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Emigrant's Song.

HOME of our hearts, our fathers' home!
Land of the brave and free!
The keel is flashing through the foam
That bears us far from thee.
We seek a wild and distant shore,
Beyond the Atlantic main;
We leave thee to return no more,
Nor view thy cliffs again.

But may dishonour blight our fame,
And quench our household fires,
When we or ours forget thy name,
Green island of our sires!

The Lobe of Country.

AND there before her where she stands,
The mountains rise, the lake expands;
Around the terraced summit twines
The leafy coronal of vines;
Within the watery mirror deep
Nature's calm converse lies asleep;
Above she sees the sky's blue glow,
The forest's varied green below,
And far its vaulted vistas through
A distant grove of darker hue,

PRINGLE.

Where mounting high from clumps of oak
Curls lightly up the thin grey smoke ;
And o'er the boughs that over-bower
The crag, a castle's turrets tower-
An eastern casement mantled o'er
With ivy, flashes back the gleam
Of sun-rise-it was there of yore
She sate to see that sun-rise pour
Its splendour round-she sees no more,
For tears dispersed the dream.

Thus seized and speechless had she stood,
Surveying mountain, lake, and wood,
When to her ear came that demand:
"Had she forgot her native land?"
'Twas but a voice within replied
She had forgotten all beside.

For words are weak and most to seek
When wanted fifty-fold,

And then, if silence will not speak,
Or trembling lip and changing cheek,
There's nothing told.

But could she have reveal'd to him
Who question'd thus, the vision bright
That ere his words were said grew dim
And vanish'd from her sight,
Easy the answer were to know,
And plain to understand,-

That mind and memory both must fail,
And life itself must slacken sail,
And thought its functions must forego,
And fancy lose its latest glow,

Or ere that land

Could pictured be less bright and fair

To her whose home and heart are there!

That land the loveliest that eye can see

The stranger ne'er forgets, then how should she!

Country and Home.

TAYLOR.

THERE is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons emparadise the night;
A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth,
Time-tutor'd age, and love-exalted youth:
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air:
In every clime the magnet of his soul,
Touch'd by remembrance, trembles to that pole ;
For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace,
The heritage of nature's noblest race,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
While in his soften'd looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend;

Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life!
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?
Art thou a man?—a patriot ?-look around;
Oh, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home!
MONTGOMERY.

The Happiest Spot.

BUT where to find that happiest spot below,
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone,
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own;
Extols the treasure of his stormy seas,
And his long nights of revelry and ease:
The naked negro, panting at the line,
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine,
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave,
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave.
Such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam,
His first best country ever is at home.

A Country's best Defence.

Crythes. Dost intend

GOLDSMITH.

To banish the firm troops before whose valour
Barbarian millions shrink appall'd, and leave
Our city naked to the first assault

Of reckless foes!

Ion. No, Crythes!-in ourselves,

In our own honest hearts and chainless hands,
Will be our safeguard :—while we seek no use
Of arms we would not have our children blend
With their first innocent wishes; while the love
Of country and of justice shall be one

To their young reason; while their sinews grow
Firm 'midst the gladness of heroic sports:
We shall not ask to guard our country's peace,
One selfish passion, or one venal sword.

TALFOURD.

PART VI.

POEMS OF RELIGION.

How beautiful is genius when combined

With holiness! Oh, how divinely sweet

The tones of earthly harp, whose chords are touch'd
By the soft hand of Piety, and hung
Upon Religion's shrine, there vibrating

With solemn music in the ear of God.

WILSON.

THE primal duties shine aloft like stars;
The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless,
Are scatter'd at the feet of Man-like flowers.

WORDSWORTH.

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