Thou bring'st from rock and wave,
The sea-bird to her nest,
The hunter from the hills,
The fisher back to rest,
Light of a thousand streams,
Gleaming far!

O soft star of the west,
Blessed star!

No bowery roof is mine,

No hearth of love and rest,
Yet guide me to my shrine,
O soft star of the west!
There, there my home shall be
Heaven's dew shall cool my breast,
When prayer and tear gush free,
O soft star of the west!

O soft star of the west,
Gleaming far!

Thou'rt guiding all things home,
Gentle star!

Shine from thy rosy heaven,
Pour joy on earth and sea!
Shine on, though no sweet eyes
Look forth to watch for me!
Light of a thousand streams,
Gleaming far!

O soft star of the west!

Blessed star!

THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS.

"We take each other by the hand, and we exchange a few words and looks of kindness, and we rejoice together for a few short moments; and then days, months, years intervene, and we see and know nothing of each other."-Washington Irving.

Two barks met on the deep mid-sea,
When calms had still'd the tide;
A few bright days of summer glee
There found them side by side.

And voices of the fair and brave
Rose mingling thence in mirth;
And sweetly floated o'er the wave
The melodies of earth.

Moonlight on that lone Indian main
Cloudless and lovely slept;

While dancing step, and festive strain
Each deck in triumph swept.

And hands were link'd, and answering eyes

With kindly meaning shone;

Oh! brief and passing sympathies,

Like leaves together blown.

COME AWAY.-ETC.

A little while such joy was cast
Over the deep's repose,

Till the loud singing winds at last
Like trumpet music rose.

And proudly, freely on their way
The parting vessels bore;
In calm or storm, by rock or bay,
To meet-oh, never more!
Never to blend in victory's cheer,
To aid in hours of woe;

And thus bright spirits mingle here.
Such ties are formed below.

COME AWAY.

COME away!-the child where flowers are springing,
Round its footsteps on the mountain slope,
Hears a glad voice from the upland singing,
Like the skylark's with its tone of hope;
Come away!

Bounding on, with sunny lands before him,
All the wealth of glowing life outspread,
Ere the shadow of a cloud comes o'er him,
By that strain the youth in joy is led;
Come away!

Slowly, sadly, heavy change is falling
O'er the sweetness of the voice within ;
Yet its tones, on restless manhood calling,
Urge the hunter still to chase, to win:
Come away!

Come away!-the heart, at last forsaken,
Smile by smile, hath proved each hope untrue;
Yet a breath can still those words awaken,
Though to other shores far hence they woo:
Come away!

In the light leaves, in the reed's faint sighing,
In the low sweet sounds of early spring,
Still their music wanders-till the dying
Hears them pass, as on a spirit's wing:
Come away!

FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNEL.

417

'Fair Helen of Kirconnel," as she is called in the Scottish Minstrelsy, throwing herself between her betrothed lover and a rival by whom his life was assailed, received a mortal wound, and died in the arms of the former.]

HOLD me upon thy faithful heart,
Keep back my flitting breath;

'Tis early, early to depart,
Beloved!--yet this is death!

Look on ine still-let that kind eye
Be the last light I see!
Oh! sad it is in spring to die,
But yet I die for thee!

For thee, my own! thy stately head
Was never thus to bow-

Give tears when with me love hath fled,
True love, thou know'st it now!

Oh the free streams look'd bright, where'er
We in our gladness roved;

And the blue skies were very fair-
O friend! because we loved.

Farewell! I bless thee-live thou on,

When this young heart is low! Surely my blood thy life hath wonClasp me once more-I go !

MUSIC FROM SHORE.

A SOUND comes on the rising breeze,
A sweet and lovely sound!
Piercing the tumult of the seas
That wildly dash around.

From land, from sunny land it comes,
From hills with murmuring trees,
From paths by still and happy homes--
That sweet sound on the breeze.

Why should its faint and passing sigh
Thus bid my quick pulse leap?
No part in earth's glad melody
Is mine upon the deep.

Yet blessing, blessing on the spot
Whence those rich breathings flow!

Kind hearts, although they know me not,
Like mine there beat and glow.

And blessing, from the bark that roams
O'er solitary seas,

To those that far in happy homes

Give sweet sounds to the breeze!

LOOK ON ME WITH THY CLOUDLESS EYES.

LOOK on me with thy cloudless eyes,

Truth in their dark transparence lies;

IF THOU HAST CRUSH'D A FLOWER.

Their sweetness gives me back the tears,
And the free trust of early years

My gentle child!

The spirit of my infant prayer

Shines in the depths of quiet there;
And home and love once more are mine,
Found in that dewy calm divine,

My gentle child!

Oh! heaven is with thee in thy dreams,
Its light by day around thee gleams:
Thy smile hath gifts from vernal skies:
Look on me with thy cloudless eyes,
My gentle child!

IF THOU HAST CRUSH'D A FLOWER.

"O cast thou not

Affection from thee! In this bitter world
Hold to thy heart that only treasure fast;
Watch-guard it-suffer not a breath to dim
The bright gem's purity!"

If thou hast crush'd a flower,

The root may not be blighted; If thou hast quench'd a lamp, Once more it may be lighted: But on thy harp or on thy lute,

The string which thou hast broken, Shall never in sweet sound again Give to thy touch a token!

If thou hast loosed a bird

Whose voice of song could cheer thee, Still, still he may be won

From the skies to warble near thee:

But if upon the troubled sea

Thou hast thrown a gem unheeded,

Hope not that wind or wave will bring
The treasure back when needed.

If thou hast bruised a vine,

The summer's breath is healing, And its clusters yet may glow

Through the leaves their bloom revealing:

But if thou hast a cup o'erthrown

With a bright draught fill'd-oh! never Shall earth give back that lavish'd wealth To cool thy parch'd lip's fever!

The heart is like that cup,

If thou waste the love it bore thee; And like that jewel gone,

Which the deep will not restore thee;

413

And like that string of harp or lute
Whence the sweet sound is scatter'd :-
Gently, oh! gently touch the chords,
So soon for ever shatter'd.

BRIGHTLY HAST THOU FLED.

BRIGHTLY, brightly hast thou fled,
Ere one grief had bow'd thy head,
Brightly did'st thou part!

With thy young thoughts pure from spot,
With thy fond love wasted not,
With thy bounding heart.

Ne'er by sorrow to be wet,

Calmly smiles thy pale cheek yet,
Ere with dust o'erspread:

Lilies ne'er by tempest blown,

White rose which no stain hath known,
Be about thee shed!

So we give thee to the earth,

And the primrose shall have birth
O'er thy gentle head;

Thou, that like a dewdrop borne

On a sudden breeze of morn,
Brightly thus hast fled!

THE BED OF HEATH.

SOLDIER, awake! the night is past;
Hear'st thou not the bugle's blast?
Feel'st thou not the dayspring's breath?
Rouse thee from thy bed of heath!

Arm, thou bold and strong!
Soldier, what deep spell hath bound thee?
Fiery steeds are neighing round thee;
Banners to the fresh wind play,-
Rise, and arm; 'tis day, 'tis day!

And thou hast slumber'd long.

"Brother, on the heathery lea
Longer yet my sleep must be;
Though the morn of battle rise,
Darkly night rolls o'er my eyes.

Brother, this is death!

"Call me not when bugles sound, Call me not when wine flows round; Name me but amidst the brave;

Give me but a soldier's grave—

But my bed of heath!"