Before, beside us, and above,

The fire fly lights his lamp of love,
Retreating, chasing, sinking, soaring,
The darkness of the copse exploring ;
While to this cooler air confess'd
The broad Dhatura bares her breast
Of fragrant scent and virgin white,
A pearl around the locks of night!
Still as we pass, in softened hum,
Along the breezy alleys come
The village song, the horn, the drum.
Still as we pass, from bush and briar
The shrill cigala strikes his lyre;

And what is she, whose liquid strain
Thrills through yon copse of sugar-cane?
I know that soul-entrancing swell!
It is it must be-Philomel.

Enough, enough, the rustling trees
Announce a shower upon the breeze,—
The flashes of the summer sky
Assume a deeper, ruddier dye;

Yon lamp that trembles on the stream,
From forth our cabin sheds its beam;
And we must early sleep, to find
Betimes the morning's healthy wind.
But oh! with thankful hearts confess
E'en here there may be happiness;
And He, the bounteous Sire, has given
His peace on earth-his hope of heaven!

CHANGE.

L. E. LANDON.

THE wind is sweeping o'er the hill;
It hath a mournful sound,
As if it felt the difference

Its weary wing hath found.
A little while that wandering wind
Swept over leaf and flower:
For there was green for every tree,
And bloom for every hour.

It wandered through the pleasant wood,
And caught the dove's lone song;
And by the garden beds, and bore
The rose's breath along.

But hoarse and sullenly it sweeps ;
No rose is opening now-
No music, for the wood-dove's nest
Is vacant on the bough.

Oh, human heart and wandering wind,

Go look upon the past;

The likeness is the same with each,

Their summer did not last.

Each mourns above the things it loved-
One o'er a flower and leaf;

The other over hopes and joys,
Whose beauty was as brief.

THE FLIGHT OF XERXES.

MISS JEWSBURY.

I SAW him on the battle eve,

When like a king he bore him! Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave, And prouder chiefs before him: The warrior, and the warrior's deeds, The morrow, and the morrow's meeds,No daunting thoughts came o'er him ;He look'd around him, and his eye Defiance flash'd to earth and sky!

He look'd on ocean,-its broad breast
Was covered with his fleet;

On earth, and saw from east to west
His banner'd millions meet:

While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast,
Shook with the war-cry of that host,
The thunder of their feet!

He heard the imperial echoes ring-
He heard, and felt himself a king!

I saw him next alone ;-nor camp
Nor chief his steps attended,

Nor banners' blaze nor coursers' tramp,
With war-cries proudly blended :-
He stood alone, whom Fortune high
So lately seem'd to deify,

He who with heaven contended

Fled, like a fugitive and slave;
Behind, the foe,-before the wave!

He stood,-fleet, army, treasure gone,
Alone, and in despair!

While wave and wind swept ruthless on,
For they were monarchs there;
And XERXES in a single bark,

Where late his thousand ships were dark,
Must all thy fury dare;-

Thy glorious revenge was this,

Thy trophy, deathless SALAMIS !

ODE TO AUTUMN.

CLARE.

SYREN! of sullen woods and fading hues,
Yet haply not incapable of joy,—
Sweet Autumn, I thee hail !

With welcome all unfeigned;

And oft, as Morning from her lattice peeps, To beckon up the Sun! I'll seek with thee, To drink the dewy breath

Of fields left fragrant then.

To solitudes, where no frequented path
But what thine own foot makes, betrays thine

home,

Stealing obtrusive there,
To meditate thine end,

By overshadow'd ponds, in woody nooks,

With ramping sallows lined, and crowding sedge, That woo the winds to play,

And with them dance for joy.

And meadow pools, torn wide by lawless floods,
Where waterlilies spread their glossy leaves,
On which the dragon-fly

Yet battens in the sun;

Where leans the moping willow half-way o'er, On which the shepherd crawls astride, to throw His angle clear of weeds,

That float the water's brim.

Or crispy hills, and hollows scant of sward,
Where, step by step, the patient shepherd boy
Hath cut rude flights of stairs,

To climb their steepy sides;

Then, tracking at their feet, grown hoarse with noise,

The moaning brook, that ekes its weary speed,
And struggles through the weeds

With faint and sullen crawl.

These haunts, long favour'd, but more so now,
With thee thus wandering, moralizing on;
Stealing glad thoughts from grief,
And happy though I sigh!

Sweet vision! with the wild dishevelled hair,
And raiment shadowy with each wind's embrace,
Fain would I win thine harp

To one accordant theme.