HERE is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside;
Where brighter scenes dispense serener light,
And milder moons emparadise the night;
A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth,

Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth.
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores

The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,

Views not a realm so beautiful 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 path 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;
And thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land, thy country, and that spot, thy home!

MONTGOMERY.

WOMAN'S HAPPINESS.

255

WOMAN'S HAPPINESS.

HOU hast a charméd cup, O Fame!
A draught that mantles high,

And seem'st to lift this earthly frame
Above mortality.

Away! to me--a woman, bring

Sweet waters from affection's spring.

Thou hast green laurel-leaves that twine

Into so proud a wreath;

For that resplendent gift of thine,

Heroes have smiled at Death.

Give me, from some kind hand, a flower,

The record of one happy hour.

Thou hast a voice, whose thrilling tone

Can bid each life-pulse beat,

As when a trumpet's note hath blown,

Calling the brave to meet :

But mine, let mine-a woman's breast,
By words of home-born love be blessed.

A hollow sound is in thy song,

A mockery in thine eye,

To the sick heart that doth but long

For aid, for sympathy;

For kindly looks to cheer it on,

For tender accents that are gone.