O breathe again, that touching strain
Which comes like winds o'er waters stealing;
Its fall, its swell, like vesper bell,
Its full rich notes in rapture pealing,
Bids the lone heart, rejoice again
In music's all subduing strain.
O Music! rapture's in thy chords!
Now gushing soft like moon-beams streaming
On quiet spot, on rural grot,
On mossy couch, on infant dreaming,—
Or rising into raptures wild,
It fills with wonder nature's child.
The Exile lone, no land to own,
Lists to thy soft and touching numbers,
And dreams he sees the cot, the trees,
The scenes of youth, (how sweet his slumbers!)
Nor dreams when thy bright spell is o'er
His happy "Home" he'll see no more.
The sailor boy, bereft of joy,
Looks on the stars above him glowing;
The big tear steals, his bosom feels
As troubled as the waters flowing,
And while the billows round him foam,
He faintly murmurs, "Home! sweet Home!"
The warrior stern, whose feelings burn
To meet the foe, his rights defending,
When war is o'er, sweet home once more
Its rainbow colors round him blending,
Invites him from the bloody plain
Back to its quiet hearth again.
The christian warm, round whom the storm
Of opposition wildly rages,
Beholds the prize beyond the skies,
Reflected on the glowing pages
Of God's own book, and with a tear
Of joy, he "reads his title clear."
O! onward press, life's wilderness
Will soon be past; where spirits linger
Round flowing streams in rapt'rous dreams
And golden lyres, softly finger,
We all shall meet, no more to roam,
And dwell in an eternal home.

EDITORIAL REMARKS.

We continue the interesting "Sketches of Tripoli and the Barbary States." We believe that when completed, they will constitute the most authentic record extant, of the military and diplomatic transactions of the period referred to. Besides the author's access to correct sources of information, he has the taste and talent to impart peculiar grace and interest to his narrative.

"Berenice," a tale, by Mr. Edgar A. Poe, will be read with interest, especially by the patrons of the Messenger in this city, of which Mr. P. is a native, and where he resided until he reached manhood. Whilst we confess that we think there is too much German horror in his subject, there can be but one opinion as to the force and elegance of his style. He discovers a superior capacity and a highly cultivated taste in composition.

The "Extract from the Reminiscences of a Western Traveller," proceeding as it does from the pen of a practised and polished writer, has the additional advantage, as we are assured, of being founded in strict truth.

We are sorry that we are not permitted to announce the source from which we derive the original story or apologue of "Jonathan Bull and Mary Bull." Its own merit however, and its obvious application to events of the time at which it was written, will attract a due share of attention.

We especially recommend to our female readers, particularly the young and lovely who are just entering into the flowery but deceitful paths of worldly pleasure, to read the original narrative which is headed "Marrying Well."

The "Letters from a Sister" will amply repay the reader; so also will the article on the "Fine Arts"—and the "Persian Story," translated from the French of Florian.

The "Scene in Paris, by a Virginian," we have no hesitation in particularly recommending. It is an admirable and graphic description of what the writer saw with his own eyes,—and the excellent delineation of the French character, comprising its extremes of energy and weakness, will forcibly strike the reader. With us the whole narrative possesses powerful interest.