SAIL ON, SAIL ON.

SAIL on, sail on, thou fearless bark
Wherever blows the welcome wind,
It cannot lead to scenes more dark,

More sad than those we leave behind.
Each wave that passes seems to say,
"Though death beneath our smile may be,
Less cold we are, less false than they,

Whose smiling wreck'd thy hopes and thee."

Sail on, sail on,- through endless space

Through calm-through tempest-stop no more:

The stormiest sea's a resting-place

To him who leaves such hearts on shore.

Or if some desert land we meet,

Where never yet false-hearted men Profaned a world, that else were sweet, Then rest thee, bark, but not till then.

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.

THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet,
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green;
"T was not her soft magic of streamlet or hill,
Oh! no,
it was something more exquisite still.

"T was that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were

near,

Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love.

Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should

cease,

And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.

SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.

SHE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her, sighing:

But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking;

Ah! little they think who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking.

He had lived for his love, for lus country he died,
They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him.

Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;

They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West,
From her own loved island of sorrow.

NO, NOT MORE WELCOME.

No, not more welcome the fairy numbers
Of music fall on the sleeper's ear,
When half-awaking from fearful slumbers,

He thinks the full quire of heaven is near,
Than came that voice, when, all forsaken,
This heart long had sleeping lain,
Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken
To such benign, blessed sounds again.

Sweet voice of comfort! 't was like the stealing
Of summer wind thro' some wreathed shell-
Each secret winding, each inmost feeling

Of all my soul echoed to its spell.

'T was whisper'd balm

't was sunshine spoken!

I'd live years of grief and pain

To have my long sleep of sorrow broken

By such benign, blessed sounds again.

DRINK TO HER

DRINK to her, who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh
The girl, who gave to song
What gold could never buy
Oh! woman's heart was made
For minstrel hands alone;
By other fingers play'd,

It yields not half the tone.
Then here's to her, who long
Hath waked the poet's sigh.
The girl, who gave to sorg
What gold could never buy

At Beauty's door of glass,

When Wealth and Wit once stood, They ask'd her, "which might pass? She answer'd, "he, who could." With golden key Wealth thought To pass-but 't would not do: While Wit a diamond brought, Which cut his bright way through. So here's to her, who long Hath waked the poet's sigh, The girl, who gave to song What gold could never buy.

The love that seeks a home

Where wealth or grandeur shines,

Is like the gloomy gnome,
That dwells in dark gold mines.
But oh! the poet's love

Can boast a brighter sphere;
Its native home 's above,

Tho' woman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who long Hath waked the poet's sigh, The girl, who gave to song What gold could never buy.

THE FORTUNE-TELLER.

Down in the valley come meet me to-nignt,
And I'll tell you your fortune truly
As ever was told, by the new-moon's light,
To a young maiden, shining as newly

But, for the world, let no one be nigh,
Lest haply the stars should deceive me,
Such secrets between you and me and the sky
Should never go farther, believe me.

If at that hour the heav'ns be not dim,
My science shall call up before you
A male apparition, the image of him
Whose destiny 't is to adore you