And the Home of a Briton, though lowly the cot,
Is the temple of Freedom, the thrice-hallow'd spot,
Which the laws of his country so nobly protect,
That monarchs themselves must observe and respect
All the rights of his Home.

Though the pale hand of Death its loved circle may thin,
And sorrow or strife mar the sunshine within;
Yet no power from without can disturb or annoy,
Or unbidden intrude on the care or the joy

That are found in his Home.

THE VISION.

SHE rose before him, in the loveliness
And light of days long vanished, but her air
Was marked with tender sadness, as if Care
Had left his traces written, though distress
Was felt no longer.-Through her shadowy dress,
And the dark ringlets of her flowing hair,
Trembled the silvery moon-beams, as she there
Stood, 'midst their weeping glory, motionless,
And pale as marble statue on a tomb.

But there were traits more heavenly in her face,
Than when her cheek was radiant with the bloom
Which his false love had blighted-and she now
Came like some angel messenger of grace,
And looked forgiveness of his broken vow.

THE HOME-BOUND SHIP.

THE ship was homeward bound-the thrilling cry
Of "Land!-our native land!" from tongue to tongue
Had been proclaimed, and hearts were beating high
With Hope's sweet tumult, as its echo rung;
And rapture smiled or wept in many an eye,
While in the shrouds aloft the sea-boy sung
Snatches of songs, which bring to those who roam
The thoughts of welcome, and of home, sweet home.

But gallantly before the favouring gales

She moves in all her pride, a pageant fair;
The breezes wanton in her swelling sails,
And her gay fluttering pennons fan the air;
While music is on deck, the dance prevails,

And every shape of gladness revels there,
Through the far wasted night; as with her store
Of Indian wealth the vessel nears the shore.

But, hark! e'en now with awful change of cheer,
The billows rave, the eddying whirlwinds blow,
And breaks the dismal sound on every ear,
Of crashing contact with dread rocks below,

And the wild shriek of agonizing fear;

"The ship is sinking," in deep tones of woe, Bursts from the lips of all, with piercing cries For succour, as the roaring waters rise.

And hues of death were seen on every face;
And signs of terror e'en among the brave;
And lovers folding in a last embrace

The trembling forms of those they could not save. Then, for the lowered boats, the frantic race

And desperate struggle, while the ocean wave
Grew level with the deck, and kissed the feet
Of those for whom remained not a retreat.

There was the sob, the sigh, the whispered prayer,
And dismal outcry borne the billows o'er;
While some absorbed in silent grief were there,

Who breathed no plaint, but gazed upon the shore

With the fixed glances of intense despair,

And thought of those they should behold no more, With whom was fondly linked each tender tie That knits life's cords, and makes it hard to die.

That pause of bitter agony is past,

And the still agitated waters glide O'er the last vestige of the buried mast;

But striving stoutly with the eddying tide, The greedy billows, and the roaring blast,

In furious and tempestuous wrath allied, And rising o'er their mingled might is seen A gallant stripling with undaunted mien.

A A

His widowed mother's hope-the aid and joy

Of orphan sisters-on the treacherous main, With firm resolve no hardships could destroy, For them Life's needful comforts to obtain, Had early ventured this heroic boy,

Deeming all sufferings light and terrors vain, That frowning Fortune sternly might oppose To bar the vent'rous path he nobly chose.

And must that glowing heart be 'whelmed beneath
The raging waters of the restless deep?
And that fair form, untimely chilled in death,
Unshrouded in its gloomy caverns sleep?

E'en now with fainting limbs and labouring breath

He strives, while thoughts of those who soon may weep

In cureless anguish for his fate, comes o'er

His soul, and nerves his failing arm once more.

His reeling eye grows dim, while from the strand
The fishers cheer him-and intent to save,

The life-boat, launched by her determined band
Of dauntless heroes, dances o'er the wave;
He sees not, feels not, does not understand
His own deliverance from a watery grave,
Till his fond mother's joyful sobs he hears,
And reads his recent peril in her tears.