BY J. R. DRAKE. See through yon cloud that rolls in wrath, One little star benignant peep, To light along their trackless path The wanderers of the stormy deep. And thus, oh Hope! thy lovely form In sorrow's gloomy night shall be The sun that looks through cloud and storm Upon a dark and moonless sea. When heaven is all serene and fair, Full many a brighter gem we meet; 'Tis when the tempest hovers there, Thy beam is most divinely sweet. The rainbow, when the sun declines, Like faithless friend will disappear; Thy light, dear star! more brightly shines When all is wail and weeping here. And though Aurora's stealing beam May wake a morning of delight, 'Tis only thy consoling gleam Will smile amid affliction's night. THE LAKE OF CAYOSTÊA. BY ROBERT BARKER. _Ob: 1831, æt. 27._ Thy wave has ne'er by gondolier Been dash'd aside with flashing oar, Nor festive train to music's strain Performed the dance upon thy shore. But there, at night, beneath the light Of silent moon and twinkling ray, The Indian's boat is seen to float, And track its lonely way. The Indian maid, in forest glade, Of flowers that earliest grow, And fragrant leaves, a garland weaves To deck her warrior's brow. And when away, at break of day, She hies her to her shieling dear, She sings so gay a roundelay, That echo stops to hear. Would it were mine to join with thine, And dwell for ever here, In forest wild with nature's child, By the silent Cayost[=e]a. My joy with thee would ever be Along these banks to roam; And fortune take beside the lake, Whose clime is freedom's home. THE AMERICAN FLAG. BY J. R. DRAKE. When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white, With streakings of the morning light; Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land. Majestic monarch of the cloud, Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest trumpings loud And see the lightning lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm, And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven, Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle stroke, And bid its blendings shine afar, Like rainbows on the cloud of war, The harbingers of victory!