Here industry to comfort led;

Her book of light here learning spread;
Here the warm heart of youth

Was woo'd to temperance and to truth;
Here hoary age was found,

By wisdom and by reverence crown'd.

No great but guilty fame

Here kindled pride, that should have kindled shame; These chose the better, happier part,

That pour'd its sunlight o'er the heart,

That crown'd their homes with peace and health, And weigh'd Heaven's smile beyond carth's wealth;

Far from the thorny paths of strife They stood, a living lesson to their race,

Rich in the charities of life,

Man in his strength, and woman in her grace; In purity and truth their pilgrim path they trod, And when they served their neighbour, felt they served their Gon."

This be our story, then, in that far day,
When others come their kindred debt to pay.
In that far day?—O, what shall be,
In this dominion of the free,

When we and ours have render'd up our trust,
And men unborn shall tread above our dust?
O, what shall be?-He, He alone
The dread response can make,
Who sitteth on the only throne

That time shall never shake :
Before whose all-beholding eyes
Ages sweep on, and empires sink and rise.
Then let the song, to Him begun,

To Him in reverence end;
Look down in love, Eternal One,

And Thy good cause defend;
Here, late and long, put forth thy hand,
To guard and guide the Pilgrim's land.

LINES TO A YOUNG MOTHER.

YOUNG mother! what can feeble friendship say, To soothe the anguish of this mournful day? They, they alone, whose hearts like thine have bled, Know how the living sorrow for the dead; Each tutor'd voice, that seeks such grief to cheer, Strikes cold upon the weeping parent's ear; I've felt it all-alas! too well I know How vain all earthly power to hush thy wo! Gon cheer thee, childless mother! 'tis not given For man to ward the blow that falls from heaven.

I've felt it all-as thou art feeling now; Like thee, with stricken heart and aching brow, I've sat and watch'd by dying beauty's bed, And burning tears of hopeless anguish shed; I've gazed upon the sweet, but pallid face, And vainly tried some comfort there to trace; I've listen'd to the short and struggling breath; I've seen the cherub eye grow dim in death; Like thee, I've veil'd my head in speechless gloom, And laid my first-born in the silent tomb.

I SEE THEE STILL.

"I rock'd her in the cradle,

And laid her in the tomb. She was the youngest.
What fireside circle hath not felt the charm
Of that sweet tie? The youngest ne'er grew old.
The fond endearments of our earlier days
We keep alive in them, and when they die,
Our youthful joys we bury with them."

I SEE thee still:

Remembrance, faithful to her trust,
Calls thee in beauty from the dust;
Thou comest in the morning light,
Thou'rt with me through the gloomy night;
In dreams I meet thee as of old:
Then thy soft arms my neck enfold,
And thy sweet voice is in my ear:
In every scene to memory dear
I see thee still.

I see thee still,

In every hallow'd token round;
This little ring thy finger bound,
This lock of hair thy forehead shaded,
This silken chain by thee was braided,
These flowers, all wither'd now, like thee,
Sweet sister, thou didst cull for me;
This book was thine, here didst thou read,
This picture, ah! yes, here, indeed,
I see thee still.

I see thee still:

Here was thy summer noon's retreat,
Here was thy favourite fireside seat;
This was thy chamber-here, each day,
I sat and watch'd thy sad decay;
Here, on this bed, thou last didst lie,
Here, on this pillow, thou didst die:
Dark hour! once more its woes unfold;
As then I saw thee, pale and cold,
I see thee still.

I see thee still:

Thou art not in the grave confined-
Death cannot claim the immortal mind;
Let earth close o'er its sacred trust,
But goodness dies not in the dust;
Thee, O my sister, 'tis not thee
Beneath the coffin's lid I see;
Thou to a fairer land art gone;
There, let me hope, my journey done,
To see thee still!

LINES ON THE DEATH OF M. S. C.

I KNEW that we must part-day after day, I saw the dread Destroyer win his way; That hollow cough first rang the fatal knell, As on my ear its prophet-warning fell; Feeble and slow thy once light footstep grew, Thy wasting cheek put on death's pallid hue, Thy thin, hot hand to mine more weakly clung, Each sweet "Good night" fell fainter from thy tongue;

I knew that we must part-no power could save Thy quiet goodness from an early grave;

Those eyes so dull, though kind each glance they

cast,

Looking a sister's fondness to the last;

Thy lips so pale, that gently press'd my cheek,
Thy voice-alas! thou couldst but try to speak;-
All told thy doom; I felt it at my heart;

The shaft had struck-I knew that we must part.
And we have parted, MARY-thou art gone!
Gone in thine innocence, meek, suffering one.
Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep
So peacefully, it seem'd a sin to weep,
In those fond watchers who around thee stood,
And felt, even then, that Gon, even then, was good.
Like stars that struggle through the clouds of
night,

Thine eyes one moment caught a glorious light,
As if to thee, in that dread hour, 't were given
To know on earth what faith believes of heaven;
Then like tired breezes didst thou sink to rest,
Nor one, one pang the awful change confess'd.
Death stole in softness o'er that lovely face,
And touch'd each feature with a new-born grace;
On check and brow unearthly beauty lay,
And told that life's poor cares had pass'd away.
In my last hour be Heaven so kind to me!
I ask no more than this-to die like thee.

But we have parted, MARY-thou art dead!
On its last resting-place I laid thy head,
Then by thy coffin-side knelt down, and took
A brother's farewell kiss and farewell look;
Those marble lips no kindred kiss return'd;
From those veil'd orbs no glance responsive burn'd;
Ah! then I felt that thou hadst pass'd away,
That the sweet face I gazed on was but clay;
And then came Memory, with her busy throng
Of tender images, forgotten long;

Years hurried back, and as they swiftly roll'd,
I saw thee, heard thee, as in days of old;
Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew;
Manhood was moved, and Sorrow claim'd her due;
Thick, thick and fast the burning tear-drops started;
I turn'd away-and felt that we had parted.-
But not forever-in the silent tomb,
Where thou art laid, thy kindred shall find room;
A little while, a few short years of pain,
And, one by one, we'll come to thee again;
The kind old father shall seek out the place,
And rest with thee, the youngest of his race;
The dear, dear mother, bent with age and grief,
Shull lay her head by thine, in sweet relief;

Sister and brother, and that faithful friend,
True from the first, and tender to the end,-
All, all, in His good time, who placed us here,
To live, to love, to die, and disappear,
Shall come and make their quiet bed with thee,
Beneath the shadow of that spreading tree;
With thee to sleep through death's long, dream-
less night,

With thee rise up and bless the morning light.

THE FAMILY MEETING.*

WE are all here! Father, mother, Sister, brother,

All who hold each other dear.
Each chair is fill'd-we're all at home;
To-night let no cold stranger come:

It is not often thus around

Our old familiar hearth we're found:
Bless, then, the meeting and the spot;
For once be every care forgot;
Let gentle Peace assert her power,
And kind Affection rule the hour;
We're all-all here.

We're not all here!

Some are away-the dead ones dear,
Who throng'd with us this ancient hearth,
And gave the hour to guiltless mirth.
Fate, with a stern, relentless hand,
Look'd in and thinn'd our little band:
Some like a night-flash pass'd away,
And some sank, lingering, day by day;
The quiet graveyard-some lie there-
And cruel Ocean has his share-
We're not all here.

We are all here!

Even they-the dead-though dead, so dear;
Fond Memory, to her duty true,
Brings back their faded forms to view.
How life-like, through the mist of years,
Each well-remember'd face appears!
We see them as in times long past;
From each to each kind looks are cast;
We hear their words, their smiles behold;
They're round us as they were of old—
We are all here.

We are all here! Father, mother,

Sister, brother,

You that I love with love so dear.
This may not long of us be said;
Soon must we join the gather'd dead;
And by the hearth we now sit round,
Some other circle will be found.
O! then, that wisdom may we know,
Which yields a life of peace below!
So, in the world to follow this,
May cach repeat, in words of bliss,
We're all-al here!

* Written on the accidental meeting of all the surviving members of a family.

God of wisdom, Gon of might,
Father! dearest name of all,
Bow thy throne and bless our rite;
"Tis thy children on thee call.
Glorious ONE! look down from heaven,
Warm each heart and wake each vow;
Unto Thee this house is given;

With thy presence fill i* now.

Fill it now! on every soul

Shed the incense of thy grace, While our anthem-echoes roll Round the consecrated place; While thy holy page we read,

While the prayers Thou lovest asca d, While thy cause thy servants plead,— Fill this house, our Gon, our Friend.

Fill it now-0, fill it long!

So, when death shall call us home, Still to Thee, in many a throng,

May our children's children come. Bless them, Father, long and late,

Blot their sins, their sorrows dry;

Make this place to them the gate Leading to thy courts on high. There, when time shall be no more,

When the feuds of earth are past, May the tribes of every shore

Congregate in peace at last! Then to Thee, thou ONE all-wise, Shall the gather'd millions sing, Till the arches of the skies With their hallelujahs ring.

TO MY CIGAR.

YES, social friend, I love thee well,
In learned doctors' spite;

Thy clouds all other clouds dispel,
And lap me in delight.

What though they tell, with phizzes lor.g,
My years are sooner pass'd?

I would reply, with reason strong,
They're sweeter while they last.
And oft, mild friend, to me thou art
A monitor, though still;

Thou speak'st a lesson to my heart,
Beyond the preacher's skill.

Thou'rt like the man of worth, who gives
To goodness every day,

The odour of whose virtues lives
When he has passed away.

When, in the lonely evening hour,
Attended but by thee,
O'er history's varied page I pore,
Man's fate in thine I see.

Oft as thy snowy column grows,
Then breaks and falls away,

I trace how mighty realms thus rose,
Thus tumbled to decay.

A while, like thee, earth's masters burn,
And smoke and fume around,

And then, like thee, to ashes turn,
And mingle with the ground.
Life's but a leaf adroitly roll'd,

And time's the wasting breath,
That late or early, we behold,
Gives all to dusty death.

From beggar's frieze to monarch's robe
One common doom is pass'd:
Sweet nature's works, the swelling globe,
Must all burn out at last.

And what is he who smokes thee now

A little moving heap,

That soon like thee to fate must bow,
With thee in dust must sleep.

But though thy ashes downward go,
Thy essence rolls on high;
Thus, when my body must lie low,
My soul shall cleave the sky.

SEBA SMITH was born in Buckfield, Maine, on the fourteenth of September, 1792; graduated at Bowdoin College in 1818; and having studied the law, settled in Portland, where his literary tastes led him to a connection with the press, and he edited successively the“ Eastern Argus," and the "Portland Courier." It was during his residence in Portland that he originated the popular and natural character of " Major Downing," which has served more frequently and successfully than any other for the illustration of New England peculiarites, in speech and manners. When about thirty years of age, he

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was married to ELIZABETH OAKES PRINCE, who has since been one of the most conspicuous literary women of this country. In 1842 they removed to New York, where Mr. SMITH has published "Letters of Major Jack Downing," "Powhattan, a Met. rical Romance,' Way Down East, or Portraitures of Yankee Life," "New Elements of Geometry," &c. One of his earliest attempts in verse was “An Auction Extraordinary," frequently quoted as LUCRETIA MARIA DAVIDSON's. Among his minor poems several are dramatic and picturesque, and noticeable for unusual force of description.

THE BURNING SHIP AT SEA.

THE night was clear and mild,
And the breeze went softly by,
And the stars of heaven smiled

As they wandered up the sky;

And there rode a gallant ship on the wave-
But many a hapless wight

Slept the sleep of death that night,
And before the morning light

Found a grave!

All were sunk in soft repose

Save the watch upon the deck; Not a boding dream arose

Of the horrors of the wreck,

To the mother, or the child, or the sire;
Till a shriek of wo profound,
Like a death-knell echo'd round-
With a wild and dismal sound,
A shriek of " fire!"

Now the flames are spreading fast-
With resistless rage they fly,
Up the shrouds and up the mast,

And are flickering to the sky;

Now the deck is all a blaze; now the rails-
There's no place to rest their feet;
Fore and aft the torches meet,

And a winged lightning sheet
Are the sails.

No one heard the cry of wo

But the sea-bird that flew by; There was hurrying to and fro,

But no hand to save was nigh;

Still before the burning foe they were driven-
Last farewells were uttered there,
With a wild and phrenzied stare,
And a short and broken prayer
Sent to Heaven.

Some leap over in the flood

To the death that waits them there; Others quench the flames with blood, And expire in open air;

Some, a moment to escape from the grave,
On the bowsprit take a stand;
But their death is near at hand-
Soon they hug the burning brand
On the wave.

From his briny ocean-bed,

When the morning sun awoke, Lo, that gallant ship had fled

And a sable cloud of smoke

Was the monumental pyre that remained;
But the sea-gulls round it fly,
With a quick and fearful cry,
And the brands that floated by
Blood had stained.

THE SNOW STORM.

THE cold winds swept the mountain's height,
And pathless was the dreary wild,

And mid the cheerless hours of night
A mother wander'd with her child:
As through the drifting snow she press'd,
The babe was sleeping on her breast.
And colder still the winds did blow,

And darker hours of night came on,
And deeper grew the drifting snow:

Her limbs were chill'd, her strength was gone.

Oh, God!" she cried, in accents wild,
"If I must perish, save my child !”
She stripp'd her mantle from her breast,

And bared her bosom to the storm,
And round the child she wrapp'd the vest

And smiled to think her babe was warm.
With one cold kiss, one tear she shed,
And sunk upon her snowy bed.
At dawn a traveller passed by,

And saw her 'neath a snowy veil;
The frost of death was in her eye,

Her cheek was cold, and hard, and pale, He moved the robe from off the childThe babe look'd up and sweetly smiled!