WELLBURN'S MARY.

I marked the calm on her young

fair face,
As grief's rude storm passed o'er it,
But the ebbing smile had left no trace

Of struggles that rushed before it.
Each grief has its day ;-love weep them away,

As the shower on April's blossom
Balms the drooping flower, till the sun's bright ray

Drinks the tear from its virgin bosom.

The flush o'er her fair face went and came,

As I showed her a true-love token;
I whispered hope, and the young god came,

But her virgin heart was broken !.
In Wellburn garden, the white lilies bloom,

Eke the rose round the jessamine's twining ;
But they withered o'er Wellburn Mary's tomb,
Ere the red winter sun there was shining.

Thomas Lyle. THE WIDOWED MOTHER.

Beside her babe, who sweetly slept,
A widowed mother sat and wept
O'er
years

of love gone by; And as the sobs thick-gathering came, She murmured her dead husband's name

'Mid that sad lullaby.

;

Well might that lulleby be sad,
For not one single friend she had

On this cold-hearted earth
The sea will not give back its prey-
And they were wrapt in foreign clay

Who gave the orphan birth.

Stedfastly as a star doth look
Upon a little murmuring brook,

She gazed upon the bosom
And fair brow of her sleeping son-
O merciful beaven! when I am gone
Thine is this earthly blossom !

While thus she sat- -a sunbeam broke
Into the room ;—the babe awoke,

And from his cradle smiled !
Ah me! what kindling smiles met there !
I know not whether was more fair,

The mother or her child !

With joy fresh-sprung from short alarms,
The smiler stretched his rosy arms,

And to her bosom leapt
All tears at once were swept away,
And said a face as bright as day,-

Forgive me that I wept !

Sufferings there are from nature sprung,
Ear hath not heard, nor poet's tongue

May venture to declare ;
But this as holy writ is sure,
• The griefs she bids us here endure,
She can berself repair !

Professor Wilson.

1

THE MARINER'S DREAM.

In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay,

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind: But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,

And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers,

And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; While memory each scene gaily covered with flowers,

And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide,

And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ;Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his

eyes.

The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,

And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in the wall ; All trembling with transport, he raises the latch,

And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight ;

His cheek is bedewed with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,

Joy quickens his pulses, his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest

O God! thou hast blessed me, I ask for no more.

Ah! whence is that flame which now glares, on his eye?

Ah! what is that sound which now bursts on his ear? 'Tis the lightning's red gleam, painting hell on the sky.!

'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere !

He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck,

Amazement confronts him with images direWild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck

The masts fly in splinters the shrouds are on fire.

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell

In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save ; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,

And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave!