THE LAND OF THE BLEST.

THE sunset is calm on the face of the deep,
And bright is the last look of day in the west,
And broadly the beams of its parting glance sweep,
Like the path that conducts to the land of the blest :
All golden and green is the sea as it flows

In billows just heaving its tide to the shore;

And crimson and blue is the sky as it glows

With the colours that tell us that day-light is o'er.

I sit on a rock that hangs over the wave,

And the snow heaves and tosses its snow-wreaths below, And the flakes, gilt with sunbeams, the flowing tide pave, Like the gems that in gardens of sorcery grow:

I sit on the rock, and I watch the light fade,

Still fainter and fainter away in the west,

And I dream I can catch, through the mantle of shade,
A glimpse of the dim distant land of the blest.

And I long for a home in that land of the soul,

Where hearts always warm glow with friendship and love, And days ever cloudless still cheerily roll,

Like the age of eternity blazing above:

There with friendships unbroken, and loves ever true,
Life flows on, one gay dream of pleasure and rest,
And green is the fresh turf, the sky purely blue,
That mantle and arch o'er the land of the blest.

The last line of light now is crossing the sea,

And the first star is lighting its lamp in the sky; It seems that a sweet voice is calling to me,

Like a bird on that pathway of brightness to fly : "Far over the wave is a green sunny isle,

Where the last cloud of evening now shines in the west; 'Tis the island that Spring ever woos with her smiles; O! seek it-the bright happy land of the blest."

RETROSPECTION.

THERE are moments in life, that are never forgot,
Which brighten, and brighten, as time steals away;
They give a new charm to the happiest lot,

And they shine on the gloom of the loneliest day:
These moments are hallowed by smiles and by tears;
The first look of love and the last parting given;
As the sun, in the dawn of his glory, appears,

And the cloud weeps and glows with the rainbow in heaven.

There are hours-there are minutes, which memory brings,
Like blossoms of Eden, to twine round the heart;

And as time rushes by on the might of his wings,
They may darken awhile, but they never depart :
O! these hallowed remembrances cannot decay,
But they come on the soul with a magical thrill;

And in days that are darkest they kindly will stay,

And the heart, in its last throb, will beat with them still.

I

They come, like the dawn in its loveliness, now,
The same look of beauty, that shot to my soul;
The snows of the mountain are bleached on her brow,
And her eyes, in the blue of the firmament, roll:
The roses are dim by her cheeks living bloom,

And her coral lips part like the opening of flowers;
She moves through the air in a cloud of perfume,

Like the wind from the blossoms of jessamine bowers.

From her eye's melting azure there sparkles a flame
That kindled my young blood to ecstacy's glow;
She speaks-and the tones of her voice are the same,
As would once like the wind-harp, in melody flow:
That touch, as her hand meets and mingles with mine,
Shoots along to my heart, with electrical thrill;
'Twas a moment, for earth too supremely divine,
And while life lasts its sweetness shall cling to me still.

We met and we drank from the crystalline well
That flows from the fountain of science above;
On the beauties of thought we would silently dwell,
Till we looked though we never were talking of love:
We parted the tear glistened bright in her eye,

And her melting hand shook, as I dropped it for ever; O! that moment will always be hovering by,

Life may frown-but its light shall abandon me-never.

JOHN G. C. BRAINARD.

TO THE DEAD.

How many now are dead to me

That live to others yet!

How many are alive to me

Who crumble in their graves, nor see
That sickening, sinking look which we
Till dead can ne'er forget.

Beyond the blue seas, far away,

Most wretchedly alone, One died in prison, far away,

Where stone on stone shut out the day,

And never hope or comfort's ray

In his lone dungeon shone.

Dead to the world, alive to me;

Though months and years have passed,

In a lone hour, his sigh to me

Comes like the hum of some wild bee,

And then his form and face I see

As when I saw him last.

And one, with a bright lip, and cheek, is dead to me.

And eye,

How pale the bloom of his smooth cheek!
His lip was cold-it would not speak ;
His heart was dead, for it did not break;
And his eye, for it did not see.

Then for the living be the tomb,
And for the dead the smile ;
Engrave oblivion on the tomb

Of pulseless life and deadly bloom-
Dim is such glare; but bright the gloom

Around the funeral pile.

THE DEEP.

THERE'S beauty in the deep :The wave is bluer than the sky;

And, though the light shine bright on high,

More softly do the sea-gems glow

That sparkle in the depths below;

The rainbow's tints are only made
When on the waters they are laid,
And sun and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean's level brine.

There's beauty in the deep.