There's not a tree upon thy side,
Nor rock, which thy returning tide
As yet hath left abrupt and stark
Above thy evening water-mark;
No calm cove with its rocky hem,
No isle whose emerald swells begem
Thy broad, smooth current; not a sail
Bowed to the freshening ocean gale;
No small boat with its busy oars,
Nor gray wall sloping to thy shores;
Nor farm-house with its maple shade,
Or rigid poplar colonnade,

But lies distinct and full in sight,

Beneath this gush of sunset light.

And Salisbury's beach of shining sand,
And yonder island's wave-smoothed strand,
Saw the adventurer's tiny sail

Flit, stooping from the eastern gale;

And o'er these woods and waters broke
The cheer from Britain's hearts of oak,

As brightly on the voyager's eye,
Weary of forest, sea, and sky,

Breaking the dull continuous wood,

The Merrimack rolled down his flood;
Mingling that clear pellucid brook
Which channels vast Agioochook—
When spring-time's sun and shower unlock

The frozen fountains of the rock,

And more abundant waters given

From that pure lake, 'The Smile of Heaven,' Tributes from vale and mountain sideWith ocean's dark, eternal tide!

On yonder rocky cape, which braves
The stormy challenge of the waves,
Midst tangled vine and dwarfish wood,
The hardy Anglo-Saxon stood,
Planting upon the topmost crag
The staff of England's battle-flag;

Midst roll of drum and trumpet blare
And weapons brandishing in air,
He gave to that lone promontory
The sweetest name in all his story;
Of her-the flower of Islam's daught
Whose harems look on Stamboul's w
Who, when the chance of war had b
The Moslem chain his limbs around,
Wreathed o'er with silk that iron chai
Soothed with her smiles his hours of
And fondly to her youthful slave
A dearer gift than freedom gave.

But look!—the yellow light no more
Streams down on wave and verdant s
And clearly on the calm air swells
The distant voice of twilight bells.
From Ocean's bosom, white and thin
The mists come slowly rolling in;
Hills, woods, the river's rocky rim,
Amidst the sea-like vapour swim,
While yonder lonely coast-light set
Within its wave-washed minaret,
Half quenched, a beamless star and pal
Shines dimly through its cloudy veil!

Seen sunrise rest and sunset fade
Along his frowning Palisade;
Looked down the Appalachian peak

On Juniata's silver streak;

Have seen along his valley gleam
The Mohawk's softly-winding stream;
The setting sun, his axle red
Quench darkly in Potomac's bed;
And autumn's rainbow-tinted banner
Hang lightly o'er the Susquehanna;
Yet, wheresoe'er his step might be,
Thy wandering child looked back to thee!
Heard in his dreams thy river's sound

Of murmuring on its pebbly bound,
The unforgotten swell and roar
Of waves on thy familiar shore;
And seen amidst the curtained gloom
And quiet of my lonely room,
Thy sunset scenes before me pass;
As, in Agrippa's magic glass,

The loved and lost arose to view,
Remembered groves in greenness grew;
And while the gazer leaned to trace,
More near, some old familiar face,
He wept to find the vision flown-
A phantom and a dream alone!

AUTUMN.

BY R. C. WATERSTON.

UPON a leaf-strewn walk,

I wander on amid the sparkling dews;

Where Autumn hangs, upon each frost-ger Her gold and purple hues ;

Where the tall fox-gloves shake Their loose bells to the wind, and each swe Bows down its perfumed blossoms to parta The influence of the hour;

Where the cloud-shadows pass

With noiseless speed by lonely lake and rill, Chasing each other o'er the low, crisped gra And up the distant hill ;—

Where the clear stream steals on

Upon its silent path, as it were sad

To find each downward-gazing flower has g That made it once so glad.