In vain I sought the less'ning coast
Of Scotia to descry;

For every trace, in distance lost,
Had vanish'd from my eye!

Farewell, my much-lov'd native land!

Adieu, my country dear!
I cannot quit thy rocky strand
Without a parting tear.

SCOTIA! these swimming eyes bespeak,

I do not leave thee now, Because I deem the land I seek

A fairer land than thou.

'Tis warm'd, indeed, by sunnier skies,
And boasts a milder clime,
Where wintry vapours ne'er arise,
To blast the flow'ret's prime.

But, 'tis a land where Slavery's chains Debase the human form!

A land where stern Oppression reigns Despotic as the storm!

A land where fierce tornadoes roar,
And sweep the wrathful main;

With wrecks and corses strew the shore,
And blast the blooming plain!

A land where, in the poison'd wind,
Contagion fiercely raves;
And, as ill-fated thousands find,
A land of strangers' graves!

To tempt these dangers could I roam, My native land, from thee?

And, reckless of my friends and home, And all that's dear to me,

Forsake the spot that gave me birth,
In curious, idle mood,

To rove a wanderer o'er the earth,
And on the stormy flood?

I leave them, not in quest of wealth,
A wild pursuit to run:

Ah, no! I seek the stranger, Health,
Beneath a warmer sun!

I leave them with a heavy heart,
A heart oppress'd with pain;
Which whispers, that perhaps we part,
No more to meet again!

When angry skies awake the storm,
Perchance the faithless wave,

Assuming Death's terrific form,
May prove my early grave!

Or if in safety wafted o'er

The ocean's billowy breast, On rich GUIANA's fertile shore My wandering footsteps rest;

Perchance to fell disease a prey,
My cold, insensate head,

Some pitying stranger's hands may lay
Within its narrow bed.

But Hope, that lovely beaming star,
No darkness e'er obscures,
To fairer, happier prospects far,
My pensive mind allures.

Propitious be, ye Powers above!

And grant my earnest prayer,

That those sweet visions may not prove Illusory as fair!

Conduct me safely o'er the flood,

To yonder foreign strand;

And guide me back, with health renew'd,

To hail my native land.

To meet again those valued friends

My soul can ne'er forget;

T' enjoy again those happy scenes
I leave with deep regret !

L

If Heaven permit me once again

To tread my native shore,
In that lov'd spot will I remain,
And never quit it more.

And there, when Death at last shall close

My life's eventful day;

There shall my pillow'd head repose,
There rest my senseless clay!

ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.

BY C. S. DUDLEY.

THE brightest tint that decks the sky,

The sweetest flower our fond hopes cherish; Though bright, is still the first to fly; Though sweet, is still the first to perish!

I mark'd the ray of living gold;

A cloud approach'd-'twas gone for ever; I saw sweet beauty's bud unfold,

And saw the blight its stem dissever!

A moment pass'd that beam is fled,

Pure to the source from whence 'tis given ! Transplanted to its native bed,

That bud of beauty blooms in heaven!

THE EVENING CLOUD.

ANONYMOUS.

A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun,
A ray of crimson tinged its braided snow;
Long had I watch'd its glory moving on,

O'er the still radiance of the lake below.

Tranquil its spirit seem'd, and floated slow:
Even in its very motion there was rest;
While every breath of eve which chanced to blow,
Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.

Emblem, methought, of the departed soul,

To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given; And by the breath of Mercy made to roll

Safe onward to the golden gate of heaven:
There to the eye of faith it tranquil lies,
And tells to man his glorious destinies.