STANZAS. THE dead leaves strew the forest walk, The dew-drops fall in frozen showers. I learn'd a clear and wild-toned note, That rose and swell'd from yonder treeA gay bird, with too sweet a throat, There perch'd, and raised her song for me. The winter comes, and where is she? Away-where summer wings will rove, Where buds are fresh, and every tree Too mild the breath of southern sky, The northern breeze that rustles by Finds leaves too green, and buds too fair; No forest tree stands stripp'd and bare, No stream beneath the ice is dead, No mountain top, with sleety hair, Bends o'er the snows its reverend head. Go there, with all the birds, and seek A happier clime, with livelier flight, THE STORM OF WAR. O! ONCE was felt the storm of war! And waves around it howl; And yonder sail'd the merchant ship, That loved the might of the blackening storm, The stream, that was a torrent once, Is rippled to a brook, The sword is broken, and the spear Is but a pruning-hook. And keeps him well from harm; Another breeze is on the sea, Each star that decks it pure and bright, THE GUERILLA. THOUGH friends are false, and leaders fail, And Spanish gold their purse- Is the wild Guerilla's curse. No trumpets range us to the fight No signal sound of drum Tells to the foe, that, in their might, The hostile squadrons come. No sunbeam glitters on our spears, No warlike tramp of steeds Gives warning-for the first that hears Shall be the first that bleeds. The night-breeze calls us from our bed. And darkness gives the signal dread "T is clear in the sweet vale below, The skies shine mildly on the foe, But lour upon us still. This gathering storm shall quickly burs, And at its front we'll be the first, O! the mountain peak shall safe remain- THE SEA-BIRD'S SONG. Ox the deep is the mariner's danger, Lone looker on despair, Who watches their course, who so mildly Who hovers on high o'er the lover, And her who has clung to his neck? Whose wing is the wing that can cover, With its shadow, the foundering wreck? "Tis the sea-bird, &c. My eye in the light of the billow, My wing on the wake of the wave, My foot on the iceberg has lighted, When hoarse the wild winds veer about, My eye, when the bark is benighted, Sees the lamp of the light-house go out. I'm the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, Lone looker on despair; The sca-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, The only witness there. TO THE DAUGHTER OF A FRIEND. I PRAY thee, by thy mother's face, Where thy young head did lie; That match'd thy changeful mood; Is not the nestling, when it wakes, Its eye upon the wood around, And on its new-fledged pinions takes It's taste of leaves, and boughs, and brakesOf motion, sight, and sound,— Is it not like the parent? Then Be like thy mother, child, and when Thy wing is bold and strong,- As pure and steady be thy light, WALTER COLTON. [Born, 1797. Died, 1851.] WALTER COLTON was born in Rutland county, Vermont, on the ninth of May, 1797. When about seventeen years of age he determined to acquire a liberal education, and commenced with industrious energy his preparatory studies. In 1818 he entered Yale College, where he received the Berkleyan prize in Latin and Greek, and delivered the valedictory poem, when he graduated, in 1822. He soon afterward went to the Theological Seminary at Andover, where he remained three years, giving much of his time to literature, and writing, besides various moral and critical dissertations, a "Sacred Drama," which was acted by the students at one of their rhetorical exhibitions, and an elaborate poem pronounced when his class received their diplomas. On being ordained an evangelist, according to the usage of the Congregational church, he became Professor of Moral Philosophy and Belles-Lettres in the Scientific and Military Academy at Middletown, then under the presidency of Captain ALDEN PARTRIDGE. While occupying this position, he wrote a prize "Essay on Duelling;" a "Discussion of the Genius of Coleridge;" "The Moral Power of the Poet, Painter, and Sculptor, contrasted," and many contributions in verse and prose to the public journals, under the signature of "Bertram." In 1828 he resigned his professorship, and settled in Washington, as editor of the "American Spectator," a weekly gazette, which he conducted with industry, and such tact and temper as to preserve the most intimate relations with the leaders of the political party to which it was opposed. He was especially a favourite with President JACKSON, who was accustomed to send for him two or three times in a week to sit with him in his private chamber; and when Mr. COLTON's health declined, so that a sea voyage was recommended by his physicians, the President offered him, without solicitation, a consulship or a chaplaincy in the Navy. The latter was accepted, and he held the office from 1830 till the end of his life. His first appointment was to the West India squadron, in which he continued but seven or eight months. He next sailed for the Mediterranean, in the flag-ship Constellation, Commodore READ, and in the three years of his connection with this station he travelled through Spain, Italy, Greece, and Asia Minor, visited Constantinople, and made his way to Paris and London. The results of his observations are partially given to the public in volumes entitled "Ship and Shore," and "A Visit to Constantinople and Athens." Soon after the publication of these works, he was appointed historiographer to the South Sea Surveying and Exploring Expedition; but the ultimate reduction of the force designed for the Pacific squadron, and the resignation of his associates induced him to forego the advantages of this office, for which he had made very careful preparations in ethnographical studies. He was now stationed at Philadelphia, where he was chaplain successively of the Navy Yard and the Naval Asylum. In this city I became acquainted with him, and for several years enjoyed his frequent society and intimate friendship. In 1841 and 1842, with the consent of the Government, he added to his official duties the editorship of the Philadelphia « North American,” and in these and the following years he wrote much on religious and literary subjects for other journals. In 1844 he delivered before the literary societies of the University of Vermont a poem entitled "The Sailor." In the summer of 1846 he was married, and in the following autumn was ordered to the Congress, the flag-ship of the Pacific squadron, in which he arrived off the western coast of America soon after the commencement of the war with Mexico. The incidents of the voyage round Cape Horn are detailed with more than his usual felicity in the book called "Deck and Port," which he published in 1850. Soon after the arrival of the squadron at Monterey, he was appointed alcalde, or chief magistrate, of that city, an office demanding untiring industry, zeal, and fortitude. He displayed in it eminent faithfulness and ability, and won as much the regard of the conquered inhabitants of the country, as the respect of his more immediate associates. Besides performing his ordinary duties he established the first newspaper printed in California, "The Californian;" built the first school-house in the territory; and also a large hall for public meetings, which the citizens called Colton Hall," in honour of his public spirit and enterprise. It was during his administration of affairs at Monterey that the discovery of gold in the Sacramento Valley was first made; and the honour of first making it publicly known in the Atlantic states, whether by accident or otherwise, belongs properly to him. It was first announced in a letter bearing his initials, in the Philadelphia "North American," and the next day in a letter also written by him, in the New York "Journal of Commerce." 66 Mr. COLTON returned to his home early in the summer of 1850, anticipating years of undisturbed happiness. With an attached family, a large circle of friends, good reputation, and a fortune equal to his desires, he applied himself leisurely to the preparation of his manuscript journals for the press, and the revision of his earlier publications. He had completed, besides "Deck and Port," al, ready mentioned, "Three Years in California," and had nearly ready for the printer a much enlarged and improved edition of "Ship and Mr. COLTON was of an eminently genial nature, fond of society, and with such qualities as made him always a welcome associate. His extensive and various travel had left upon his memory a thousand delightful pictures, which were reflected in his conversation so distinctly and with such skilful preparation of the mind, that his com Shore," which was to be followed by "A Visit to Constantinople, Athens, and the Egean," a collection of his Poems," and a volume of "Miscellanies of Literature and Religion." His health however, began to decline, and a cold, induced by exposure during a visit to Washington, ended in disease which his physician soon discovered to be incurable. Being in Philadelphia on the twenty-panions lived over his life with him as often as he second of January, I left my hotel to pay him an early visit, and found the death signs upon his door; he had died at two o'clock that morning, surrounded by his relations, and in the presence of his friends the Rev. ALBERT BARNES and the Rev. Dr. HERMAN HOOKER-died very calmly, without mortal enemies and at peace with God. chose to summon its scenes before them. It cannot be said that there are in the poems of Mr. COLTON indications of genius, but many of his pieces display a quiet humour and refinement of feeling, and they have generally the merit of being apparently fruits of his own experience. THE SAILOR. A SAILOR ever loves to be in motion, As home, abhors the land; and c'en the sky, boundless and beautiful, has naught to please, Except some clouds, which promise him a breeze. He is a child of mere impulse and passion, Loving his friends, and generous to his foes, And fickle as the most ephemeral fashion, Save in the cut and colour of his clothes, And in a set of phrases which, on land, The wisest head could never understand. He thinks his dialect the very best 'That ever flow'd from any human lip, And whether in his prayers, or at a jest, Uses the terms for managing a ship; And even in death would order up the helm, In hope to clear the "undiscover'd realin." He makes a friend where'er he meets a shore, One whom he cherishes with some affection; But leaving port, he thinks of her no more, Unless it be, perchance, in some reflection Upon his wicked ways, then, with a sigh, Resolves on reformation-ere he die. Ir. calms, he gazes at the sleeping sea, Or seeks his lines, and sets himself to angling, Or takes to politics, and, being free Of facts and full of feeling, falls to wrangling: Then recollects a distant eye and lip, And rues the day on which he saw a ship: Then looks up to the sky to watch each cloud, As it displays its faint and fleeting form; Then o'er the calin begins to mutter loud, And swears he would exchange it for a storın, Tornado, any thing-to put a close To this most dead, monotonous repose. An order given, and he obeys, of course, Though 'twere to run his ship upon the rocksCapture a squadron with a boat's-crew force Or batter down the massive granite blocks Of some hage fortress with a swivel, pike, Pistol, ought that will throw a ball, or strike. He never shrinks, whatever may betide; Still he maintains his firm and desperate stand- His generous spirit-his contempt of dangerHis firmness in the gale, the wreck, and strife; And though a wild and reckless ocean-ranger, Gon grant he make that port, when life is o'er, Where storms are hush'd, and billows break no more. MY FIRST LOVE, AND MY LAST. I could not think thy spirit yet had fled-- O'er life, which dwelt in thought and beauty there Which oft around their dewy freshness woke, When some more happy thought or harmless wile Upon thy warm and wandering fancy broke: For thou wert Nature's child, and took the tone Of every pulse, as if it were thine own. I watch'd, and still believed that thou wouldst wake, I thought to see this seeming slumber break, The tears of those around, the tolling bell WILLIAM B. WALTER. [Born, about 1796. Died, 1823.] THE first American ancestor of WILLIAM B. WALTER was "the good old puritan," as WHITFIELD styles him, the Reverend NEHEMIAH WALTER, who was graduated at Harvard College in 1684, and was soon after ordained as colleague of the apostle ELIOT. He was a great grandson of the Reverend INCREASE MATHER, one of the most celebrated characters in the ecclesiastical and civil history of New England; a grandson of the Reverend NATHANIEL WALTER, many years a dis | tinguished minister of Roxbury; and a son of the Reverend WILLIAM WALTER, D.D., sometime rector of Trinity Church, in Boston. He was educated at Bowdoin College, where he took his bachelor's degree in 1818. In 1821 he published in Boston two volumes, entitled "Sukey," and "Poems." Of "Sukey" a third edition was printed the same year in Baltimore. He confesses an anxiety for fame, and informs us that these works are the measure of his best abilities. WHERE IS HE! His way was on the waters deep, For lands, far distant and unknown; And all looks calm and pleasant still; Through heaven's blue depths, as once it shone; The clouds roll beautiful in light, Sweeping around the ETERNAL's throne; That bright lake-seems as softly calm; The night winds breathe their fragrant balm; Rolls on as bright that deep blue sea Its mighty waves: but where is he? Here is the wreath he twined; but now This rosy wreath is twined in vain; Tears, nor the bosom's warmest glow, Will ever give it life again!All this is dark and strange to me, And still I ask: oh, where is he? I touch his harp; the magic strings, The loveliest sounds of music pour- Of Death's dark angel swept them o'er; His corse is on an unknown shore; EXTRACT FROM A POEM TO AN INFANT." AH! little deemest thou, my child, It may be that the dreams of fame, A name, and die-alas! in vain. Thou reckest not, sweet slumberer, then, Thy tears will flow, and thou wilt weep |