The two Homes.-ANONYMOUS. SEEST thou my home? 'Tis where yon woods are waving, In their dark richness, to the sunny air; Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving, 'Mid these green haunts how many a spring lies gleaming, My home-the spirit of its love is breathing From its white walls, the very tendrils, wreathing, There am I loved! There prayed for! There my mother Ask thou of mine? In solemn peace 'tis lying, 'Tis where I, too, am loved with love undying, And fond hearts wait my step. But where are they? Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling, I know it not, yet trust the whisper telling My lonely heart, that love unchanged is there. And what is home? and where but with the living? That with the dead-where'er they be-is mine. Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother; Bear in fresh gladness to the household scene: For me, too, watch the sister and the mother, I will believe-but dark seas roll between. To a Sister.-EDWARD EVERETT. YES, dear one, to the envied train To think of him that's far away? But not in Fashion's brilliant hall, O, think not, think not of me there. And thou art sad, remember me. Remember me-but, loveliest, ne'er, Remember me, I pray-but not In Flora's gay and blooming hour, When every brake hath found its note, And sunshine smiles in every flower: But when the falling leaf is sear, And withers sadly from the tree, And o'er the ruins of the year Cold Autumn weeps, remember me. Remember me-but choose not, dear, Then let thy pilgrim fancy roam Remember me-but not to join If haply some thy friends should praise; "Tis far too dear, that voice of thine To echo what the stranger says. Softly, sometimes, to him repeat My name, and then remeinber me. Remember me-not, I entreat, In scenes of festal week-day joy, For then it were not kind or meet, Thy thought thy pleasure should alloy; But on the sacred, solemn day, And, dearest, on thy bended knee, When thou for those thou lov'st dost pray, Remember me-but not as I On thee forever, ever dwell, With anxious heart and drooping eye, And doubts 'twould grieve thee should I tell; But in thy calm, unclouded heart, Where dark and gloomy visions flee, Oh there, my sister, be my part, And kindly there remember me. To the Moon.-WALSH'S NATIONAL GAZETTE. WHEN the gross cares of daylight end, Distant and calm, the spirit land, To which is breathed hope's fondest prayer; O, glorious is the rising sun, Or shrined amid the western gold, Yet far surpassing the bright dawn Affection seeks, in thy calm sphere, The bright stars shine around the throne, My native Land—My native Place.-ANONYMOUS. My thoughts are in my native land, Where sunny shrubs disperse their scent, For brilliant hues and virtues given. My thoughts are with my youthful days, And pleasure with the day-light came. I bent the rushes to my feet, And sought the water's silent flow, I culled the violet in the dell, Whose wild-rose gave a chequered shade, So sweet by answering echo made. In God's own house, on God's own day, Thus Memory, from her treasured urn, Shakes o'er the mind her spring like rain: And still my soul shall these command, "Awake, Psaltery and Harp; I myself will awake early Psalms.-ANONYMOUS. WAKE, when the mists of the blue mountains sleeping. When breathing from the south, o'er young buds sweeping, Wake while unfettered thoughts, like treasures springing, As birds and brooks through the pure air are flinging |