Where the wide storms their banners fling,
And the tempest-clouds are driven;
Thy throne is on the mountain-top;

Thy fields, the boundless air;
And hoary peaks, that proudly prop
The skies, thy dwellings are.

2. Thou art perch'd aloft, on the +beetling crag,
And the waves are white below,

And on, with a haste that can not lag,
They rush in an endless flow;

Again thou hast plum'd thy wing for flight,
To lands beyond the sea,

And away, like a spirit wreath'd in light,
Thou hurriest, wild and free.

3. Lord of the +boundless realm of air!
In thy +imperial name,

The hearts of the bold and ardent dare
The dangerous path of fame.

Beneath the shade of thy golden wings,
The Roman +legions bore,

From the river of Egypt's cloudy springs,
Their pride to the polar shore.*

4. For thee they fought, for thee they fell,
And their oath on thee was laid;
To thee the clarions rais'd their swell,
And the dying warrior pray'd.

Thou wert, through an age of death and fears,
The image of pride and power,
Till the gather'd rage of a thousand years,
Burst forth in one awful hour.†

5. And then, a deluge of wrath it came,

And the nations shook with dread;

And it swept the earth, till its fields were flame,

And pil'd with the mingled dead.

Kings were roll'd in the wasteful flood,

With the low and crouching slave;

And together lay in a shroud of blood,
The coward and the brave.

*The Roman standard was the image of an eagle. The soldiers swore by it, and the loss of it was considered a disgrace.

† Alluding to the destruction of Rome by the northern barbarians.

6. And where was then thy fearless flight?
"O'er the dark and mysterious sea,
To the land that caught the setting light,
The cradle of Liberty.

There, on the silent and lonely shore,
For ages I watch'd alone,

And the world in its darkness, ask'd no more
Where the glorious bird had flown.

7. "But then, came a bold and hardy few,
And they breasted the unknown wave;
I saw from far the wandering crew,
And I knew they were high and brave.
I wheel'd around the welcome bark,
As it sought the desolate shore,
And up to heaven, like a joyous lark,
My quivering +pinions bore.

8 "And now, that bold and hardy few
Are a nation wide and strong;

And danger and doubt I have led them through,
And they worship me in song;

And over their bright and +glancing arms,
On field, and lake, and sea,

With an eye that fires, and a spell that charms,
I guide them to victory!"

CVI. - THE SHIPWRECK.

of the

1. IN the winter of 1824, Lieutenant GUnited States navy, with his beautiful wife and infant child, tembarked in a packet at Norfolk, bound to South Carolina. For the first day and night after their departure, the wind continued fair, and the weather clear; but, on the evening of the second day, a severe gale sprung up, and, toward midnight, the captain, judging himself much further from the land than he really was, and dreading the Gulf Stream, hauled in for the coast; but with the intention, it is presumed, of lying to when he supposed himself clear of the Gulf. Lieut. G. did not approve of the captain's determination, and the result proved that his fears were well founded; for toward morning the vessel grounded.

2. Vain would it be, to attempt a description of the horror which was depicted in every countenance, when the awful shock, occasioned by the striking of the vessel's bottom, was first experienced. The terror of such a situation can be known only to those, who have themselves been shipwrecked. No others can have a tolerable idea of what passed in the minds of the wretched crew, as they gazed with vacant horror on the thundering elements, and felt, that their frail bark must soon, perhaps the next thump, be dashed to pieces, and they left at the mercy of the billows, with not even a plank between them and eternity. First, comes the thumping of the vessel; next the dashing of the surge over her sides; then, the tcareening of the vessel on her beam ends, as the waves, for an instant, recede; and lastly, the crashing of the spars and timbers, at each returning wave; the whole forming a scene of confusion and horror which no language can describe.

3. But awful as is the shipwrecked sailor's prospect, what are his feelings compared to the agony of a fond husband and father, who clasps in a last embrace his little world, his beloved wife and child! The land was in sight, but to approach it was scarcely less dangerous, than to remain in the raging sea around them. Lieut. G. was a seaman, and a brave one; accustomed to danger, and quick in seizing upon every means of rescuing the unfortunate. But now, who were the unfortunate, that called on him for rescue? Who were they, whose screams were heard louder than the roaring elements, imploring that aid which no human power could afford them? His wife and child! O! heart-rending *agony.

4. But why attempt to describe what few can imagine? In a word, the only boat which could be got, was manned by two gallant tars. Mrs. G., and her child, and its nurse were lifted into it; it was the thought of +desperation! The freight was already too much. Mr. G. saw this, and knew that the addition of himself would diminish the chances of the boat's reaching the shore in safety; and horrible as was the alternative, he himself gave the order;— “Push off, and make for the land, my brave lads !"—the last words that ever passed his lips! The order was obeyed; but ere the little boat had proceeded fifty yards, (about half the

distance to the beach,) it was struck by a wave, *capsized, and boat, passengers, and all, *enveloped in the angry surge! The wretched husband saw but too distinctly the destruction of all that he held dear. But here, alas, and forever were shut out from him all *sublunary prospects. He fell upon the deck-powerless, senseless, a CORPSE-the victim of a sublime sensibility.

5. But what became of the unhappy wife and child? The answer shall be brief. Mrs. G. was borne through the breakers to the shore by one of the brave sailors; the nurse was thrown upon the beach with the drowned infant in her arms. Mrs. G. was taken to a hut senseless, continued *delirious many days, but finally recovered her senses, and with them, a consciousness of the awful catastrophe which, in a moment, had made her a CHILDLESS WIDOW.

1. I know thou art gone to the land of thy rest;
Then why should my soul be so sad?

I know thou art gone where the weary are blest,
And the mourner looks up and is glad;

Where Love has put off in the land of its birth,
The stain it had gather'd in this,

And Hope, the sweet singer that gladden'd the earth,
Lies asleep in the bosom of bliss.

2. I know thou art gone where thy forehead is starr'd
With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul,

Where the light of thy loveliness can not be marr'd,
Nor thy heart be flung back from its goal;

I know thou hast drunk of the Lethe that flows
Through a land where they do not forget;
That sheds over memory only trepose,
And takes from it only regret.

3. This eye must be dark that so long has been dim,
Ere again it may gaze upon thine;

But my heart has revealings of thee and thy home,
In many a token and sign;

I never look up with a vow, to the sky,
But a light like thy beauty is there ; ·
And I hear a low murmur, like thine, in reply,
When I pour out my spirit in prayer.

4. In the far-away dwelling, wherever it be,
I believe thou hast visions of mine;

And the love that made all things as music to me,
I have not yet learn'd to resign.

In the thush of the night, on the waste of the sea,
Or alone with the breeze, on the hill,

I have ever a presence that whispers of thee,
And my spirit lies down and is still.

5. And though like a mourner that sits by a tomb,
I am wrapp'd in a mantle of care;

Yet the grief of my bosom-oh! call it not gloom-
Is not the black grief of despair.

By sorrow treveal'd, as the stars are by night,
Far off a bright vision appears;

And hope, like the rainbow-a creature of light,
Is born, like the rainbow, in tears.

CVIII. THE EAGLE'S NEST.

BAIRN; Child.

-

FROM WILSON.

WEE WEAN; a little child.

1. ALMOST all the people in the parish were loading in their meadow-hay on the same day of midsummer, so drying was the sunshine and the wind; and huge heaped-up twains, that almost hid from view the horses that drew them along the sward beginning to get green with second growth, were moving in all directions toward the snug farm-yards. Never had the parish seemed before so populous. +Jocund was the balmy air with laughter, whistle, and song. But the +tree-gnomons threw the shadow of " one o'clock" on the green dial-face of the earth; the horses were unyoked and took instantly to gazing; groups of men, women, lads, lasses, and children, collected under grove, and bush, and hedgerow; graces were pronounced, some of them rather too tedious in presence of the mantling milk-cans, bullion-bars of butter,