There, at morn's rosy birth,

Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air,

And eve, that round the earth

Chases the day, beholds thee watching there;

There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls

The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls.

Alike, beneath thine eye,

The deeds of darkness and of light are done;
High towards the star-lit sky

Towns blaze-the smoke of battle blots the sun-
The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud-

And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud.

On thy unaltering blaze

The half-wrecked mariner, his compass lost,

Fixes his steady gaze,

And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast;

And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night, Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their footsteps right.

And, therefore, bards of old,

Sages, and hermits of the solemn wood,

Did in thy beams behold

A beauteous type of that unchanging good,
That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray

The voyager of time should shape his heedful way.

THE LAPSE OF TIME.

LAMENT who will, in fruitless tears,

The speed with which our moments fly;

I sigh not over vanished years,

But watch the years that hasten by.

Look, how they come,—a mingled crowd
Of bright and dark, but rapid days;
Beneath them, like a summer cloud,
The wide world changes as I gaze.

What! grieve that time has brought so soon. The sober age of manhood on!

As idly might I weep, at noon,

To see the blush of morning gone.

Could I give up the hopes that glow
In prospect like Elysian isles ;
And let the cheerful future go,

With all her promises and smiles?

The future !—cruel were the power

Whose doom would tear thee from my heart.

Thou sweetener of the present hour!

We cannot-no-we will not part.

Oh, leave me, still, the rapid flight
That makes the changing seasons gay,
The grateful speed that brings the night,
The swift and glad return of day;

The months that touch, with added grace,
This little prattler at my knee,

In whose arch eye and speaking face
New meaning every hour I see;

The years, that o'er each sister land
Shall lift the country of my birth,
And nurse her strength, till she shall stand
The pride and pattern of the earth:

Till younger commonwealths, for aid,
Shall cling about her ample robe,
And from her frown shall shrink afraid
The crowned oppressors of the globe.

True-time will seam and blanch my brow-
Well-I shall sit with aged men,

And my good glass will tell me how
A grizzly beard becomes me then.

And then should no dishonour lie

Upon my head, when I am gray, Love yet shall watch my fading eye, And smooth the path of my decay.

Then haste thee, Time-'tis kindness all That speeds thy winged feet so fast: Thy pleasures-stay not till they pall,

And all thy pains are quickly past.

Thou fliest and bear'st away our woes,

And as thy shadowy train depart,

SONG OF THE STARS.

WHEN the radiant morn of creation broke,
And the world in the smile of God awoke,

And the empty realms of darkness and death
Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath,

And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame

From the void abyss by myriads came,—

In the joy of youth as they darted away,
Through the widening wastes of space to play,
Their silver voices in chorus rang,

And this was the song the bright ones sang:

"Away, away, through the wide, wide sky,
The fair blue fields that before us lie,—
Each sun with the worlds that round him roll,
Each planet, poised on her turning pole ;

With her isles of green, and her clouds of white,

And her waters that lie like fluid light.