POEMS, TALES, AND SONGS.

OUR CHANGES.

"And we shall be changed."

Ir wonder ever met the morn,
'Twas surely when a cheerful child
Beheld the newborn day adorn

Wood-owning vale and heathy wild,
Firs that just fringed the upmost part
Of a not distant hill, nor high;
Were no meet timber for the mart;
Yet that child, in its simple heart,
Believed they touched the sky!

The valley all but boundless seem'd;
The farthest hill of six or seven,

He never for a moment dream'd

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Its cloud-crown'd head was not in heaven!

But stars in night's rich diadem,

He deem'd in bright confusion ranged;

And, in his estimate of them,

Each star was but a tiny gem!

How-how has all been changed!

No twenty-no twice twenty years,

Could have worn down those hills so low!

The vale that now so small appears,

Greater dimensions ne'er could show!

Yet is that quiet vale the sweep,

O'er which the eye so widely ranged!
Those lowly hills full measure keep!
Those stars are worlds in God's great deep!
And-none of them have changed!

While hills and vales look less, as years
Bear us towards the world to come;
While heaven more wonderful appears,
As led by hope we hasten home;
What then will be the wondrous sight,
After the realm of time is ranged!
Oh! what the world without a night;
The height and depth of all delight!—
How we shall all be changed!

THE PRIMROSES.

HERE, in February's wildness,

Blooming in our path;

Here they are, for much of mildness

Tempers winter's wrath;

With a look of golden neatness,

'Hope, and be of cheer,"

Sing they, in seraphic sweetness,

For the inward ear;

And hope a part

Is of the heart,

That loveth them to hear.

!

Here they are, like stars of gladness—

Morning stars of Spring;

Hush! Be silent, soul of sadness;
Hush-and hear them sing:

In a gentle voice and charming,—
List, 'tis "Joy is near!"

And emotion owns the warming
Of the words so dear;

And joy a part

Is of the heart,

That loveth them to hear.

Here, in February's wildness,

Blooming by the way;

Here they are, for much of mildness

Tempers night and day:

How their native look of neatness

Smiles "Release is near;

Freedom, peace, and summer sweetness,

Surely shall appear!"

And peace a part

Is of the heart,

That loveth them to hear.

F

A SCENE AT SEA.

BOUNDING from sight of land of home
Our gallant ship, the Thistle,
Shot like a sea-horse o'er the foam,
Pleased with the wave to wrestle;
Her engine-stroke as true to time,
As harper's hand to warbled rhyme.

Portholes along her sides none gaped,
Where winds of war might whistle;
For commerce only, had been shaped,
Our bounding bark, the Thistle :
Free course, then, for her, as for star,
That meeteth in the blue no bar!

But, dodging on the deep, appear'd,
Like mask'd, ill-manner'd vision,
A sail that strangely tack'd and veer'd,
Too dread for our derision!

Up flew a flag of stripes and stars!
Our course was blocked as if with bars.

Harsh was the TUSCARORA's hail; Yet was it ours to hear it: Galling his word as wintry gale; Yet were we bound to bear it! Remonstrance! what an idle song!

For we were weak, while he was strong.

Another on the deep appear'd,

Fair as a glorious vision!

The LEOPARD neither tack'd nor veer'd;

But, with serene decision,

Ran up the flag Old England rears—
The banner of immortal years!

Down calm'd the Tuscarora's tone!
That sight set free the Thistle !
And sent her bounding on alone,
With but the wave to wrestle!
Her engine-stroke as true to time,
As harper's hand to warbled rhyme!

If yet there must be horrid war;
Britain, let loose thy Leopards,
To watch our flocks of fleets afar,
Like sleepless ocean shepherds!
Nor fold, till danger disappears,
Thy banner of immortal years!