"I love to gaze upon one fair star,

That beameth at eve 'mid the western skies,
For I seem to see, in its tranquil gleam,

The light of thy gentle, earnest eyes;
And fairest of all is that star to me,
For it speaks to me, mother dear, of thee.

"And now on Memory's page I see

A bright, bright vision of bygone hours, When the footsteps of Time unheard went by,

So lightly he trod, 'mid the summer flowers ;

When I roamed o'er the meadows, so happy and free, Through the bright summer days, dear mother, with

thee.

"And another vision comes o'er me now,

When, full of the hopes that youth will frame,

I stood on the threshold of my home,

And vowed I would earn both wealth and fame,
Would win the spoils of the conquered sea,
And bring them home, sweet mother, to thee.

"And when, at length, with eager step,

I sought again my native cot,

A dream of my childhood came o'er my soul,
And the years of toil I remembered not,
As I greeted each scene with boyish glee,
And thought how soon I might gaze on thee.

"I heard the murmur of the stream

That flowed beside our cottage door,

And I sought and found each childish haunt That was dear to my heart in the days of yore, Each flowery dell, each familiar tree,

But, mother, oh mother, I found not thee.

"For strangers dwelt in my childhood's home, And they pointed me out a mossy grave, Where she lay for whom I had toiled and striven, The mother I would have died to save;

And I knelt by that grave 'neath the chesnut-tree, And, mother, I longed to die with thee.

"Heart-sick, and loathing the light of day, I left, for ever, my native glen,

To roam once more o'er the ocean wide,

Away, far away, from the haunts of men:

Away, o'er the dark and silent sea,
Evermore yearning, mother, for thee."

A few short hours and the scene is changed,
The stars gleam no more in the silent sky,
But 'tis lit by the lightning's lurid glare,

And athwart it the storm-clouds swiftly fly :

And he, as he watches that raging sea,

Murmurs, "Mother, ere long I shall be with thee."

I

The end has come-one fearful cry

Rings echoing o'er the waters wide, As the gallant ship, with her living freight, Sinks helpless beneath the seething tide, And once more that voice, o'er the surging sea, Cries, "Mother, oh mother, I come to thee!"

GOOD-NIGHT.

GOOD-NIGHT-sweet word to those for whom It brings no thought of sorrow. "Good-night, farewell till morning's light;

We'll meet again to-morrow.

"Bright dreams attend thy sleeping hours,
And when the morning, breaking,

Shall chase the gloomy shades of night,
Bright thoughts attend thy waking.

"Good angels watch around thy couch,
And guard thy spirit, sleeping;
Until we meet at morning's hour,

God have thee in His keeping."

Sweet word, how precious e'en to those
Who look for daylight's meeting,
Who part but for a few short hours,
That simple, nightly greeting;

That word so full of household love,

Replete with tender feeling,

So oft, beneath its simple sound,
Such depths of love concealing!

But the sad, lingering, last good-night
Of those who part for ever,
Who know that, ere the morning's light,
Their paths in life must sever,—

Who know that daylight's bright return
For them will bring no meeting,
That years and years must pass without
That dear familiar greeting,-

How lingeringly they speak the word,
Still o'er and o'er repeating
That last farewell, with quivering lips,
And hearts with anguish beating!

And precious, far more precious then,
That word so fondly spoken,
While clasping hand and tearful eye
The spirit's grief betoken.

Then let us ever hold it dear,

If sad our hearts or light;

We know not when our hour may come

To breathe a last good-night.