In sundry moods, 't was pastime to be bound Pleased if some souls (for such there needs must be) SOUTH SEA MISSIONARIES. WITH pleasure not unmix'd with pain, As with the Sabbath's dawn they gain Behind them is the sweltry main, The torrid land before. No sound was in the silence heard The faint and heated breeze scarce stirr'd The shipman in the distance sees The crowded, straw built cottages, And as that self-devoted band Of christian hearts drew near, Why should they seek that savage land In faith, those far-off shores they trod, And through those huts of matted sod Till each becomes a house of God, CHRISTMAS. THE thickly woven boughs they wreathe Of Summer's gentle reign; And rich the ray of mild green light Comes struggling through the latticed height, O let the streams of solemn thought From deeper sources spring than aught Then though the summer's glow departs, Rests on the cheerless woods, our hearts JAMES HALL, EDITOR of the Western Souvenir. WEDDED LOVE'S FIRST HOME. "T WAS far beyond yon mountains, dear, we plighted vows of love, The ocean wave was at our feet, the autumn sky above, cheek; The shore was all deserted, and we wandered there alone, And not a human step impress'd the sand beach but our own; The footsteps all have vanish'd from the billow beaten strand— The vows we breathed remain with us-they were not traced in sand. Far, far, we left the sea-girt shore, endear'd by childhood's dream, To seek the humble cot, that smiled by fair Ohio's stream. A. M. WELLS. MRS WELLS is the wife of Thomas Wells, of Boston, noticed in the second volume. She writes with sweetness and simplicity. HOPE. THERE sits a woman on the brow There, gazing o'er the waves below, She heeds not how the mad waves leap She looks for one upon the deep As morning twilight faintly gleams, VOL III. Far other once was Rosalie; Her smile was glad; her voice, O'er her pure thoughts did sorrow fling A sailor's bride 't was hers to be :- But long, where all is wrecked beside, Long, long will lingering Hope abide Nine years though all have given him o'er, And still she waits along the shore The never coming sail. On that high rock, abrupt and bare, Ever she sits, as now; The dews have damped her flowing hair, The sun has scorched her brow. And every far-off sail she sees, Or white-winged sea-bird, on the breeze, The sea-bird answers to her cry; It cannot go with that to part, So mingled with her faithful heart, 31 When falling dews the clover steep, Down the rude track her feet have worn, But when the gray morn tints the sky, Again she goes, untired, to sit And watch, the live-long day; Hidden, and deep, and never dry,- A living spring of hope doth lie In every human breast. All else may fail, that soothes the heart,— All, save that fount alone; With that and life at once we part, For life and hope are one. THE TAMED EAGLE. He sat upon his humble perch, nor flew But as I nearer drew, Looked on me, as I fancied, with reproach, And something still his native pride proclaim'd, Despite his wo; Which, when I marked, ashamed To see a noble creature brought so low, My heart exclaim'd, |