A thousand gorgeous clouds on high
Burn with the amber light ;-
What spell, from that rich pageantry,
Chains down thy gazing sight?

A softening thought of human cares,
A feeling link'd to earth!

Is not yon speck a bark, which bears
The lov'd of many a hearth?

Oh! do not Hope, and Grief, and Fear,
Crowd her frail world even now,
And manhood's prayer and woman's tear
Follow her venturous prow?

Bright are the floating clouds above,

The glittering seas below;

But we are bound by cords of love

To kindred weal and woe.

Therefore, amidst this wide array Of glorious things and fair,

My soul is on that bark's lone way, For human hearts are there.

THE BIRDS OF PASSAGE.

BIRDS, joyous birds of the wandering wing! Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring? -"We come from the shores of the green

old Nile,

From the land where the roses of Sharon smile,

From the palms that wave through the Indian sky, From the myrrh-trees of glowing Araby.

"We have swept o'er cities in song

renown'd

Silent they lie, with the deserts round!

We have cross'd proud rivers, whose tide hath roll'd

All dark with the warrior-blood of old;

And each worn wing hath regained its home,

Under peasant's roof-tree, or monarch's dome."

And what have ye found in the monarch's dome,
Since last ye traversed the blue sea's foam?
—“ We have found a change, we have found a pall,
And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet's hall,
-And a mark on the floor as of life-drops spilt,-
Nought looks the same, save the nest we built!"

Oh! joyous birds, it hath still been so;
Through the halls of kings doth the tempest go!
But the huts of the hamlet lie still and deep,
And the hills o'er their quiet a vigil keep.
Say, what have ye found in the peasant's cot,
Since last ye parted from that sweet spot?

"A change we have found there-and many a change! Faces and footsteps and all things strange!

Gone are the heads of the silvery hair,

And the young that were, have a brow of care,

And the place is hush'd where the children play'd,—

Nought looks the same, save the nest we made!"

Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth,
Birds that o'ersweep it in power and mirth!
Yet through the wastes of the trackless air,
Ye have a guide, and shall we despair?
Ye over desert and deep have pass'd,-
So may we reach our bright home at last!