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WE MEET AGAIN.

And when the ship from his fury flies,

Where the myriad voices of ocean roar, When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, And dæmons are waiting the wreck on shore; Then far below in the peaceful sea,

The purple mullet, and gold-fish rove, Where the waters murmur tranquilly,

Through the bending twigs of the coral grove.

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WE MEET AGAIN.

BY GEORGE LUNT.

We meet again-there is no power
To blot the joy of this glad hour;
But oft as on her welcome wings
The hush of happy eventide brings
The mellow notes that tune the brake,
The glow that smooths the burnished lake,-
Will memory bring-oh, not in vain,-
This sweet farewell,-we meet again.

We meet again--those locks that flow
O'er the broad dreamy brow below,--
The glory of that chastened eye,

Those love-wreathed lips,-this heartfelt sigh,

The tokens of this hour of bliss,—

Our melting hearts, this sacred kiss,—

THE SPIRIT OF THE AIR

Swear for me that I will not stain

This pure farewell,—we meet again.

We meet again,-no lonely spot
Can hide where you may be forgot,—
For I will mock at fear and harm,
At midnight spell and secret charm,
And tread its inmost mazes through
To bare my faithful heart to yoù;—
You may not doubt this maddening brain,
This wild farewell-we meet again.

THE SPIRIT OF THE AIR.

BY J. G. PERCIVAL.

I AM the spirit of the viewless air,
Upon the rolling clouds I plant my throne,
I move serenely, when the fleet winds bear
My palace in its flight, from zone to zone;
High on the mountain top I sit alone,
Shrouding behind a veil of night my form,
And when the trumpet of assault has blown,
Career upon the pinions of the storm;
By me the gales of morning sweetly blow,
Waving, along the bank, the bending flowers;
'Tis at my touch, the clouds dissolving flow,
When flitting o'er the sky, in silent showers;
I send the breeze to play among the bowers,

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THE SPIRIT OF THE AIR.

And curl the light-green ripples on the lake;
I call the sea-wind in the sultry hours,
And all his train of gentle airs awake;
I lead the zephyr on the dewy lawn

To gather up the pearls that speck it o'er,
And when the coolness of the night has gone,

I send it, where the willows crown the shore;
I sit within the circle of the moon,

When the fair planet smiles, and brightly throws
Around the radiance of her clearest noon,

Till every cloud, that passes by her, glows,
When folds of fleecy vapor hang the sky,
Borne on the night-wind through the silent air,
And as they float, the stars seem rushing by,
And the moon glides away in glory there;
I lead the wild fowl, when his untried wing
Boldly ascends the vernal arch of blue,
Before him on his airy path I fling

A magic light, that safely guides him through;
When lost in distant haze, I send his cry,
Floating in mellow tones along the wind,

Then like a speck of light he hurries by,

And hills, and woods, and lakes are left behind: When clouds are gathering, or when whirlwinds

blow,

When Heaven is dark with storms, or brightly fair, Where'er the viewless waves of ether flow,

Calm, or in tempest rolling, I am there.

The wave is resting on the ocean;

And far and near

The silent air

Just lifts the flag with faintest motion.

There is no gale

To fill the sail,

No wind to heave the curling billow;

The streamers droop,

And trembling stoop,

Like boughs, that crown the weeping willow

From off the shore

Is heard the roar

Of waves in softest motion rolling ;

The twinkling stars,

And whispering airs

Are all to peace the heart controlling.

The moon is bright,

Her ring of light,

In silver, pales the blue of Heaven,

Or tints with gold,

Where lightly rolled,

Like fleecy snow, the rack is driven.

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GREECE

How calm and clear

The silent air!

How smooth and still the glassy ocean!

While stars above

Seem lamps of love,

To light the temple of devotion,

GREECE.

BY J. G. BROOKS.

1832.

LAND of the brave! where lie inurned
The shrouded forms of mortal clay,
In whom the fire of valor burned
And blazed upon the battle's fray :
Land, where the gallant Spartan few
Bled at Thermopylæ of yore,
When death his purple garment threw
On Helle's consecrated shore!

Land of the Muse! within thy bowers
Her soul entrancing echoes rung,
While on their course the rapid hours
Paused at the melody she sung-
Till every grove and every hill,
And every stream that flowed along,
From morn to night repeated still
The winning harmony of song.