Steam!-if the nations grow not old
That see broad ocean's "back of gold,"
Or hear him in the wind-

Why dost not thou thy banner shake

O'er sealess, streamless lands, and make
One nation of mankind?

If rivers are but seeking rest,

E'en when they climb from ocean's breast
To plant on earth the rose-

If good for good is doubly blest-
O! bid the severed east and west
In action find repose!

Yes, let the wilderness rejoice,

The voiceless campaign hear the voice
Of millions long estranged:

That waste, and want, and war may cease!

And all men know that Love and Peace

Are good for good exchanged!

THE MARINER'S SONG.

A WET sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,

And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies and leaves

Old England on the lee.

ELLIOT

“O for a soft and gentle wind,"

I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snorting breeze,
And white waves heaving high;

And white waves heaving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free,
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
And, hark, the music, mariners,
The wind is piping loud;

The wind is piping loud, my boys,

The lightning flashes free,

While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

CUNNINGHAM.

LOWLINESS OF MIND.

O! I would walk

A weary journey, to the farthest verge

Of the big world, to kiss that good man's hand,
Who, in the blaze of wisdom and of art,

Preserves a lowly mind; and to his God,
Feeling the sense of his own littleness,
Is as a child in meek simplicity!
What is the pomp of learning? the parade
Of letters and of tongues? even as the mists
Of the gray morn before the rising sun,
That pass away and perish. Earthly things

Are but the transient pageants of an hour;
And earthly pride is like the passing flower,
That springs to fall, and blossoms but to die.

KIRK WHITE.

MY MOTHER.

AND canst thou, mother, for a moment think,
That we, thy children, when old age shall shed
Its blanching honours on thy weary head,

Could from our best of duties ever shrink?
Sooner the sun from his high sphere should sink
Than we, ungrateful, leave thee in that day,
To pine in solitude thy life away,

Or shun thee, tottering on the grave's cold brink.
Banish the thought!-Where'er our steps may roam,
O'er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree,
Still will fond memory point our hearts to thee,
And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home;
While duty bids us all thy grief assuage,
And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age.
KIRK WHITE.

INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GLORY.

O HOW weak

Is mortal man! how trifling-how confined
His scope of vision! Puffed with confidence,
His phrase grows big with immortality,
And he, poor insect of a summer's day!

Dreams of eternal honours to his name;

Of endless glory and perennial bays.
He idly reasons of eternity,

As of the train of ages-when, alas!
Ten thousand thousand of his centuries
Are, in comparison, a little point

Too trivial for account. O, it is strange,
'Tis passing strange, to mark his fallacies;
Behold him proudly view some pompous pile,
Whose high dome swells to emulate the skies,
And smile, and say, my name shall live with this
Till time shall be no more; while at his feet,
Yea, at his very feet, the crumbling dust
Of the fallen fabric of the other day

Preaches the solemn lesson. He should know
That Time must conquer; that the loudest blast
That ever filled Renown's obstreperous trump
Fades in the lapse of ages, and expires.
Who lies inhumed in the terrific gloom

Of the gigantic pyramid? or who

Reared its huge walls? Oblivion laughs and says The prey is mine. They sleep, and never more Their names shall strike upon the ear of man, Their memory burst its fetters.

KIRKE WHITE.

THE STORMY PETREL.

A THOUSAND miles from land are we,
Tossing about on the roaring sea;
From billow to bounding billow cast,
Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast:
The sails are scattered about like weeds,
The strong masts shake like quivering reeds;

H

The mighty cables and iron chains,

The hull which all earthly strength disdains,

They strain and they crack; and hearts of stone,
Their natural hard proud strength disown.

Up and down! up and down!

From the base of the wave to the billows crown,

Amidst the flashing and feathery foam,
The stormy petrel finds a home;

A home-if such a place can be

For her who lives on the wide wide sea,
On the craggy ice, in the frozen air,
And only seeking her rocky lair

To warn her young, and teach them to spring,

At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing!

O'er the deep! o'er the deep!

Where the whale, and the shark, and the swordfish sleep! Outflying the blast, and the driving rain,

The petrel telleth her tale in vain :

For the mariner curseth the warning bird,

Who bringeth him news of the storm unheard:
Ah! thus does the prophet of good or ill
Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still;
Yet, he never falters;-so, petrel! spring

Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing.

BARRY CORNWALL.

THE LINDEN TREE.

HERE'S a song for thee-of the linden tree!

A song of the silken lime!

There is no other tree so pleaseth me,

No other so fit for rhyme.