer,
Freemen,-freemen of the Lord.

NIGHT.

Night is the time for rest!

How sweet, when labours close, To gather round an aching breast The curtain of repose,

TO A DAISY.

There is a flower, a little flower,

With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.

The prouder beauties of the field

In gay but quick succession shine, Race after race their honours yield, They flourish and decline.

But this small flower, to nature dear, While moons and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun.

It smiles upon the lap of May,

To sultry August spreads its charm, Lights pale October on his way,

And twines December's arm.

The purple heath and golden broom On moory mountains catch the gale, O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume,

The violet in the vale.

But this bold floweret climbs the hill,
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen,
Plays on the margin of the rill,
Peeps round the fox's den.

Within the garden's cultured round

It shares the sweet carnation's bed; And blooms on consecrated ground In honour of the dead.

The lambkin crops its crimson gem,
The wild bee murmurs on its breast,
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem
Light o'er the skylark's nest.

'Tis Flora's page;-in every place,
In every season fresh and fair,
It opens with perennial grace,
And blossoms everywhere.

On waste and woodland, rock and plain,
Its humble buds unheeded rise;
The rose has but a summer reign,
The Daisy never dies!

EVENING IN THE ALPS.

Come, golden evening! in the west
Enthrone the storm-dispelling sun,

And let the triple rainbow rest

O'er all the mountain tops. 'Tis done:

The tempest ceases; bold and bright,

The rainbow shoots from hill to hill; Down sinks the sun; on presses night;Mount Blanc is lovely still!

There take thy stand, my spirit; spread The world of shadows at thy feet; And mark how calmly overhead

The stars, like saints in glory, meet. While hid in solitude sublime,

Methinks I muse on Nature's tomb, And hear the passing foot of time Step through the silent gloom.

All in a moment, crash on crash, From precipice to precipice, An avalanche's ruins dash

Down to nethermost abyss. Invisible, the ear alone

Pursues the uproar till it dies; Echo to echo, groan for groan, From deep to deep replies.

Silence again the darkness seals,

Darkness that may be felt;-but soon The silver-clouded east reveals

The midnight spectre of the moon. In half eclipse she lifts her horn,

Yet o'er the host of heaven supreme Brings the faint semblance of a morn, With her awakening beam.

Ah! at her touch these Alpine heights
Unreal mockeries appear;
With blacker shadows, ghastlier lights,
Emerging as she climbs the sphere;
A crowd of apparitions pale!

I hold my breath in child suspense-
They seem so exquisitely frail-
Lest they should vanish thence.

I breathe again, I freely breathe;
Thee, Leman's Lake, once more I trace,
Like Dian's crescent, far beneath,
As beautiful as Dian's face:
Pride of the land that gave me birth!
All that thy waves reflect I love,
Where heaven itself, brought down to earth,
Looks fairer than above.

Safe on thy banks again I stray;
The trance of poesy is o'er,

And I am here at dawn of day,

Gazing on mountains as before,

Where all the strange mutations wrought
Were magic feats of my own mind;
For, in that fairy land of thought,
Whate'er I seek, I find.