The wandering mariner, whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air; In every clime, the magnet of his soul, Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole; For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace, The heritage of Nature's noblest race, There is a spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest, Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, While, in his softened looks, benignly blend The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend. Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife, Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life! In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, An angel-guard of loves and graces lie; Around her knees domestic duties meet, And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found? Art thou a man?--a patriot?--look around; O! thou shalt find, however thy footsteps roam, That land thy country, and that spot thy home! J. Montgomery. CLX. THE BELLS Hear the sledges with the bells-- Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that over sprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells bells, bells-- From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.