POETRY.

MY HOME IS THE WORLD.
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Speed, Rpeed my fleet vessel the shore is in sight, | The breezes are fair, shall anchor to night; Tomorrow, at sunrise, once more shall stand On the sea beaten shore of my dear native land. An! why does despondency weigh down my heart? Such thoughts for friends who reluctantly part; l come from exile of twenty long years,

 Yet gaze on my cOunIry through fast iaI"g tears' see the hills purple with the bells of the heath, And my own happy valley that nesties be"eallI Aud the fragrant white blUssOms spread over the thorn That grows the cottage tn which was hOr" It cannot be changed-nO, the clematis climbs Ger the gay little porch, as it did tn old times; And the seat where my father reclined Is still there But where is my father ?-oh, answer me where My mothers own easement, the chamber she loved, Is lsthere-overiooking the lawn where roved; She ihoug hfnly wilh her hand Der her brow, As she watch'd her young dariing-ah! where IS she

 now?

 And there is my poor sisters garden; how wild Were the innocent sports of that beautiful child

 Her voice had spell in it's musical tone,

 And her cheeks were like rose-leaves; ah! where is

 she gone? No father reclines in the clema,is seat!

 No mother looks forth from the shaded retreat! No sister is there, stealing silly away,

 Till half suppressd laush,er-berayed where she lay How oft in my exile when kind friends were near, I've slighied their kindness and sigh'd to be here How oft have I sai--' Could once again see That sweet little valley. how blest should be ? How blesi!-oh it is not a valley like this That unaded realize visOns Of bliss; For voices lisien-and iheM look around For light slepsthat used to trip atier ihe sound! But see this green patt-I remember it well- 'Ts the way to the church-hark the toll of the bell Oh! oft in my hOyhood iruani Eve strayed To- wonder dark yew-tree, and slept in it's shade. But surely the pathway is narrower now! No smooth space is left 'neath the dark yew-tree

 bOugh! . Der tablets inscribed with sad records tread, And the hone have sought is the home of the dead! And was it to this look'd forward so long, Aud shrunk from the sweetness of ltay's song? And iurn'd from the dance of the dark girl of Spain And wept for my country aga'n and again And was it to this to my easement I crepi. ,. To gaze the deep when they deemed that slept? To think of fond meetings-the welcome-the kiss The frieniy hands pressure-oh was it for this? When those, who so long have been absent, return To the of their childhood is but mourn; Wounds open airesl that time nearly had healed, And the ills of life al glauce are revealed Speed, speed my fleet vessel the tempest may rave There's calm for my heart in the dash oi the wave i; Speed speed, my fleet vessel! the sails unlnrl'd Oh! ask me not whither--Iny home is tue world!