CHILDHOOD'S HOME AND YOUTH'S FIRST LOVE.

Home! 'tis a magic sound, ever nestling in the breast,
Pointing in the distance to the haven of our rest;

It is the spot where dawning childhood sheds its lustre bright,
And nurtures love in dalliance pure as the morning light!
It is the spot which memory holds more sacred in its store,
Than all that decks its brow from the "happy days of yore."
Oh! there's a music in that name, melodious and true,
Recalling past affections to enchant the present view;
The summer's glistening treasures that woo'd our spirits then,
With childhood's dear delightful sports, come back to us again
With all their thrilling tenderness, to win our wayward thought,
And cluster fondly to our souls, with sacred memories fraught.

Come Reminiscence! unfold your ideal buds once more, And strew your precious jewels o'er imagination's floor; There, now, youthful innocence in radiant beauty shines, Sporting with a gladsome heart 'till the day in night declines. Embraced within a mother's arms I feel her mellow kiss, Pledge of her enraptur'd joy wreath'd in ethereal bliss; I list her voice, softly sweet, it bears to Heaven a prayer, Inspir'd with trustfulness and hope, that some day she'll be there

The companion of the angels, to soar in joy above,

For ever thro' those realms of bliss in never-ceasing love:
I see her eyes upon me bent, they beam with smiling joy,
A faith in mystic wonderment, which nought can e'er destroy.

Dear mother! memory wraps my soul in thy mantling grace-
That heavenly smile illumining thy beauteous face
Doth hover o'er me, like the summer-sky's "unclouded blue,"
Which veils those unseen spheres beyond its own unbounded
view.

Oh, Memory! ye may waft the flowery fruits that bring
A virgin freshness to the soul, beautiful as spring;
Ye may recal unto my mind the rapturous joy I felt,
When, at a mother's earnest wish, close by her feet I knelt
To waft a prayer, as pure as incense, from my soul,

To the ETERNAL ONE, who made the universal whole.

Come, Fancy, wreathe your rainbow tints to deck my joyous brow,

If ye can weave more pleasing themes than win me even now.

Oh! what visions bright enchant my mind's aspiring gaze,
As memory with fairy wand recalls my childhood's days;
No care-fraught clouds hang gloomily above the path I tread,
The sun of Hope unclouded pours its influence o'er my head;
And the things that I sometimes see mechanically Real,
Dimly probe my untaught mind, entranc'd with the Ideal :
Oh! the innocence of childhood gives a tone of holy joy,
To touch the music of the heart and vicious thoughts decoy.
There may be weakness in the wish, to be a child again,
But yet I pant to leave the strife and evil ways of men.
There's nought so tender and so true in all this world so wide,
As the hopes and thoughts that fondly in a child's pure breast
reside.

Come, Memory, as o'er life's past winding paths ye roam, Repose on those delightful scenes far from childhood's home, Where sloping hills in rugged grandeur barricade the eye, Which fain would scan those milder scenes beyond their sum

mits high;

Where the plains are carpeted with green, and vestal grass,
And reservoirs' glassy tints, in depth of shade, surpass

The various specks that glitter in brilliancy around,

Over which the sun's lustre broods, and the birds blithe tones resound;

Where giant forests wildly stretch their huge umbrageous fens, And minstrel notes of gladness thrill the mountains and the

glens.

Thanks, a thousand thanks, dear Memory, for thy vestal store, Tho' distance bars me from those scenes, yet thou dost them

restore!

I gamboll'd o'er yon beauteous fields 'mid youthful pride,
Nor thought that time would over my buoyant spirits ride,
Conveying blighted prospects in its fleet-revolving car,

To mantle hope within the folds of life's competing jar.
That village dimly peeping thro' the clust'ring beechen stems,
Is clothed in adolescent sweets brighter than shining gems,
'Twas there I saw Louisa, one June's delicious day,
The breeze was gently sighing, and the lark's melodious lay
Was joyously echoing o'er the glens and the wild flowers,
Sweet exhalations were wafting thro' Nature's trellis'd bowers;
And beauty, from a million spots, luxuriantly bright,
Beguil'd my soul of joyless care and girt my ravish'd sight.

'Twas love's own spot, the balmy air fann'd the closing day,
And ever murm'ring sang its sweetest roundelay;
A fresh'ing shower from the sun-illumin'd cloud above,
Moistened the parch'd fruit beneath with dewy drops of love.
The waning sun in evening's garb was scatt'ring light,
In smiling splendour o'er the sod, and the solemn Night
Was preparing her robes of ebony to reign o'er space,
And with majestic pomp to hold all Nature in embrace.
'Twas fitting time to breathe those vows brooding in my breast,
Her lovely form was near me then, she seem'd an angel blest
To glide the earth in spirits free as morn's effulgent light,
Whose silver rays escape from out the obscure folds of night.

We loved, when our souls were no founts of sorrowing care,
Ever upspringing to moist the parch'd buds of despair;
When youth girt our hearts with its exhuberance of bloom,
Our lives were set free from misery's o'ershadowing gloom;
But youth, like the flowers, is evanescent and gay,

And blossoms, like them, to the the close of its lingering stay;
Yet it stereotypes bliss on the unsullied mind,

Which memory in evergreen luxuriance shall bind,

To win the seared soul, in its monotonous toil 'mid strife,
To live o'er again, in fancy, the past raptures of life,
That erst time had torn from it with its fleet mellowless hand,
Whilst leaving its dents in life's fathomless mountains of sand.

SPRING.

The days from out the sable fold,
Which rode on winter's wing,
Now leap in gladness to behold,
The blisful face of spring.

Adieu to winter's frost and snow,
I'm grateful for the gift,
Of healthy fruits he spread below,
With cold and piercing drift.

Adieu, old winter! from the stage

Of this revolving year,

For thou, like man, when worn with age, From life must disappear.

All nature's boundless, fructile range,

Throughout its mystic plan,

Now teems with wonder-speaking change, To thrill the soul of man.

The trees and flowers begin to bloom,

Unheeding winter's might;

His power is past to scatter gloom,
And rob the world of light.

The birds again resume their task,
To music-trill the air;

The sun invites all things to bask
Beneath its loving care.

Go forth, O man! the fields are full
Of sweetly-pictur'd themes;
Go forth, and view the Beautiful,

And feel the sun's warm beams.

THE OLD AND NEW YEAR.

The sands that time hath number'd fast,
Behind his track remain,

In the unseen sanctum of the past,
Nestles each sparkling grain;

And hideous death his sceptre doth wave,
Over the Old Year's newly-made grave.

One by one, in the ocean of death,
His hours have sunk to rest,

Speeding along, with the zephyr's breath,
That flies o'er nature's breast;

And his days came forth with laughing eye,
To lie in the arms of fate, and die.

As weeks and months on the Old Year's wing,

Were swiftly wafted by,

The seasons come forth, their fruits to fling

O'er the sea, earth, and sky,

Giving life to the beauteous flower,

And moist'ning the world with the gentle shower;

Decking the trees with foliage green,

The fields with golden corn
Encircling all with the glorious sheen,
In spring-time always worn;

Or inspiring earth with wintry pride,
While floating along time's billowy tide.

Old year! thou may'st no more appear
Upon life's barque sublime,
Thy death gives life to another year,

To sail the sea of Time;

But the seeds of age, thou gave to man,
Spring in the soil of life's mystic plan.

H