Oh! better that her shatter'd hulk

Should sink beneath the wave;

Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,

And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!

THE TREADMILL SONG.

THE stars are rolling in the sky,
The earth rolls on below,
And we can feel the rattling wheel
Revolving as we go.

Then tread away, my gallant boys,
And make the axle fly;

Why should not wheels go round about,
Like planets in the sky?

Wake up, wake up, my duck-legg'd man,
And stir your solid pegs;
Arouse, arouse, my gawky friend,
And shake your spider-legs;

What though you're awkward at the trade,
There's time enough to learn,

So lean upon the rail, my lad,
And take another turn.

They've built us up a noble wall
To keep the vulgar out;
We've nothing in the world to do
But just to walk about:
So faster, now, you middle men,
And try to beat the ends;

It's pleasant work to ramble round
Among one's honest friends.

Here! tread upon the long man's toes;
He sha'n't be lazy here:

And punch the little fellow's ribs,
And tweak that lubber's ear-

He's lost them both: don't pull his hair,
Because he wears a scratch,

But poke him in the farther eye,
That isn't in the patch.

Hark! fellows, there's the supper-bell,
And so our work is done;
It's pretty sport-suppose we take
A round or two for fun!
If ever they should turn me out
When I have better grown,
Now hang me, but I mean to have
A treadmill of my own!

JOHN H. BRYANT.

"And I went and washed, and I received sight.”—John ix., 11.

WHEN the great Master spoke,
He touch'd his wither'd eyes,

And at one gleam upon him broke
The glad earth and the skies.

And he saw the city's walls,

And kings' and prophets' tomb,

And mighty arches and vaulted halls,

And the temple's lofty dome.

He look'd on the river's flood,

And the flash of mountain rills,

And the gentle wave of the palms that stood
Upon Judea's hills.

He saw on heights and plains

Creatures ef every race,

But a mighty thrill run through his veins
When he met the human face.

And his virgin sight beheld

The ruddy glow of even,

And the thousand shining orbs that fill'd
The azure depths of heaven.

And woman's voice before

Had cheer'd his gloomy night,
But to see the angel form she wore
Made deeper the delight.

And his heart at daylight's close,
For the bright world where he trod,
And when the yellow morning rose,
Gave speechless thanks to God.

MY NATIVE VILLAGE.

THERE lies a village in a peaceful vale,

With sloping hills and waving woods around, Fenced from the blasts. There never ruder gale Bows the tall grass that covers all the ground; And planted shrubs are there, and cherish'd flowers, And a bright verdure borne of gentler showers.

'Twas there my young existence was begun,
My earliest sports were on its flowery green,
And often, when my schoolboy task was done,
I climbed its hills to view the pleasant scene,
And stood and gazed till the sun's setting ray
Shone on the height-the sweetest of the day.

There, when that hour of mellow light was come,
And mountain shadows cool'd the ripen'd grain,
I watch'd the weary yeoman plodding home,

In the lone path that winds across the plain,
To rest his limbs, and watch his child at play,
And tell him o'er the labours of the day.
U

And when the woods put on their autumn glow,
And the bright sun came in among the trees,
And leaves were gathering in the glen below,
Swept softly from the mountains by the breeze,
I wander'd till the starlight on the stream
At length awoke me from my fairy dream.

Ah! happy days, too happy to return,

Fled on the wings of youth's departed years,
A bitter lesson has been mine to learn,

The truth of life, its labours, pains, and fears;
Yet does the memory of my boyhood stay,
A twilight of the brightness pass'd away.

My thoughts steal back to that sweet village still;
Its flowers and peaceful shades before me rise;
The play-place and the prospect from the hill,
Its summer verdure, and autumnal dyes;

The present brings its storms; but, while they last,
I shelter me in the delightful past.

ELIZABETH F. ELLET.

LAKE ONTARIO.

DEEP thoughts o'ershade my spirit while I gaze
Upon the blue depths of thy mighty breast:
Thy glassy face is bright with sunset rays,
And thy far-stretching waters are at rest,
Save the small wave that on thy margin plays,
Lifting to summer airs its flashing crest;
While the fleet hues across thy surface driven,
Mingle afar in the embrace of heaven.

Thy smile is glorious when the morning's spring
Gives half its glowing beauty to the deep;
When the dusk swallow dips his drooping wing,
And the gay winds that o'er thy bosom sweep,
Tribute from dewy woods and violets bring,
Thy restless billows in their gifts to steep.

Thou'rt beautiful when evening moonbeams shine, And the soft hour of night and stars is thine.

Thou hast thy tempests, too; the lightning's home
Is near thee, though unseen; thy peaceful shore,
When storms have lash'd these waters into foam,
Echoes full oft the pealing thunder's roar.
Thou hast dark trophies: the unhonour'd tomb

Of those now sought and wept on earth no more:
Full many a goodly form, the loved and brave,
Lies whelm'd and still beneath thy sullen wave.

The world was young with thee; this swelling flood
As proudly swell'd, as purely met the sky,
When sound of life roused not the ancient wood,
Save the wild eagle's scream, or panther's cry.
Here on this verdant bank the savage stood,

And shook his dart and battle-axe on high,
While hues of slaughter tinged thy billows blue,
As deeper and more close the conflict grew.

Here, too, at early morn, the hunter's song
Was heard from wooded isle and grassy glade ;
And here at eve, these cluster'd bowers among,
The low, sweet carol of the Indian maid,
Chiding the slumbering breeze and shadows long,
That kept her lingering lover from the shade:
While, scarcely seen, thy willing waters o'er,
Sped the light bark that bore him to the shore.

Those scenes are past. The spirit of changing years
Has breathed on all around save thee alone.
More faintly the receding woodland hears

Thy voice, once full and joyous as its own.
Nations have gone from earth, nor trace appears
To tell their tale-forgotten or unknown.
Yet here, unchanged, untamed, thy waters lie,
Azure, and clear, and boundless as the sky.