When the isles by the waves of the South sea kiss'd,

And the ice-bound North shall wake!

The captive, bow'd to earth,

Shall be loosed from his galling chain,

And the peasant, pining by his hearth,

And the SLAVE, condemn'd to grief and toil,
On our own COLUMBIA's hallow'd soil,

Shall leap from his fetters with shout of mirth,
And RIGHT triumphant reign!'

THE WANDERER'S RETURN.

HE
He came, but O how chang'd, how chang'd the scene,
Where the sweet moments of his youth were pass'd!
Which Fancy still rob'd in its hues of green,

As fair and bright as when he saw it last.

He knew stern Time spar'd not the things of Earth,
Yet thought he not that blight and dark decay
Would seize so soon the lov'd spot of his birth,
And dash its treasures and his hopes away!

He came The elms, that stood before the door, And cast their shadows o'er the verdant lawn

The knotted ivy, that crept wildly o'er

The mossy roof-the lilacs-all were gone! The weed and thistle grew upon the spot,

Where once the bright and glorious rose had grown, And where had stood the pleasant garden grot,

The ruby grapes of Proserpine 16 were strown.

He turn'd towards the cot-'Twas silent all!

No sound was heard save the lone night-wind's

breath;

No notes of pleasure echoed from the hall

All-all was voiceless as the vale of death! With trembling hand the rusted latch he rais'dHe stood again upon his father's hearth! With sinking heart and swelling eye he gaz'd'Can this-this be the lov'd spot of my birth?

'Alas! alas! sweet mother, where art thou? And ye, my sisters, why are ye not here? Is the cold turf upon thy peerless brow?

Have ye O no!-ye have not press'd the bier! Father, canst thou not welcome home thy child? Or hath the Archer pierc'd thy noble heart? My brother! where art thou-once kind and mild? Are ye all gone? Then let me too depart!'

He turn'd him from the scene-and turning weptUnto the church-yard, 'neath whose vesture rude The worship'd idols of his spirit slept,

In calm repose-in breathless solitude.

On each dark stone some precious name he read;

Each grassy mound was rear'd some friend above; Here lay a mother's, here a sister's head,

And here the object of his first-last love!

'And art thou dead! So beautiful, so young, When last we parted! Hast thou left me too? Is the cold clod upon thy bosom flung?

Strike yet again, O death!-Life-Life, adieu! Here shall a couch be made for this lone breast! Here is the goal-no more-no more I roamFor where she sleeps, and where my kindred rest, There is my best-there is my only home!'

Six Springs had thrown their beauties o'er the Earth,
And six stern Winters buried it in gloom,

Since he had join'd his kindred in their mirth,
And now he came to join them—in the tomb!
How oft one moment casts the dye of years,

And makes those years with pain and sorrow rife!
How oft one word will drown the heart in tears,
And make a dreary wilderness of Life!

Triumphant Time! no strength can stay thine arm!

The noblest pile falls like the tender flower! Man dieth, but thy touch can never harm

The Soul: The Soul feels not thy fearful power! When the bright Sun shall yield him to thy might,

And Earth and Sea and Sky be wrapp'd in fire, Free shall she rise upon her wings of light,

And soar unscath'd above the funeral pyre!