LET HER DEPART.

HER home is far, oh! far away!
The clear light in her eyes
Hath haught to do with earthly day,
'Tis kindled from the skies.

Let her depart!

She looks upon the things of earth,
Even as some gentle star

Seems gazing down on grief or mirth,
How softly, yet how far!
Let her depart!

Her spirit's hope her bosom's love—
Oh! could they mount and fly!
She never sees a wandering dove,
But for its wings to sigh.

Let her depart !

She never hears a soft wind bear
Low music on its way,

But deems it sent from heavenly air,
For her who cannot stay.
Let her depart!

Wrapt in a cloud of glorious dreanis,
She breathes and moves alone,
Pining for those bright bowers and streams
Where her beloved is gone.

Let her depart!

SONG OF EMIGRATION.

THERE was heard a song on the chiming sea,
A mingled breathing of grief and glee ;
Man's voice, unbroken by sighs, was there,
Filling with triumph the sunny air;

Of fresh green lands, and of pastures new,
It sang, while the bark through the surges flew

But ever and anon

A murmur of farewell

Told by its plaintive tone,

That from woman's lip it fell.

"Away, away, o'er the foaming main!" -This was the free and the joyous strain-"There are clearer skies than ours, afar, We will shape our course by a brighter star; There are plains whose verdure no foot hath press'd,

And whose wealth is all for the first brave guest."

"But alas! that we should go,"
-Sang the farewell voices then-
"From the homesteads, warm and low,
By the brook and in the glen!"

"We will rear new homes under trees that glow As if gems were fruitage of every bough;

O'er our white walls we will train the vine,
And sit in its shadow at day's decline;

And watch our herds, as they range at will
Through the green savannas, all bright and still."

"But woe for that sweet shade

Of the flowering orchard trees,
Where first our children play'd-

'Midst the birds and honey bees."

"All, all our own shall the forests be,
As to the bound of the roebuck free!
None shall say, 'Hither, no further pass!'
We will track each step through the wavy grass,
We will chase the elk in his speed and might,
And bring proud spoils to the hearth at night."

"But oh! the grey church tower,
And the sound of Sabbath bell,
And the shelter'd garden bower,-

We have bid them all farewell!"

"We will give the names of our fearless race To each bright river whose course we trace; And will leave our mem'ry with mounts and floods, And the path of our daring in boundless woods. And our works unto many a lake's green shore, Where the Indian graves lay, alone, before."

"But who shall teach the flowers,

Which our children loved, to dwell
In a soil that is not ours?

-Home, home and friends, farewell!"

THE TRUMPET.

THE trumpet's voice hath roused the land--
Light up the beacon-pyre!—
A hundred hills have seen the brand,
And waved the sign of fire.
A hundred banners to the breeze,
Their gorgeous folds have cast-
And, hark! was that the sound of seas?
A king to war went past.

The chief is arming in his hall,
The peasant by his hearth;

The mourner hears the thrilling call,
And rises from the earth.

The mother on her first-born son,
Looks with a boding eye—

They come not back, though all be won,
Whose young hearts leap so high.

The bard hath ceased his song, and bound The falchion to his side;

E'en for the marriage altar crown'd,

The lover quits his bride.

And all this haste, and change, and fear,
By earthly clarion spread !-

How will it be when kingdoms hear

The blast that wakes the dead?

DESPONDENCY AND ASPIRATION.

My soul was mantled with dark shadows, born
Of lonely Fear, disquieted in vain ;

Its phantoms hung around the star of morn,
A cloud-like weeping train;

Through the long day they dimm'd the autumn

gold

On all the glistening leaves; and wildly roll'd, When the last farewell flush of light was glowing

Across the sunset sky;

O'er its rich isles of vaporous glory throwing One melancholy dye..

And when the solemn Night
Came rushing with her might

Of stormy oracles from caves unknown,
Then with each fitful blast

Prophetic murmurs pass'd,

Wakening or answering some deep Sibyl tone, Far buried in my breast, yet prompt to rise With every gusty wail that o'er the wind-harp flies.

"Fold, fold thy wings," they cried, "and strive

no more,

Faint spirit, strive no more!-for thee too strong Are outward will and wrong,

And inward wasting fires!-Thou canst not soa