O'er each old fount and grove;
A memory of the gentle dead,
A lingering spell of love.

Murmuring the names of mighty men,
They bid our streams roll on,
And link high thoughts to every glen
Where valiant deeds were done.

Teach them your children round the hearth,
When evening fires burn clear,
And in the fields of harvest mirth,

And on the hills of deer:

So shall each unforgotten word,

When far those loved ones roam,

Call back the hearts which once it stirr'd, To childhood's holy home.

The green woods of their native land
Shall whisper in the strain,
The voices in thy household band
Shall breathe their names again;
The heathery heights in vision rise
Where, like the stag, they roved
Sing to your sons those melodies,

The songs your fathers loved!

KINDRED HEARTS.

OH! ask not, hope thou not too much

Of sympathy below;

Few are the hearts whence one same touch Bids the sweet fountains flow:

Few and by still conflicting powers

Such ties would make this life of ours
Too fair for aught so fleet.

It may be, that thy brother's eye
Sees not as thine, which turns
In such deep reverence to the sky,
Where the rich sunset burns:
It may be, that the breath of spring,
Born amidst violets lone,

A rapture o'er thy soul can bring-
A dream, to him unknown.

The tune that speaks of other times

A sorrowful delight!

The melody of distant chimes,

The sound of waves by night,

The wind that, with so many a tone,

Some chord within can thrill,

These may have language all thine own,
To him a mystery still.

Yet scorn thou not, for this, the true
And steadfast love of years;

The kindly, that from childhood grew,
The faithful to thy tears!

If there be one that o'er the dead
Hath in thy grief borne part,

And watch'd through sickness by thy bed,-
Call his a kindred heart!

But for those bonds all perfect made,
Wherein bright spirits blend,

Like sister flowers of one sweet shade,
With the same breeze that bend,
For that full bliss of thought allied,
Never to mortals given,

Oh! lay thy lovely dreams aside,
Or lift them unto Heaven.

THE WRECK.

ALL night the booming minute-gun,
Had peal'd along the deep,
And mournfully the rising sun

Look'd o'er the tide-worn steep.
A barque from India's coral strand,

Before the raging blast,

Had veil'd her topsails to the sand,

And bow'd her noble mast.

The queenly ship!-brave hearts had striven, And true ones died with her!

We saw her mighty cable riven,

Like floating gossamer.

We saw her proud flag struck that morn,

A star once o'er the seas —

Her anchor gone, her deck uptorn

And sadder things than these!

We saw her treasures cast away,
The rocks with pearls were sown,
And strangely sad, the ruby's ray
Flash'd out o'er fretted stone.

And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er,
Like ashes by a breeze;

And gorgeous robes but oh! that shore

Had sadder things than these!

We saw the strong man still and low,

A crush'd reed thrown aside;

Yet, by that rigid lip and brow,

Not without strife he died.

And near him on the sea-weed lay –

Till then we had not wept —

But well our gushing hearts might say
That there a mother slept!

For her pale arms a babe had press'd`
With such a wreathing grasp,

Billows had dash'd o'er that fond breast,
Yet not undone the clasp.

Her very tresses had been flung
To wrap the fair child's form,
Where still their wet long streamers hung
All tangled by the storm.

And beautiful, 'midst that wild scene,

Gleam'd up the boy's dead face,
Like slumber's, trustingly serene,
In melancholy grace.

Deep in her bosom lay his head,
With half-shut violet-eye-
He had known little of her dread,
Nought of her agony !

Oh! human love, whose yearning heart Through all things vainly true,

So stamps upon the mortal part

Its passionate adieu

Surely thou hast another lot:

There is some home for thee,

Where thou shalt rest, rememb'ring not The moaning of the sea!