The snares that e'en their daily path beset,

The swords which hate and envy oft did whet

To cut them down in an unguarded hour,

Like some ill-fated, but all-fragrant flower.

'Tis theirs to range the boundless fields of light, Where day shall never know th' approach of night; To hold communion with the saints above,

In that blest world of beauty and of love;
To trace the banks of that celestial stream
Whose waters with eternal splendour beam;
To converse with the mighty men of old,—
Not mighty, as possessing heaps of gold,
But mighty in some great and glorious cause,
Centred and based on Heaven's most sacred laws;

The cause of Freedom, Liberty, and Love,

The cause of all the blessèd powers above;

The cause that breaks oppression's iron chain,
Our nation's deepest, darkest, foulest stain.

Tires

WRITTEN ON THE BIRTHDAY OF ONE OF THE AUTHOR'S

CHILDREN.

"If any white-wing'd power above,

My joys and griefs survey,

The day when thou wert born, my love,

He surely blessed that day.

And duly shall my raptured song,

And gladly shall my eyes,

Still bless this day's return, so long
As thou shalt see it rise."

CAMPBELL.

HOU art come to a land full of trouble and care,

To a land that o'erflows with the tears of despair, To a land that is filled with the bones of the slain, Where the wail of the widow is heard,-but in vain; To a land where the high and the haughty abound,

Till the weak things of earth shall the mighty confound;

To a land that's foredoomed to calamities dire,

To storms and to tempests, to earthquake and fire,
Where no harbour awaits us, no port can be found,
That does not with dark-visaged dangers abound;
Where friends, when most needed, will vanish away,
Like the dew of the earth on a midsummer day;
But yet, my dear babe, thou hast nothing to fear,
So long as the GOD of thy fathers is near:

The tempest may rage, and the proud billows swell,

Yet protected by Heaven, all-all will be well!

By chance, as we meet here to-night:

It is to spend a passing hour

Amidst society like this,

Where rankling care has not the power

To taint the sparkling cup of bliss:

It is to meet a happy band

Of mirthful, free, and honest hearts;

Then sound it far o'er every land,

Friendship alone true joy imparts.

A Clorions Crxi).

"See how the day beameth brightly before us,
Blue is the firmament, green is the earth;
Grief hath no voice in the universe chorus,
Nature is ringing with music and mirth:
Lift up thy eyes, that are looking in sadness,
Gaze, and if beauty can rapture thy soul,
Virtue herself shall allure thee to gladness,
Gladness-philosophy's guardian and goal."

From the German.

H! say not that here there is nothing but gloom,
No bright sunny spot on the way to the tomb;

No city of refuge to which we can fly,

When foes are upon us, and danger is nigh;

No peace on this war-waging planet of ours,
No haven of safety, no fairy-like bow'rs;

Not while we can bask in the beams of the light

Of that sun which shall never be clouded by night;

Not while we can list to the thunders on high,

As unto the voice of the cherubim nigh;

And e'en in the midst of the oak-rending storm,

Find shelter beneath some angelical form.