Here have I loved the glowing moon to watch,
As she seemed hovering their soft slopes amid,—
Like a fair maid, whose eye alone can match

The sparkling gems, beneath her robes half hid. Here have I loved to greet the purple dawn,

And mark its kindling rays flash o'er the sea ; Here, from the depths the silvery fish I've drawn, And boasted of my skillful treachery.

But cease, fond memory! for I would not dwell
Upon the past,-it only feeds regret ;
And as I leave each spot I love so well,
I would that I could all that past forget.
No! I would not forget the few, whose hearts

Still kindly cherished, though misfortune came ; Nor think ye when from all he now departs,

Those who proved false the wanderer would blame.

He can not blame what every age hath shown

Is nature's weakness, that while Fortune smiled, Friends flocked around him, but when she had flown, The most forsook adversity's lone child.

And thou of the warm heart and feelings true,
How did I watch thy bark's retreating sail,
That bore thee far across the waters blue,

To brave the surges' wrath, the sweeping gale;

LINES ON LEAVING

CASCO.

35

Nor thought that thou in a far distant land
'Mid strangers' graves, unknown, unmarked
should lie,

That I should never grasp again thy hand,

Ne'er more should meet thy kindly beaming eye. Perchance the cypress o'er thy grave is weaving Its pensive branches 'neath the evening sky, Emblem of him whose bosom still is heaving For thee, thou long departed one, the sigh.

Fades the last ray of light, those isles have gone; And now we near the light-house on the rock— From whose high tower the beacon long hath shone Thro' fair and foul, 'mid calm and tempest-shock! Oft when on high the midnight winds were howling, And waves were breaking madly into foam ; When the dark sky with horrid gloom was scowling 'Mid lightning flash and thunder's sullen boom;

The sea-tossed mariner has hailed that light,
With sympathetic ray upon him beaming;
Nor cared how wild the storm-how murk the night,
So that one lamp were o'er his pathway streaming.
And the lone fisher-boy upon the billow,

Rocked in his wherry boldly rowed from shore, Nor thought how far-he feared no briny pillow

While his eye hailed that star, the dark wave o'er.

As is the heart we turn to in our youth,
When every feeling kindles fond desire,
As to the Christian is the light of truth—
So for the sailor burns that beacon fire.

There may it stand while billows rage around,
Long o'er the darkened waters may it shine,
To save the mariner from the fatal ground
Where snaring rocks lurk 'neath the foaming brine.

As he who kindles there its lonely ray

When sober evening gathers o'er the ocean,
Has often spied it on his stormy way,

And viewed it as a shrine, with rapt devotion;
So now, safe moored beyond the rifted rock,
May he ne'er fail to light that guiding star,
Remembering how amid the tempest's shock
He hailed it, trembling o'er the wave afar.

*

*

*

Hail lucid star! thou first of eve's bright train!
Softly thy rays steal o'er the limpid wave:
Com'st thou, lone messenger upon the main,
Το weep above some hero's ocean grave ?
Would I could think while drinking in thy beams,

That there was one whose heart was truly mine; One, whose bright form might hover o'er my dreams,

Whose love like thee might o'er my pathway shine!

LINES ON LEAVING CASCO.

But ah! it may not be;—and yon lone cloud
Now like a veil upon thee, reads the fate
Of this, thy worshipper. My heart is bowed
Even as a reed-and I must imitate

Thee, and retire among the unfeeling crowd,
Chaining within my breast both love and hate,
Walking with humble step among the proud,
Despising not the low, nor envying the great.

*

Fair land adieu! alone I pace the deck,

37

And watch with saddened heart thy less'ning shore, Though there I've seen, of brightest hopes the wreck, what fortune hath in store.

And care not now, Though foreign climes should greet my wandering

way,

Though 'twere my fate to plough the foaming sea, Yet wheresoe'er on land or wave I stray,

Fond memory often shall revert to thee.

THE TELL-TALE FACE.

BY WILLIAM CUTTER.

I HATE the frigid notions,
Which seem to count it sin,

To show the kind emotions

True kindness works within ; Those manners cold and guarded With words dealt out by rule, Pronounced just as mamma did, Or Madame F, at school.

I wonder how the ladies,

Dear angels that they are!
Can live where so much shade is
Their loveliness to mar!
Were they fairer than the graces,
And wiser than the light,
Such cold, such moonlight faces,

Would put young love to flight.