BIRTH-DAY VERSES.

"The heart that we have lain near before our birth, is the only one that cannot forget that it has loved us."-PHILIP SLINGSBY.

My birth-day!-Oh beloved mother!
My heart is with thee o'er the seas.
I did not think to count another

Before I wept upon thy knees-
Before this scroll of absent years
Was blotted with thy streaming tears.

My own I do not care to check.
I weep-albeit here alone
As if I hung upon thy neck,

As if thy lips were on my own,
As if this full, sad heart of mine,
Were beating closely upon thine.

Four weary years! How looks she now?
What light is in those tender eyes?

What trace of time has touch'd the brow
Whose look is borrow'd of the skies

That listen to her nightly prayer?
How is she changed since he was there
Who sleeps upon her heart alway-
Whose name upon her lips is worn-

For whom the night seems made to pray-
For whom she wakes to pray at morn-
Whose sight is dim, whose heart-strings stir,
Who weeps these tears-to think of her!

I know not if my mother's eyes

Would find me changed in slighter things;
I've wander'd beneath many skies,

And tasted of some bitter springs;

And many leaves, once fair and gay,

From youth's full flower have dropp'd away-
But, as these looser leaves depart,

The lessen'd flower gets near the core,

And, when deserted quite, the heart

Takes closer what was dear of yore

And yearns to those who loved it first

The sunshine and the dew by which its bud was nursed.

Dear mother! dost thou love me yet?

Am I remember'd in my home?

When those I love for joy are met,

Does some one wish that I would come?

Thou dost-I am beloved of these!

But, as the school boy numbers o'er

Night after night the Pleiades.

And finds the stars he found before-
As turns the maiden oft her token-
As counts the miser aye his gold-
So, till life's silver cord is broken,
Would I of thy fond love be told.

My heart is full, mine eyes are wetDear mother! dost thou love thy long-lost wanderer yet?

Oh! when the hour to meet again

Creeps on-and, speeding o'er the sea,
My heart takes up its lengthen'd chain,
And, link by link, draws nearer thee-
When land is hail'd, and, from the shore,
Comes off the blessed breath of home,
With fragrance from my mother's door
Of flowers forgotten when I come-
When port is gain'd, and, slowly now,
The old familiar paths are pass'd,
And, entering-unconscious how-
I gaze upon thy face at last,
And run to thee, all faint and weak,
And feel thy tears upon my cheek-

Oh! if my heart break not with joy,
The light of heaven will fairer seem;

And I shall grow once more a boy:
And, mother!-'twill be like a dream
That we were parted thus for years-
And once that we have dried our tears,
How will the days seem long and bright-

To meet thee always with the morn,

And hear thy blessing every night

Thy "dearest," thy "first-born!"

And be no more, as now, in a strange land, forlorn!

TO MY MOTHER FROM THE APPENINES.

Mother! dear mother! the feelings nurst

As I hung at thy bosom, clung round thee first.
'Twas the earliest link in love's warm chain-
'Tis the only one that will long remain:
And as year by year, and day by day,
Some friend still trusted drops away,
Mother! dear mother! oh dost thou see
How the shorten'd chain brings me nearer thee!
EARLY POEMS

'Tis midnight the lone mountains on

The East is fleck'd with cloudy bars, And, gliding through them one by one,

The moon walks up her path of stars

The light upon her placid brow
Received from fountains unseen now.

And happiness is mine to-night,

Thus springing from an unseen fount;
And breast and brain are warm with light,
With midnight round me on the mount-
Its rays, like thine, fair Dian, flow
From far that Western star below.

Dear mother! in thy love I live;

The life thou gav'st flows yet from theeAnd, sun-like, thou hast power to give

Life to the earth, air, sea, for me!

Though wandering, as this moon above,
I'm dark without thy constant love.

LINES ON LEAVING EUROPE.

BRIGHT flag at yonder tapering mast!
Fling out your field of azure blue;
Let star and stripe be westward cast,
And point as Freedom's eagle flew !
Strain home! oh lithe and quivering spars!
Point home, my country's flag of stars!

The wind blows fair! the vessel feels
The pressure of the rising breeze,
And, swiftest of a thousand keels,

She leaps to the careering seas!
Oh, fair, fair cloud of snowy sail,

In whose white breast I seem to lie, How oft, when blew this eastern gale,

I've seen your semblance in the sky, And long'd with breaking heart to flee On cloud-like pinions o'er the sea!

Adieu, oh lands of fame and eld!

I turn to watch our foamy track, And thoughts with which I first beheld Yon clouded line, come hurrying back;