Her soul is far away,

In her childhood's land, perchance, Where her young sisters play,

Where shines her mother's glance.

Some old sweet native sound

Her spirit haply weaves;

A harmony profound

Of woods with all their leaves;

A murmur of the sea,

A laughing tone of streams:

Long may her sojourn be

In the music land of dreams!

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Each voice of love is there,
Each gleam of beauty fled,
Each lost one still more fair-
Oh! lightly, lightly tread!

THE MIRROR IN THE DESERTED HALL.

O, DIM, forsaken mirror!

How many a stately throng

Hath o'er thee gleam'd, in vanish'd hours
Of the wine-cup and the song!

The

song hath left no echo;

The bright wine hath been quaff'd; And hush'd is every silvery voice

That lightly here hath laugh'd.

Oh! mirror, lonely mirror,
Thou of the silent hall!

Thou hast been flush'd with beauty's bloom-
Is this, too, vanish'd all?

It is, with the scatter'd garlands
Of triumphs long ago;

With the melodies of buried lyres;
With the faded rainbow's glow.

And for all the gorgeous pageants, For the glance of gem and plume, For lamp, and harp, and rosy wreath, And vase of rich perfume.

TO THE DAUGHTER OF BERNARD BARTON. 141

Now, dim, forsaken mirror,

Thou givest but faintly back

The quiet stars, and the sailing moon,

On her solitary track.

And thus with man's proud spirit

Thou tellest me 'twill be,

When the forms and hues of this world fade
From his memory, as from thee:

And his heart's long-troubled waters
At last in stillness lie,
Reflecting but the images

Of the solemn world on high.

TO THE DAUGHTER OF BERNARD BARTON,

THE QUAKER POET.

HAPPY thou art, the child of one
Who in each lowly flower,
Each leaf that glances to the sun,
Or trembles with the shower;

In each soft shadow of the sky,
Or sparkle of the stream,
Will guide thy kindling spirit's eye
To trace the Love Supreme.

So shall deep quiet fill thy breast,
A joy in wood and wild ;—
And e'en for this I call thee blest,
The gentle poet's child!

THE STAR OF THE MINE.

FROM the deep chambers of a mine,
With heavy gloom o'erspread,
I saw a star at noontide shine,
Serenely o'er my head.

I had not seen it 'midst the glow
Of the rich upper day;

But in that shadowy world below,
How my heart bless'd its ray!

And still, the farther from my sight
Torches and lamps were borne,
The purer, lovelier, seem'd the light
That wore its beams unshorn.

Oh! what is like that heavenly spark?
-A friend's kind, steadfast eye;
Where, brightest when the world grows dark,
Hope, cheer, and comfort lie!

WASHINGTON'S STATUE.

SENT FROM ENGLAND TO AMERICA.

YES! rear thy guardian hero's form
On thy proud soil, thou western world!
A watcher through each sign of storm,
O'er freedom's flag unfurl'd.

A THOUGHT OF HOME AT SEA.

There, as before a shrine, to bow,

Bid thy true sons their children lead: The language of that noble brow

For all things good shall plead.

The spirit rear'd in patriot fight,

The virtue born of home and hearth, There calmly throned, a holy light pour o'er chainless earth.

Shall

And let that work of England's hand,
Sent through the blast and surge's roar,
So girt with tranquil glory stand,
For ages on thy shore!

Such, through all time, the greetings be,
That with the Atlantic billow sweep!
Telling the mighty and the free
Of brothers o'er the deep.

A THOUGHT OF HOME AT SEA.

WRITTEN FOR MUSIC.

Trs lone on the waters

When eve's mournful bell

Sends forth to the sunset

A note of farewell;

When, borne with the shadows

And winds as they sweep,

There comes a fond memory
Of home o'er the deep;

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