LINES ON LEAVING CASCO.

Nor thought that thou in a far distant land
'Mid strangers' graves, unknown, unmarked
should lie,

That I should never grasp again thy hand,

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Ne'er more should meet thy kindly beaming eye. Perchance the cypress o'er thy grave is weaving Its pensive branches 'neath the evening sky, Emblem of him whose bosom still is heaving For thee, thou long departed one, the sigh.

Fades the last ray of light, those isles have gone; And now we near the light-house on the rockFrom whose high tower the beacon long hath shone Thro' fair and foul, 'mid calm and tempest-shock! Oft when on high the midnight winds were howling, And waves were breaking madly into foam; When the dark sky with horrid gloom was scowling 'Mid lightning flash and thunder's sullen boom;

The sea-tossed mariner has hailed that light,
With sympathetic ray upon him beaming;
Nor cared how wild the storm-how murk the night,
So that one lamp were o'er his pathway streaming.
And the lone fisher-boy upon the billow,

Rocked in his wherry boldly rowed from shore,
Nor thought how far-he feared no briny pillow-
While his
eye hailed that star, the dark wave o’er.

As is the heart we turn to in our youth,
When every feeling kindles fond desire,
As to the Christian is the light of truth-
So for the sailor burns that beacon fire.
There
may
it stand while billows rage around,
Long o'er the darkened waters may it shine,
To save the mariner from the fatal ground
Where snaring rocks lurk 'neath the foaming brine.

As he who kindles there its lonely ray

When sober evening gathers o'er the ocean,
Has often spied it on his stormy way,

And viewed it as a shrine, with rapt devotion;
So now, safe moored beyond the rifted rock,
May he ne'er fail to light that guiding star,
Remembering how amid the tempest's shock
He hailed it, trembling o'er the wave afar.

Hail lucid star! thou first of eve's bright train!
Softly thy rays steal o'er the limpid wave:
Com'st thou, lone messenger upon the main,
Το weep above some hero's ocean grave ?
Would I could think while drinking in thy beams,

That there was one whose heart was truly mine; One, whose bright form might hover o'er my dreams, Whose love like thee might o'er my pathway shine!

LINES ON LEAVING CASCO.

But ah! it may not be;-and yon lone cloud
Now like a veil upon thee, reads the fate
Of this, thy worshipper. My heart is bowed
Even as a reed-and I must imitate

Thee, and retire among the unfeeling crowd,
Chaining within my breast both love and hate,
Walking with humble step among the proud,
Despising not the low, nor envying the great.

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Fair land adieu! alone I pace the deck,

And watch with saddened heart thy less'ning shore, Though there I've seen, of brightest hopes the wreck, And care not now, what fortune hath in store.

Though foreign climes should greet my wandering

way,

Though 'twere my fate to plough the foaming sea, Yet wheresoe'er on land or wave I stray,

Fond memory often shall revert to thee.

THE TELL-TALE FACE.

BY WILLIAM CUTTER.

I HATE the frigid notions,
Which seem to count it sin,

To show the kind emotions

True kindness works within ; Those manners cold and guarded With words dealt out by rule, Pronounced just as mamma did, Or Madame F—, at school.

I wonder how the ladies,

Dear angels that they are!
Can live where so much shade is
Their loveliness to mar!
Were they fairer than the graces,
And wiser than the light,
Such cold, such moonlight faces,

Would put young love to flight.

THE TELL-TALE FACE.

I love the playful fancies

Of an unsuspecting heart,
That speak in songs and glances,
Unchecked by rules of art:

I love the face, that speaketh
Of all that's in the mind;
The brow, the eye, that taketh
Its hue from what's behind.

These are the voice of nature,
The language of the soul;
Words change, but o'er the feature,
Guile may not have control:
The tongue may tell of feelings,
Which may be-or may not ;
But the eye hath sure revealings
Of the deeply hidden thought.

I love that quick expression,
Which flashes the full eye,
When truth would make confession,

While modesty would lie;

Those warm, those heavenly blushes,

That crimson brow and cheek,

When feeling's fountain gushes
With thoughts it dares not speak.

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