And bless that gift!-it hath gentle might,
A guardian power and a guiding light.
It hath led the freeman forth to stand
In the mountain battles of his land;
It hath brought the wanderer o'er the seas
To die on the hills of his own fresh breeze;
And back to the gates of his father's hall
It hath led the weeping prodigal.

Yes! when thy heart, in its pride, would stray
From the pure first loves of its youth away—
When the sullying breath of the world would come
O'er the flowers it brought from its childhood's
home-

Think thou again of the woody glade,

And the sound by the rustling ivy made,

Think of the tree at thy father's door,

And the kindly spell shall have power once more!

ROMAN GIRL'S SONG.

"Roma, Roma, Roma!

Non è più come era prima."

ROME, Rome! thou art no more

As thou hast been!

On thy seven hills of yore

Thou satt'st a queen.

Thou hadst thy triumphs then

Purpling the street,

Leaders and sceptred men

Bow'd at thy feet.

They that thy mantle wore,

As gods were seen—

Rome, Rome! thou art no more

As thou hast been!

Rome! thine imperial brow

Never shall rise:

What hast thou left thee now?— Thou hast thy skies!

Blue, deeply blue, they are,

Gloriously bright!

Veiling thy wastes afar

With colour'd light.

Thou hast the sunset's glow,

Rome, for thy dower, Flushing tall cypress bough,

Temple and tower!

And all sweet sounds are thine,

Lovely to hear,

While night, o'er tomb and shrine,

Rests darkly clear.

Many a solemn hymn,

By starlight sung,

Sweeps through the arches dim,

Thy wrecks among.

Many a flute's low swell,

On thy soft air

Lingers, and loves to dwell
With summer there.

Thou hast the south's rich gift
Of sudden song-
A charm'd fountain, swift,
Joyous, and strong.

Thou hast fair forms that move

With queenly tread;

Thou hast proud fanes above

Thy mighty dead.

Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
A mournful mien :-

Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!

THE DISTANT SHIP.

THE sea-bird's wing, o'er ocean's breast
Shoots like a glancing star,

While the red radiance of the west
Spreads kindling fast and far;

And yet that splendour wins thee not—
Thy still and thoughtful eye
Dwells but on one dark distant spot
Of all the main and sky.

Look round thee!-o'er the slumbering deep, A solemn glory broods;

A fire hath touch'd the beacon-steep,
And all the golden woods;

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 loved 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 regain'd 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!"

O joyous birds, it hatn 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.

change!

-and many a

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!"