And every where thy various barks are seen, Cleaving the limpid floods that round thee flow, Encircled by thy banks of sunny green

The panting steamer plying to and fro, Or the tall sea-bound ship abroad on wings of snow.

And radiantly upon the glittering mass,

The God of day his parting glances sends, As some warm soul, from earth about to pass, Back on its fading scenes and mourning friends, Deep words of love and looks of rapture bends,

More bright and bright, as near their end they be. On, on, great orb! to earth's remotest ends,

Each land irradiate, and every sea

But oh, my native land, not one, not one like thee!

HE CAME TOO LATE!

BY MISS ELIZABETH BOGART.

He came too late! — Neglect had tried
Her constancy too long;

Her love had yielded to her pride,
And the deep sense of wrong.
She scorned the offering of a heart
Which lingered on its way,
Till it could no delight impart,
Nor spread one cheering ray.

He came too late! At once he felt
That all his power was o'er!
Indifference in her calm smile dwelt,
She thought of him no more.
Anger and grief had passed away,

Her heart and thoughts were free ;
She met him, and her words were gay,
No spell had memory.

He came too late! - The subtle chords
Of love were all unbound,

Not by offence of spoken words,
But by the slights that wound.
She knew that life held nothing now
That could the past repay,
Yet she disdained his tardy vow,
And coldly turned away.

He came too late! - Her countless dreams Of hope had long since flown;

No charms dwelt in his chosen themes,

Nor in his whispered tone.

And when, with word and smile, he tried Affection still to prove,

She nerved her heart with woman's pride, And spurned his fickle love.

VERSES,

WRITTEN IN A BOOK OF FORTUNES, 1787.

BY THE LATE GEN. MORTON.

As through the garden's sweet domain
The bee from leaf to leaf will rove,
Will cull its sweets with anxious pain,
Then bear its treasures to his love;
So from those leaves which bring to view
Things hid by fate in Time's dark reign,
With care I'd cull, dear girl, for you,

The richest blessings they contain;
But fortune here our power restrains,
Nor leaves her blessings in our hand:
To wish, alone to us remains,

The Gift is still at her command.

Take, then, sweet maid, this wish sincere, Which in a friendly heart doth glow— A heart which will thy worth revere

Till life's rich streams shall cease to flow: On the fair morning of thy life

May love beam forth his brightest ray,— May friendship's joys, unvexed by strife, Glad the meridian of thy day;

And when life's solemn eve shall come,
And time to you shall ever cease,
May then religion cheer the gloom,
And light thy path to endless peace.

EPITAPH UPON A DOG.

BY C. F. HOFFMAN.

An ear that caught my slightest tone
In kindness or in anger spoken;
An eye that ever watch'd my own

In vigils death alone has broken;
Its changeless, ceaseless, and unbought
Affection to the last revealing;
Beaming almost with human thought,
And more than human feeling!

Can such in endless sleep be chilled,
And mortal pride disdain to sorrow,
Because the pulse that here was stilled
May wake to no immortal morrow?
Can faith, devotedness, and love,

That seem to humbler creatures given

To tell us what we owe above!

The types of what is due to Heaven?

Can these be with the things that were,

Things cherished--but no more returning; And leave behind no trace of care,

No shade that speaks a moment's mourning? Alas! my friend, of all of worth,

That years have stol'n or years yet leave me, I've never known so much on earth,

But that the loss of thine must grieve me.

LINES FOR MUSIC.

BY THEODORE S. FAY.

OVER forest and meadow the night breeze is stealing,
The blush of the sunset is glowing no more—
And the stream which we love, harmless fires revealing,
With ripples of silver is kissing the shore.

I have watched from the beach which your presence enchanted,

In the star-lighted heaven each beautiful gem,

And I sighed as I thought, ere the break of the morning,
From the gaze of my eyes you must vanish like them.
Then stay where the night breeze o'er flowers is stealing,
And raise your young voices in music once more;
Let them blend with the stream, its soft murmurs revealing
In the ripples of silver which roll to the shore.

But when summer has fled, and yon flowers have faded,
And the fields and the forests are withered and sere-
When the friends now together, by distance are parted,
Leaving nothing but winter and loneliness here;
Will you think of the hour, when in friendship united,
I lingered at evening to bid you adieu ;

When I paused by the stream, with the stars so delighted,
And wished I might linger for ever with you ?

Oh, forget not the time when that night breeze was stealing, Though desolate oceans between us may roar,

The beach-and the stars-and the waters revealing

Thoughts bright as the ripples which break on the shore.