T. H. BAYLEY. -0 Esle of Beauty. HADES of evening! close not o'er us! Leave our lonely bark awhile! Morn, alas! will not restore us Yonder dim and distant isle. Still my fancy can discover Sunny spots where friends may dwell; Darker shadows round us hoverIsle of Beauty, fare-thee-well! 'Tis the hour when happy faces Smile around the taper's light;Who will fill our vacant places? Who will sing our songs to-night? Through the mist that floats above us, Faintly sounds the vesper bell, Like a voice from those who love us, Breathing fondly, "Fare-thee-well!" When the waves are round me breaking, As I pace the deck alone, And my eye in vain is seeking Some green leaf to rest upon, What would I not give to wander Where my old companions dwell? Absence makes the heart grow fonder ;Isle of beauty! fare-thee-well! MISS BLAMIRE. -0 The Soldier's Return. HE wars for many a month were o'er Ere I could reach my native shed: My friends ne'er hoped to see me more, And wept for me as for the dead. As I drew near, the cottage blazed, The evening fire was clear and bright, As through the window long I gazed, And saw each friend with dear delight. My father in his corner sat, My mother drew her useful thread; My brothers strove to make them chat, My sisters baked the household bread. And Jean oft whispered to a friend, What could I do? If in I went, And act the poor maimed soldier's part. I drew a bandage o'er my face, And soon I found, in that best place, I ventured in ;-Tray wagged his tail, "Come here!" she cried; "what can him ail ?" While my feigned story I began. I changed my voice to that of age: My father then drew in a seat; "You're welcome," with a sigh, he said; My mother fried her best hung meat, And curds and cheese the table spread. "I had a son," my father cried, "And many a message have I brought Long for John Goodman's have I sought, "Oh! does he live ?" my father cried; My mother did not stay to speak; My Jessy now I silent eyed, Who throbbed as if her heart would break. My mother saw her catching sigh, "He lives indeed! this kerchief see, An arrow darting from a bow Could not more quick the token reach; The patch from off my face I drew, And gave my voice its well-known speech. "My Jessy dear!" I softly said, She gazed and answered with a sigh ; My father danced around his son ; She cared not now how soon the day!" WM. C. BRYANT. BORN 1794. -0 The Old Man's Counsel. HE sun of May was bright in middle heaven, And steeped the sprouting forests, the green hills, And emerald wheat-fields, in his yellow light. Upon the apple-tree, where rosy buds Stood clustered, ready to burst forth in bloom, cast A shade, gay circles of anemones Danced on their stocks; the shadbush, white with flowers, Brightened the glens; the new-leaved butternut And quivering poplar to the roving breeze Gave a balsamic fragrance. In the fields I saw the pulses of the gentle wind On the young grass. My heart was touched with joy At so much beauty, flushing every hour Into a fuller beauty; but my friend, |