Farewell to Bermuda,* and long may the bloom
Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume;
May spring to eternity hallow the shade

Where Ariel has warbled, and Waller has stray'd!
And thou, when at dawn, thou shalt happen to roam
Through the lime-covered alley that leads to thy
home,

Where oft, when the dance and the revel were done,
And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun,
I have led thee along, and have told by the way
What my heart all the night bad been burning to

say,

Oh! think of the past-give a sigh to those times, And a blessing for me to that alley of limes!

The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were written Bermooda. See the commentators on the words "still-vexed Bermoothes," in the Tempest.-I wonder it did not occur to some of those all-reading gentlemen that, possibly the discoverer of this "island of hogs and devils" might have been no less a personage than the great John Bermudez, who about the same period (the beginning of the sixteenth century) was sent patriarch of the Latin church to Ethiopia, and has left us most wonderful stories of the Amazons and the Griffins which he encountered. Travel of the Jesuits, vol. i. I am afraid, however, it would take the patriarch rather too much out of his way.

THE STEERSMAN'S SONG.

Written aboard the Boston frigate, 28th April.*

WHEN freshly blows the northern gale,

And under courses snug we fly;

When brighter breezes swell the sail,
And royals proudly sweep the sky;
'Longside the wheel, unwearied still
I stand, and as my watchful eye
Doth mark the needle's faithful thrill,
I think of her I love, and cry,

Port, my boy! port.

When calms delay, or breezes blow
Right from the point we wish to steer;
When by the wind close-haul'd we go,
And strive in vain the port to near!
I think 'tis thus the fates defer

My bliss with one that's far away,
And while remembrance springs to her,
I watch the sails and sighing, say,

Thus, my boy! thus.

I left Bermuda in the Boston about the middle of April, in company with the Cambrian and Leander, aboard the latter of which was the admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, who divides his years between Halifax and Bermuda, and is the very soul of society and good fellowship to both. We separated in a few days, and the Boston, after a short cruise, proceeded to New York.

But see the wind draws kindly aft,

All hands are up at the yards to square, And now the floating stu'n-sails waft

Our stately ship through waves and air.
Oh! then I think that yet for me

Some breeze of fortune thus may spring,
Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee!
And in that hope I smiling sing,

Steady, boy! so.

LINES WRITTEN ON LEAVING PHILADEL

PHIA.

-Bid thou a kind farewell,

For she deserves it, to this noble city.

ALONE by the Schuylkill a wanderer rov'd,
And bright were its flowery banks to his eye;
But far, very far, were the friends that he lov'd,

And he gaz'd on its flowery banks with a sigh!

Oh Nature! though blessed and bright are thy rays, O'er the brow of creation enchantingly thrown, Yet faint are they all to the lustre that plays

In a smile from the heart that is dearly our own!

Nor long did the soul of the stranger remain

Unblest by the smile he had languish'd to meet; Though scarce did he hope it would smooth him again,

Till the threshold of home had been kist by his feet!

But the lay of his boyhood had stol'n to their ear, And they lov'd what they knew of so humble a

name,

And they told him, with flattery welcome and dear, That they found in his heart something sweeter than fame!

Nor did woman-oh woman! whose form and whose soul

Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue; Whether sunn'd in the tropics, or chill'd at the pole, If woman be there, there is happiness too!

Nor did she her enamouring magic deny,
That magic his heart had relinquished so long;
Like eyes he had lov'd was her eloquent eye,
Like them did it soften and weep at his song!

Oh! blest be the tear, and in memory oft

May its sparkle be shed o'er his wandering dream! Oh! blest be that eye, and may passion as soft, As free from a pang ever mellow its beam!

The stranger is gone-but he will not forget,
When at home he shall talk of the toil he has
known,

To tell, with a sigh, what endearments he met,
As he stray'd by the wave of the Schuylkill alone!

TO A LADY, ON HER SINGING.

THY song has taught my heart to feel
Those soothing thoughts of heavenly love,
Which o'er the sainted spirits steal,
When listening to the sphere above.

When tir'd of life and misery,

I wish to sigh my latest breath,
Oh! Emma, I will fly to thee,
And thou shall sing me into death.

And if along thy lip and cheek

That smile of heavenly softness play, Which, ah! forgive a heart that's weak, So oft has stol'n my mind away,

Thou'lt seem an angel of the sky,

That comes to charm me into bliss; I'll gaze and die-who would not die, If death were half so sweet as this!

MARY, I BELIEV'D THEE TRUE.

MARY, I believ'd thee true,

And I was blest in thus believing, But now I mourn that e'er I knew

A girl so fair, and so deceiving!