And his mind's brightest vision but displays
The autumn scenery of his boyhood's days

And when you dream of woman, and her love;
Her truth, her tenderness, her gentle power;
The maiden, listening in the moonlight grove;
The mother, smiling in her infant's bower;
Forms, features, worshipped while we breathe or move,
Be, by some spirit of your dreaming hour,

Borne, like Loretto's chapel, through the air

To the green land I sing, then wake; you'll find them there

The Rising Moon.-W. O. B. PEABODY.

THE moon is up! How calm and slow

She wheels above the hill!

The weary winds forget to blow,
And all the world lies still.

The way-worn travellers, with delight,
The rising brightness see,
Revealing all the paths and plains,
And gilding every tree.

It glistens where the hurrying stream
Its little ripple leaves;

It falls upon the forest shade,
And sparkles on the leaves.

So once, on Judah's evening hills,
The heavenly lustre spread;
The gospel sounded from the blaze,
And shepherds gazed with dread.

And still that light upon the world
Its guiding splendor throws:
Bright in the opening hours of life,
But brighter at the close.

The waning moon, in time, shall fail
To walk the midnight skies;

But God hath kindled this bright light
With fire that never dies.

America to Great Britain."-WASHINGTON ALLSTON

ALL hail thou noble land,

Our fathers' native soil!
O stretch thy mighty hand,
Gigantic grown by toil,

O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore.
For thou, with magic might,

Canst reach to where the light
Of Phoebus travels bright

The world o'er!

The Genius of our clime,

From his pine-embattled steep,
Shall hail the great sublime;

While the Tritons of the deep

With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim.
Then let the world combine-

O'er the main our naval line,
Like the milky way, shall shine
Bright in fame!

Though ages long have passed

Since our fathers left their home,

Their pilot in the blast,

O'er untravelled seas to roam,

Yet lives the blood of England in our veins!
And shall we not proclaim

That blood of honest fame,

Which no tyranny can tame

By its chains?

While the language, free and bold,
Which the bard of Avon sung,

In which our Milton told

How the vault of heaven rung,

*This poem was written in the year 1810. It was first printed, we be lieve, in Coleridge's Sybilline Leaves. Coleridge inserted it among his own poems with the following note:

"This poem, written by an American gentleman, a valued and dear friend, I communicate to the reader for its moral, no less than its poetic spirit."

After such a commendation from the greatest poet, and perhaps the greatost man living, any additional one would be superfluous.-ED.

When Satan, blasted, fell with his host;
While this, with reverence meet,
Ten thousand echoes greet,
From rock to rock repeat

Round our coast;

While the manners, while the arts,
That mould a nation's soul,
Still cling around our hearts,

Between let Ocean roll,

Our joint communion breaking with the Sun:
Yet, still, from either beach,

The voice of blood shall reach,
More audible than speech,
"We are One !"*

Th Night-flowering Cereus.t-UNITARIAN MISCELLANY.

Now departs day's gairish light-
Beauteous flower, lift thy head!

Rise upon the brow of night!

Haste, thy transient lustre shed!

Night has dropped her dusky veil-
All vain thoughts be distant far,
While, with silent awe, we hail
Flora's radiant evening star.

See to life her beauties start;

Hail! thou glorious, matchless flower!
Much thou sayest to the heart,

In the solemn, fleeting hour.

*This alludes merely to the moral union of the two countries. The autho would not have it supposed that the tribute of respect, offered in these stanzas to the land of his ancestors, would be paid by him, if a he expense of the independence of that which gave him birth.

The night-flowering Cereus, or Cactus grandiflorus, is one of our splendid hot-house plants, and is a native of Jamaica and some other of the West India Islands. Its stem is creeping, and thickly set with spines. The flower is white, and very large, sometimes nearly a foot in diameter. The most remarkable circumstance with regard to the flower, is the short time which it takes to expand, and the rapidity with which it decays. It begins to open late in the evening, flourishes for an hour or two, then begins to droop, and before morning is completely dead.

Ere we have our homage paid,

Thou wilt bow thine head and die ;
Thus our sweetest pleasures fade,
Thus our brightest blessings fly.

Sorrow's rugged stem, like thine,
Bears a flower thus purely bright;
Thus, when sunny hours decline,
Friendship sheds her cheering light.

Religion, too, that heavenly flower,
That joy of never-fading worth,
Waits, like thee, the darkest hour,
Then puts all her glories forth.

Then thy beauties are surpassed,
Splendid flower, that bloom'st to die;
For Friendship and Religion last,
When the morning beams on high.

God is Good.-ANONYMOUS.

GOD is good! Each perfumed flower,
The smiling fields, the dark green wood,

The insect, fluttering for an hour,-
All things proclaim that God is good.

I hear it in the rushing wind;
Hills that have for ages stood,
And clouds, with gold and silver lined,
Are still repeating, God is good.

Each little rill, that, many a year,
Has the same verdant path pursued,

And every bird, in accents clear,

Joins in the song that God is good.

The restless main, with haughty roar,
Calms each wild wave and billow rude,
Retreats submissive from the shore,
And swells the chorus, God is good.

Countless hosts of burning stars
Sing his praise with light renewed;
The rising sun each day declares,
In rays of glory, God is good.

The moon, that walks in brightness, says,
God is good!-and man, endued
With power to speak his Maker's praise,
Should still repeat that God is good.

Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles.-ANONYMOUS

WHEN, on the midnight of the East,
At the dead moment of repose,
Like hope on misery's darkened breast,
The planet of salvation rose,―

The shepherd, leaning o'er his flock,
Started with broad and upward gaze,—
Kneeled,-while the Star of Bethlehem broke
On music wakened into praise.

The Arabian sage, to hail our King,
With Persia's star-led magi comes;
And all, with reverent homage, bring
Their gifts of gold and odorous gums.

If heathen sages, from afar,

Followed, when darkness round them sprem
The kindling glories of that star,

And worshipped where its radiance led,

Shall we, for whom that star was hung
In the dark vault of frowning heaven,-
Shall we, for whom that strain was sung,
That song
of
peace and sin forgiven,—

Shall we, for whom the Savior bled,
Careless his banquet's blessings see,
Nor heed the parting word that said
"Do this in memory of me?"