THE SHOOTING STAR.

OH! for an angel's mighty wing,
To track thy radiant flight,
Thou unexplained, mysterious thing,
That glancest through the night.

Traveller of paths to man unknown,
Through boundless fields of air,
Scarce marked by mortal eyes, are gone,
None knows, nonc guesseth where.

Comet art thou? or wandering star,
On thine appointed round?

Or seraph, in his shining car,

On some high mission bound?

As erst the heavenly bow was here
A sign from God to man,
Appear'st thou to some distant sphere,
Beyond our glance to scan?

Or to some doomed and guilty world,
Denouncing wrath divine,

With red destroying flag unfurled,

Dost thou avenging shine?

Or hast thou, from the birth of Time,
Since first heaven's azure arch

Was brightly spanned, with steps sublime,
Pursued thy wondrous march?

Say, hast thou thine appointed place

Amidst the starry train,

Which thou dost through unbounded space, Press onward to obtain?

Or wilt thou that unwearied course

Through countless ages run,

With fresh and unabated force,
As when 'twas first begun?

When young creation's birth-day song
By morning stars was sung,
And from the rapt angelic throng,

The loud hosannas rung?

Meteor or Star! whate'er thou art,

Our purblind race below

May muse, and dream, and guess in part,

But ne'er will fully know!

Weak Reason's powers could never reach

To thy meridian height;
Nor Science her disciples teach

To calculate thy flight.

Go, tell Presumption, all must err

Who venture on thy road; And bid the proud philosopher Walk humbly with his God.

THE SHOOTING STAR.

ILLUSTRATION.

THIS poem was suggested by a curious fact first noticed in the travels of Don Antonio d'Ulloa, in 1754, to South America, for the purposes of astronomical observation. This learned man scaled the heights of some of the mightiest Andes, and endured great hardships for the advancement of his favourite science, and among other observations he noticed that the Shooting-Stars, which had formerly been supposed to be mere meteors, produced by electric vapours in the region of clouds, appeared the same as formerly to him, though he stood on the highest peaks of the Andes attainable to the foot of man, and was elevated some thousand feet above the clouds. He saw thunder-storms and other effects of electric atmosphere go on beneath his feet, but the Shooting-Stars seemed as far above him as they did when he was on the usual level of the earth. From this fact he drew the conclusion that learned men had been greatly mistaken regarding their nature, and the observations of recent writers have confirmed his opinion, without being able to define what these beautiful and curious appearances really are. They chiefly appear in the Milky Way, that beautiful white arch that crosses the heavens, directly over-head, but no one can tell when they are coming, or where they go. They are oftener seen in November than in any other month. Sir John Herschel made some curious observations, at the Cape, on these stars, in November, 1835, but could not form any decisive opinion respecting their nature.

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THE LAST LOOK.

WHEN doomed by distress through the world's friendless track,

As pilgrims and strangers, in sorrow to roam, How fondly the spirit from distance flies back,

In the last lingering look that we turn on sweet home! Though its lustre through tear-drops be destined to gleam, When the heart to the eye its deep tenderness sends, Yet cold would the lip's warmest eloquence seem

To the language that speaks in the last looks of friends! And, oh! when condemn'd in distraction to sever, What anguish can equal the pangs which they prove, Who meet in an hour when they're parting for ever, In all its wild fondness, the last look of love? Long, long its expression sad fancy shall treasure,

And the soul, as it glances o'er memory's book, Shall recall, 'midst the whirl of ambition or pleasure, The tender remembrance of love's parting look.

When life to its final departure advances,

And all must be left for the grave's deep repose, Oh! who can forget the last farewell that glances From the eyes of a parent beloved ere they close? How often, when Fame has recorded the story

Of deathless renown, have fond bosoms been rent By the thought, though the hero expired in his glory, His last envied look on a stranger was bent!

THE ADVENT OF PEACE.

REJOICE, ye heavens! and thou, O earth, give ear!
The Lord hath spoken-yea, our God reveals
The glorious message of redeeming grace,
Which bids the heathen world look up and live.
Nations that sat within the gloomy shade

Of death's dark vale, have seen the day-spring dawn,
And brighten from on high. Salvation's light
Hath risen on tribes long wandering in the mists
Of pagan errors, wild, perplexed, and drear.
"Their feet are on the mountains who declare

The news of peace. Envoys from distant lands,
Resigning all the social joys of home,

And tender ties of kindred and of love,
They come through perils of the land and sea,
Braving toil, hardships, and the deadly blight
Of pale disease upon a foreign shore;
And count all sufferings light for His dear sake,
Who sends them forth as his ambassadors.

Break into songs, ye isles! now taught to hymn
His hallowed name; who while ye knew Him not,
Bore on the cross the burden of your guilt,
And paid your ransom with his precious blood.
Ye who have slept so long in Error's thrall,—
Afric and Hindostan, awake and throw