O'er my way hath flitted fast,
Since the farewell sunbeam pass'd
From the chesnut's ruddy bark,
And the pools, now lone and dark,
Where the wakening night-winds sigh
Through the long reeds mournfully.
Homeward, homeward, all things haste-
God of might!

Shield the homeless 'midst the waste,
Be his light!

In his distant cradle nest,
Now my babe is laid to rest;
Beautiful his slumber seems

With a glow of heavenly dreams,
Beautiful, o'er that bright sleep,
Hang soft eyes of fondness deep,
Where his mother bends to pray,
For the loved and far away.

Father! guard that household bower,
Hear that prayer!

Back, through thine all-guiding power,
Lead me there!

Darker, wilder, grows the night-
Not a star sends quivering light
Through the massy arch of shade
By the stern old forest made.
Thou to whose unslumbering eyes
All my pathway open lies,

By thy Son, who knew distress
In the lonely wilderness,

Where no roof to that blest head
Shelter gave-

Father! through the time of dread,

Save, oh! save!

LEAVE ME NOT YET.

LEAVE me not yet-through rosy skies from far,
But now the song-birds to their nests return;
The quivering image of the first pale star

On the dim lake scarce yet begins to burn:
Leave me not yet!

Not yet!-oh, hark! low tones from hidden streams,
Piercing the shivery leaves, even now arise;

Their voices mingle not with daylight dreams,
They are of vesper's hymns and harmonies:

Leave me not yet!

My thoughts are like those gentle sounds, dear love! By day shut up in their own still recess,

They wait for dews on earth, for stars above,

Then to breathe out their soul of tenderness:

Leave me not yet!

HYMN OF THE VAUDOIS MOUNTAINEERS IN TIMES OF PERSECUTION.

FOR the strength of the hills we bless thee,

Our God, our fathers' God!

Thou hast made thy children mighty,

By the touch of the mountain sod.
Thou hast fix'd our ark of refuge,
Where the spoiler's foot ne'er trod;
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers' God!

We are watchers of a beacon
Whose light must never die;

We are guardians of an altar

'Midst the silence of the sky :
The rocks yield founts of courage,
Struck forth as by thy rod;

For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers' God!

For the dark resounding caverns,

Where thy still, small voice is heard;

For the strong pines of the forests,
That by thy breath are stirr'd ;
For the storms on whose free pinions
Thy spirit walks abroad;

For the strength of the hills we bless,

Our God, our fathers' God!

The royal eagle darteth

On his quarry from the heights,

And the stag that knows no master,
Seeks there his wild delights;
But we, for thy communion,

Have sought the mountain sod;

For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers' God!

The banner of the chieftain,
Far, far below us waves;
The war-horse of the spearman
Cannot reach our lofty caves :
Thy dark clouds wrap the threshold

Of freedom's last abode;

For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers' God!

For the shadow of thy presence,

Round our camp of rock outspread ;

For the stern defiles of battle,

Bearing record of our dead;

For the snows and for the torrents,
For the free heart's burial sod;

For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers' God!

THE CROSS OF THE SOUTH.

IN the silence and grandeur of midnight I tread,
Where savannas, in boundless magnificence, spread,
And bearing sublimely their snow-wreaths on high,
The far Cordilleras unite with the sky.

The fir-tree waves o'er me, the fireflies' red light
With its quick-glancing splendor illumines the night;
And I read in each tint of the skies and the earth,
How distant my steps from the land of my birth.

But to thee, as thy lode-stars resplendently burn
In their clear depths of blue, with devotion I turn,
Bright Cross of the South! and beholding thee shine,
Scarce regret the loved land of the olive and vine.

Thou recallest the ages when first o'er the main
My fathers unfolded the ensign of Spain,
And planted their faith in the regions that see
Its unperishing symbol emblazon'd in thee.

How oft in their course o'er the oceans unknown,
Where all was mysterious, and awful, and lone,

Hath their spirit been cheer'd by thy light, when the deep
Reflected its brilliance in tremulous sleep!