LINES

Blow, ye breezes! Gently roll,
Thou vast and troubled deep!
On thy still waters let the sigh
Of dim-eyed sorrow sleep.
Bright hearts, bright hearths, and merry homes
Their voice is on the wind.—
Be hush'd, ye blasts; too loud ye bring
Their echoes on the mind.

Soon these hallow'd shores shall fade,
Fast as the summer cloud,
And stranger climes and stranger forms
Pass, like a pageant proud.
But blessings still your path pursue,
Where'er that path may lie;
Since every devious maze ye trace
Beneath a guiding eye.

Yon evening star that trembling dips
Beneath the western sea,
Awhile, like him, your lonesome flight,
Like his, your destiny.—
Though setting now in clouds and gloom,
The day-spring shall arise,
And yon pale star, like you, appear
In pomp from eastern skies!

May He whose word the billows calm'd,
And sooth'd those seas to rest,
Yet whisper in the gentlest winds,
That breathe on ocean's breast.
But there are waves of mightier power
His voice alone can still,
The soul's keen throb,—its louder surge
Grows peaceful at his will!

Swiftly go, thou bounding bark,
As with an arrow's flight,
The untamed winds thy coursers wild,
The waves thy chariot bright!
But there are hearts within that shrine
Where wilder billows swell,
Where the last pang is quivering now
The last fond word—"Farewell!"

LINES

WRITTEN ON THE DEPARTURE OF FRIENDS FROM ENGLAND.