INFLUENCE OF HOPE ON THE SAILOR.

Lo! to the wintry winds the pilot yields
His bark, careering o'er unfathomed fields;
Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar,
Where Andes, giant of the western star,

With meteor-standard to the winds unfurled,
Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world.

Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles,
On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles;
Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow,
From wastes that slumber in eternal snow;
And waft, across the wave's tumultuous roar,
The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore.

Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm,
Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form!
Rocks, waves, and winds, the shattered bark delay ;
Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away.

But HOPE can here her moonlight vigils keep,
And sing to charm the spirit of the deep:
Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole,
Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul.
His native hills that rise in happier climes,
The grot that heard his song of other times,
His cottage home, his bark of slender sail,
His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossomed vale,

HOMEWARD BOUND.

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Rush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind,
Treads the loved shore he sighed to leave behind,
Meets at each step a friend's familiar face,
And flies at last to Helen's long embrace,
Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear,
And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear!
While, long neglected, but at length caressed,
His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest,
Points to the master's eyes (where'er they roam)
His wistful face, and whines a welcome home.
CAMPBELL.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

SHE comes, majestic with her swelling sails,
The gallant bark! along her watery way
Homeward she drives, before the favouring gales,
Now flirting at their length the streamers play,
And now they ripple with the ruffling breeze.
Hark to the sailors' shouts! the rocks rebound,
Thundering in echoes to the joyful sound.
Long have they voyaged o'er the distant seas,
And what a heart-delight they feel at last,
So many toils, so many dangers past,
To view the port desired—he only knows
Who on the stormy deep, for many a day,
Hath tost, aweary of his ocean way,

And watched, all anxious, every wind that blows.
SOUTHEY

THE HOME VOYAGE.

WE give the white sail
To the morning gale

As yon rising sun we meet,
And those hillocks of blue
Shall fade from the view
Ere his evening beam we greet.

Though the blast of the north
Pour his fury forth,

As we ride on our ocean path;
Though the roar of the deep
Stern concert keep,

We smile at their mingled wrath.

Oh! the bosom swells high

With a stormy joy,

As we meet them with answering pride;

As we hang o'er the bow,

While our ocean plough

Flings the baffled floods aside.

We give the white sail

To the evening gale,

Though the night be dark and drear,

The breeze that sings loud

In our straining shroud

Shall but further our glad career.

THE HOME VOYAGE.

Though she bow to the wave,
As a champion brave

Greets his foeman with courtesy due:

Shall she rise again,

And in calm disdain

Unshaken her course pursue.

And every crest

On the foam's white breast Is gemmed with an ocean star, That gleams with a light, Like torches bright

Through vases of clouded spar.

Then give the white sail

To the rising gale

Though our vessel be stout and fleet,

Full many a sun

His course must run

Ere our native land we greet.

Though our path be known
To the heavens alone,

And yon silent lights above,

There are hearts that e'en now

Breathe for us the vow

And the wordless prayer of love.

There are eyes that shall beam
With a tearful gleam,

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There are voices, whose accents sweet

Shall yet sweeter be heard

For the faltered word,

That our coming can scarcely greet.

Then give the white sail

To the joyous gale,

Till her yards the billows kiss;

Till rapid she seem

As the kindling dream

Of Love, and of Hope, and Bliss.

"The Winter's Wreath."

LAND DESCRIED.

MORN had in splendour burst upon the hills Whence sacred Ganges pours his murmuring flood, When from the highest mast the mariners Descried, ahead, the distant table-land.

Passed was the fearful storm, and mighty seas
Were traversed, and all boding fears dismissed,
When, gaily, the Melindan pilot cried,
"Yon land, if I err not, is Calicut.

This is, assuredly, the region

Of Oriental Ind, which thou dost seek;
And if with this discovery content

Thou art, here may thy arduous labours end."

Gama beyond himself transported felt,