Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, To a Waterfowl.-BRYANT. WHITHER, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, Seek'st thou the plashy brink There is a Power, whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,- Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere; And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest Thou'rt gone; the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, The Constancy of Nature contrasted with the Changes in Human Life.-DANA. How like eternity doth nature seem To life of man-that short and fitful dream! I look around me ;-no where can I trace These are the murmuring waters, these the flowers I mused o'er in my earlier, better hours. Like sounds and scents of yesterday they come. Long years have past since this was last my home! But all this vale shuts in is still the same: 'Tis I alone am changed; they know me not: The breeze that cooled my warm and youthful brow, And fare thee well, my own green, quiet Vale.-DANA. THE sun was nigh its set, when we were come Once more where stood the good man's lowly home. We sat beside the door; a gorgeous sight Above our heads-the elm in golden light. Thoughtful and silent for awhile-he then Talked of my coming.-" Thou❜lt not go again From thine own vale; and we will make thy home Pleasant; and it shall glad thee to have come." Then of my garden and my house he spoke, And well ranged orchard on the sunny slope; And grew more bright and happy in his talk Of social winter eve, and summer walk. And, while I listened, to my sadder soul A sunnier, gentler sense in silence stole ; Nor had I heart to spoil the little plan Which cheered the spirit of the kind old man. At length I spake "No! here I must not stay I'll rest to-night-to-morrow go my way." He did not urge me. Looking in my face, As he each feeling of the heart could trace, He prest my hand, and prayed I might be blest,Where'er I went, that Heaven would give me rest. The silent night has past into the prime Their glorious watch while he, unconscious, slept,→ Be to me ever as at this calin hour. The tree tops now are glittering in the sun: Why should I stay, when all I loved are fled, A homeless wanderer through my early home; Let me go, rather, where I shall not find Then for the dashing sea, the broad full sail! SONNET. The Free Mind. WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON.* HIGH walls and huge the body may confine, And vigilant keepers watch his devious ways: *This sonnet, written during Mr. Garrison's despotic imprisonment, posBesses a nobleness and an energy in the thought, a corresponding ease and originality in the expression, and an antique richness in its whole structure, which make it worthy of the happiest Olden Times' of the English Muse. With all the heart, we bid its author God speed in his efforts in the cause of freedom. But it needs patience and prudence, as well as stern moral courage. The possible result of the Colonization Society, and the success which may attend the efforts for the entire abolition of slavery in this country, constitute the great problem, on the solution of which our prosperity, and perhaps even our existence as a nation, depends. Every man who can speak, every editor who can influence the public mind, should certainly be doing all in his power to hasten forward the period of complete emancipa tion. "Speed it, O Father! Let thy kingdom come!" ED. Yet scorns the immortal mind this base control! And in a flash from earth to heaven it goes! Or, in sweet converse, pass the joyous hours. And, in its watches, wearies every star! Marco Bozzaris.-F. G. HALLECK. [He fell in an attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platæa, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were " To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a pain."] Ar midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, In dreams, through camp and court, he bore In dreams, his song of triumph heard; Then pressed that monarch's throne,-a king; As Eden's garden bird. An hour passed on-the Turk awoke; He woke to hear his sentry's shriek, "To arms! they come: the Greek! the Greek!" And death-shots falling thick and fast "Strike-till the last armed foe expires, |