James A. Hillhouse.

THE LAST EVENING BEFORE ETERNITY.

Y this, the sun his westering car drove low;

BY

Round his broad wheels full many a lucid cloud

Floated, like happy isles in seas of gold;

Along the horizon castled shapes were piled,
Turrets and towers, whose fronts embattled gleamed
With yellow light: smit by the slanting ray,
A ruddy beam the canopy reflected;
With deeper light the ruby blushed; and thick
Upon the seraphs' wings the glowing spots
Seemed drops of fire. Uncoiling from its staff,
With fainter wave, the gorgeous ensign hung,
Or, swelling with the swelling breeze, by fits
Cast off, upon the dewy air, huge flakes
Of golden lustre. Over all the hill,
The heavenly legions, the assembled world,
Evening her crimson tint forever drew.
Round I gazed

Where, in the purple west, no more to dawn,
Faded the glories of the dying day.
Mild-twinkling through a crimson-skirted cloud,
The solitary star of evening shone.
While gazing wistful on that peerless light,
Thereafter to be seen no more (as oft

In dreams strange images will mix), sad thoughts
Passed o'er my soul. Sorrowing I cried, "Farewell,
Pale, beauteous planet, that display'st so soft,

Amid yon glowing streak, thy transient beam

A long, a last farewell! Seasons have changed,
Ages and empires rolled, like smoke, away;
But thou, unaltered, beam'st as silver fair
As on thy birthnight! Bright and watchful eyes,
From palaces and bowers, have hailed thy gem
With secret transport! Natal star of love,
And souls that love the shadowy hour of fancy,
How much I owe thee, how I bless thy ray!
How oft thy rising o'er the hamlet green,
Signal of rest, and social converse sweet,
Beneath some patriarchal tree, has cheered
The peasant's heart, and drawn his benison !
Pride of the West! beneath thy placid light
The tender tale shall never more be told-
Man's soul shall never wake to joy again:
Thou set'st forever-lovely orb, farewell!"

SCION of a mighty stock!

Hands of iron-hearts of oak

Follow with unflinching tread

Where the noble fathers led.

Craft and subtle treachery,

Gallant youth! are not for thee:
Follow thou in word and deeds

Where the God within thee leads.

Honesty with steady eye,
Truth and pure simplicity,
Love that gently winneth hearts,
These shall be thy only arts-

Prudent in the council-train,
Dauntless on the battle-plain,
Ready at the country's need
For her glorious cause to bleed.

Where the dews of night distil
Upon Vernon's holy hill;
Where above it, gleaming far,
Freedom lights her guiding star-

Thither turn the steady eye,
Flashing with a purpose high;
Thither with devotion meet
Often turn the pilgrim feet.

Let thy noble motto be,

"GOD-the COUNTRY-LIBERTY!"

Planted on Religion's rock,

Thou shalt stand in every shock.

Laugh at danger, far or near;
Spurn at baseness-spurn at fear;
Still, with persevering might,
Speak the truth, and do the right.

So shall Peace, a charming guest,
Dove-like in thy bosom rest;
So shall Honour's steady blaze
Beam upon thy closing days.

Happy if celestial favour

Smile upon the high endeavour :
Happy if it be thy call

In the holy cause to fall.

Seba Smith.

THE BURNING SHIP AT SEA.

THE

night was clear and mild,

And the breeze went softly by,

And the stars of heaven smiled

As they wandered up the sky;

And there rode a gallant ship on the waveBut many a hapless wight

Slept the sleep of death that night,

And before the morning light

Found a grave!

All were sunk in soft repose,

Save the watch upon the deck:

Not a boding dream arose

Of the horrors of the wreck,

To the mother, or the child, or the sire;
Till a shriek of woe profound,
Like a death-knell echoed round-
With a wild and dismal sound,

A shriek of "Fire!"

Now the flames are spreading fast

With resistless rage they fly,

Up the shrouds and up the mast,

And are flickering to the sky;

Now the deck is all a-blaze; now the railsThere's no place to rest their feet;

Fore and aft the torches meet,

And a winged lightning-sheet

No one heard the

Are the sails.

cry of woe

But the sea-bird that flew by;
There was hurrying to and fro,

But no hand to save was nigh;

Still before the burning foe they were drivenLast farewells were uttered there,

With a wild and frenzied stare,

And a short and broken prayer

Sent to Heaven.

Some leap over in the flood

To the death that waits them there;
Others quench the flames with blood,

And expire in open air;

Some, a moment to escape from the grave,
On the bowsprit take a stand;

But their death is near at hand

Soon they hug the burning brand
On the wave.

From his briny ocean-bed,

When the morning sun awoke,

Lo, that gallant ship had fled!

And a sable cloud of smoke

Was the monumental pyre that remained;