ALL night the booming minute-gun Had pealed along the deep, And mournfully the rising sun Looked o'er the tide-worn steep. A bark, from India's coral strand, Before the rushing blast, THE WRECK. Had veiled her top-sails to the sand, And near him, on the sea-weed, lay- But well our gushing hearts might say, For her pale arms a babe had pressed Billows had dashed o'er that fond breast, The queenly ship! brave hearts had striven, Her very tresses had been flung We saw her mighty cable riven Like floating gossamer : We saw her proud flag struck that morn, Her helm beat down, her deck uptorn- We saw her treasures cast away- Flashed out o'er fretted stone; And gorgeous robes-but, oh! that shore We saw the strong man, still and low, To wrap the fair child's form, Where still their wet, long streamers clung, And beautiful, 'midst that wild scene, In melancholy grace. Deep in her bosom lay his head, Oh, human love! whose yearning heart, Its passionate adieu ! Where thou shalt rest, remembering not THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. MRS. HEMANS. THEY grew in beauty, side by side, The same fond mother bent at night One, 'midst the forests of the West, The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one- One sleeps where southern vines are dressed He wrapt his colours round his breast, And one-o'er her the myrtle showers And parted thus they rest, who played They that with smiles lit up the hall, MRS. HEMANS. THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT. OUTSTRETCHED beneath the leafy shade A dying woman lay; "O mother!" was the mingled cry, And leave us all alone.""My blessed babes!" she tried to say, But the faint accents died away In a low sobbing moan. And then life struggled hard with death, And fast and strong she drew her breath, And up she raised her head; And peering through the deep wood maze With a long, sharp, unearthly gaze, 66 Will he not come?" she said. 'I will go with you, child,' he said; 'God sends me to this dying bed.' Mother, he's here, hard by." While thus the little maiden spoke, The man, his back against an oak, Looked on with glistening eye. The bridle on his neck flung free, A statelier man, a statelier steed, Than those stood there that day. So, while the little maiden spoke, Looked on with glistening eye But when the dying woman's face Turned toward him with a wishful gaze, He stepped to where she lay; And kneeling down, bent over her, Saying, "I am a minister My sister, let us pray." And well, withouten book or stole, (God's words were printed on his soul) Into the dying ear He breathed, as 'twere an angel's strain, The things that unto life pertain, And death's dark shadows clear. He spoke of sinners' lost estate, He spoke of trouble, pain, and toil, Endured but for a little while In patience, faith, and love---Sure, in God's own good time, to be Exchanged for an eternity Of happiness above. Then as the spirit ebbed away-- Such was the sight their wond'ring eyes Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise, Who reined their coursers back, Just as they found the long astray, Who, in the heat of chase that day, Had wandered from their track. Back each man reined his pawing steed, And lighted down, as if agreed, In silence at his side; And there, uncovered all, they stood- For of the noblest of the land By that dead pauper on the ground, THE ANGELS' SONG. Ir came upon the midnight clear, To hear the angels sing. Still through the cloven sky they come They bend on heavenly wing, The blessed angels sing. Yet with the woes of sin and strife And men, at war with men, hear not And ye, beneath life's crushing load With painful steps and slow; For lo the days are hastening on, E. H. SEARS. MERRILY, merrily, goes the bark, STAFFA. On a breeze from the northward free; So shoots through the morning sky the lark, Or the swan through the summer sea. That guard famed Staffa round. Nature herself, it seemed, would raise That Nature's voice might seem to say, LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, To row us o'er the ferry."— "Now, who be ye would cross Loch Gyle, This dark and stormy water?"— "O! I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle, And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together; Should they our steps discover, But for your winsome lady: And, by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry." By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven, each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still, as wilder blew the wind, Their trampling sounded nearer. "O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father."— The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her,- And still they rowed amidst the roar For, sore dismayed, through storm and |