Speed, gallant bark! to the land of the free, The home of the happy, beyond the wide sea! Dear friends and near kindred, the lovely and fair, Are waiting, impatient, to welcome thee there! Speed, gallant bark! there's a seat at the board, Which the dame and the damsel reserve for their lord; And the fond-hearted maiden is sighing in vain, To welcome her long-absent lover again. Speed, gallant bark! richer cargo is thine, Than Brazilian gem, or Peruvian mine; And the treasures thou bearest, thy destiny wait; For they, if thou perish, must share in thy fate. Speed, gallant bark! though the land is afar, And the storm-clouds above thee have veil'd every star; The needle shall guide thee, the helm shall direct, And the God of the tempest thy pathway protect! Speed, gallant bark! though the lightning may flash; And over thy deck the huge surges may dash;-- Thy sails are all reef'd, and thy streamers are high; Unheeded and harmless the billows roll by! Speed, gallant bark! the tornado is past; Staunch and secure thou hast weather'd the blast; Now spread thy full sails to the wings of the morn, And soon the glad harbour shall greet thy return! MOONLIGHT. BY ROBERT BARKER. How dear to love the moonlight hour, Beneath the calm transparent ether, It seems as if by magic power They breathe in unison together. When forest glen and fountain bright Are tinged with shades of mellow light, And every earthly sound is still Save murmur of the mountain rill; 'Tis then to lull the breast's commotion, And waken every soft emotion, To charm from sorrow's cheek her tears, And place the smiles of rapture there, "Celestial music of the spheres" Comes floating on the evening air. 'Tis then that fancy wings her flight Beyond the bounds to mortals given; To regions where the lamps of night Illume the path which leads to heaven. 'Tis then she holds communion sweet With seraphs round the eternal throne, Where long-departed spirits meet, To worship him who sits thereon. 'Tis then man dreams of Paradise, If aught he dreams of place like this, 'Tis then he breathes the crystal air, Which Peris breathe who wander there, And sips the fount of Native Love Found no where but in heaven above. SONG. BY J. R. DRAKE. 'Tis not the beam of her bright blue eye, Nor the smile of her lip of rosy dye, Nor the dark brown wreaths of her glossy hair, Nor her changing cheek, so rich and rare. Oh! these are the sweets of a fairy dream, The changing hues of an April sky; They fade like dew in the morning beam, Or the passing zephyr's odour'd sigh.