[MRS. HEMANS (Felicia Dorothea Browne) was born at Liverpool, on the 25th of September, 1793. Her father, who was a merchant, having experienced some reverses in business, removed his family to Wales. In 1812 she was married to Captain Hemans; but their union was unhappy : and in the year 1818 her husband went to Italy, and they never met again. Mrs. Hemans remained in Wales, her time being fully occupied by her poetical labours, and the education of her five children. She died in Dublin, at the house of her brother, Major Browne, on the 16th of May, 1834, aged forty-one.]

The deer across their greensward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam,

And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.

The merry homes of England!

Around their hearths by night,

What gladsome looks of household love

Meet in the ruddy light!

There woman's voice flows forth in song,

Or childhood's tale is told;

Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.

The cottage homes of England!

By thousands on her plains,

They are smiling o'er the silv'ry brook,
And round the hamlet-fanes,
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves;
And fearless there the lowly sleep,
As the bird beneath their eaves.

The free fair homes of England!
Long, long in hut and hall
May hearts of native proof be rear'd
To guard each hallow'd wall.

And green for ever be the groves,
And bright the flow'ry sod,

Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God.

THE

CASABIANCA.

A True Story.

HE boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;

The flame that lit the battle's wreck

Shone round him o'er the dead.

The flames roll'd on.

He would not go

Without his father's word;

That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud: "Say, father, say
If yet my task is done!"

He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once again he cried,
"If I may yet be gone!"

And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames roll'd on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair,

And look'd from that lone post of death

In still, yet brave despair;

And shouted but once more aloud,

"My father! must I stay?"

While o'er him fast through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,

They caught the flag on high,

And streamed above the gallant child
Like banners in the sky.

Then came a burst of thunder-sound--
The boy-oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea,