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Into her mother's face !-and, wakening, knew
The brow's calm grace, the hair's dear silvery hue-
The kind, sweet smile of old !And had she come,
Thus in life's evening from her distant home,
To save her child ? Even so ! Nor yet in vain-
In that young heart a light sprung up again!
And lovely still, with so much love to give,
Seemed this fair world, though faded; still to live
Was not to pine forsaken ! On the breast
That rocked her childhood, falling in soft rest-
• Sweet mother ! gentlest mother !-can it be?'
The lorn one cried— And do I gaze on thee ?
Take home thy wanderer from this fatal shore-
Peace shall be ours, amidst our vines once more !'

Mrs Hemans.

SERENADE.

As the wild bird sings in his brake, my love,

In the twilight's rosy hour,
To the white winged queen of the lake, my love,

As she sails to her reedy bower ;
As the zephyrs by night awake, my love,

Will their fairy harp inspire,

Even so for thy blessed sake, my love,

Do I touch my trembling lyre :-
Then softly open thy lattice high,
And appear in thy beauty now,
The stars have met in the clear blue sky-
Yetwhere, my beloved, art thou ?

As the hind will pant for the mountain stream

That winds through his wooded glade ;As the flower will thirst for the sunny beam,

Or die in its wintry shade ;-
As the forest-dove will repine, my love,

To be near his mate's sweet breast;
So my heart is sighing for thine, my love,

O! awake from thy dreamy rest !-
The vesper-hymns of devotion near,
Have been breathed at each sainted shrine :
As heaven looked down upon them, my dear,
I conjure thee,-- listen to mine!

O the waves will change in the summer brook,

The brightest will roll away
The dove by her forest mate be forsook,

Ere the birth of another May;-
The flower of the valley estranged, my dear,

To night will faded be;

I only shall live unchanged, my dear,

In the love that I bear to thee.
Then arise-let us meet in bliss, my love,
She comes ;

• Here I listening stand ;
« Oh descend—yet wave me a kiss, my love ;-
• One kiss from thy lily hand.'

Alastor,

THE SAILOR.

An aged widow with one only child,
And even he was far away at sea ;
Narrow and mean the street wherein slie dwelt,
And low and small the room; but still it had
A look of comfort; on the white-washed walls
Were ranged her many ocean treasures--shells ;
Some like the snow, and some pink, with a blush
Caught from the sunset on the waters ; plumes
From the bright pinions of the Indian birds ;
Long dark sea-weeds, and black and crimson berries,
Were treasured with the treasuring of the heart.
Her sailor brought them, when from his first voyage
He came so sunburnt and so tall, she scarce
Knew her fair stripling in that manly youth.

Like a memorial of far better days,
The large old Bible, with its silver clasps,
Lay on the table ; and a fragrant air
Came from the window : there stood a rose tree-
Lonely, but of luxuriant growth, and rich .
With thousand buds and beautifully blown flowers :
It was a slip from that which

grew

beside The cottage, once her own, which ever drew Praise from each passer down the shadowy lane Where ber home stood—the home where yet she thought To end her days in peace : that was the hope That made life pleasant, and it had been fed By the so ardent spirits of her boy, Who said that God would bless the efforts made For his old mother.—Like a holiday Each Sunday came, for then her patient way She took to the white church of her own village, A long five miles ; and many marvelled one So aged, so feeble, still should seek that church. They knew not how delicious the fresh air, How fair the green leaves and the fields, how glad The sunshine of the country, to the eyes That looked so seldom on them. She would sit Long after service on a grave, and watch The cattle as they grazed, the yellow corn, The lane where yet her home might be ; and then

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Return with lightened heart to her dull street,
Refreshed with hope and pleasant memories-
Listen with anxious ear to the conch shell,
Wherein they say the rolling of the sea
Is heard distinct, pray for her absent child,
Bless him, then dream of him.

A shout awoke the sleeping town, the night.
Rang with the fleet's return and victory !
Men that were slumbering quietly rose up
And joined the shout; the windows gleamed with lights,
The bells rung forth rejoicingly, the paths
Were filled with people ; even the lone street
Where the poor widow dwelt was roused, and sleep
Was thought upon no more that night. Next day-
A bright and sunny day it was-high flags
Waved from each steeple, and green boughs were hung
In the gay market-place ; music was heard,
Bands that struck up in triumph ; and the sea
Was covered with proud vessels ; and the boats
Went to and fro the shore, and waving hands
Beckoned from crowded decks to the glad strand
Where the wife waited for her husband,-maids
Threw the bright curls back from their glistening eyes
And looked their best,—and as the splashing oar
Brought dear ones to the land, how every voice
Grew musical with happiness! And there

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