Is that thy home, beneath the palm-tree shadows,
And ever-verdant summer's flowery meadows?
    Still, still my heart made answer, No!

Where is thy home? Is it 'mid icebergs hoary,
The crags and snow-fields of the Arctic strand,
Where the midsummer's midnight sees the glory
Of sunset and of sunrise, hand in hand,
Where 'twixt the pine-trees gleams the snow-drift's
   whiteness,
And starry night flames with auroral brightness?
    But still my whispering heart said, No!

Where is thy home? Is it within her presence,
Whose heart responsive pulses to thy love,
Who taught of suffering the divinest essence,
When hope was dead in life's sweet myrtle grove?
Is that the home in which thy wishes centre?
Yes, of a truth, the shrine which none may enter!
    But mournfully again my heart said, No!

Where is thy home? Say if perchance it lieth
In that prefigured land of love and light,
Whither, they say, the soul enfranchised flieth
When earthly bonds no longer check her flight?
Is there thy home? Those unknown realms elysian
Which shine beyond the stars, a heavenly vision?
    Then first my heart made answer, Yes!

There is my home, it said, with quick emotion;
My primal home to which I am akin.
Though earthly fires may call forth my devotion,
Yet I forget not Heaven's pure flame within.
Amidst the ashes still a spark surviveth,
Which ever yearneth heavenward, ever striveth
    To be with God, who is my home!

AUTUMN FAREWELL TO DROTTNINGHOLM.*
*Drottningholm is the Versailles of Sweden.

The glorious summer sun already leaneth
   Towards distant lands, and that resplendent glow,
Which, late at eve, flamed upward to the zenith,
   No longer now the Norrland fields shall know.
And wood and mead, which, in their vernal gladness,
   Laughed out to man beneath the azure sky,
Stand wan and sere, and clouds weep tears of sadness,
   And even the little birds sit silent by.

Yet still how gratefully my memory treasures
   The lovely peace of each sweet summer day,
When heaven itself brought down to earth its pleasures,
   And winds their warfare changed to merry play;
When flowers sent up their offering of sweetness,
   As incense to the God of day and night,
And lifted to the sun their fair completeness
   Obedient to the holy law of light.

But all, alas! on earth is transitory,
   And laughter changes soon to sorrow's tear;
As the green herb, anon, foregoes its glory,
   So man advances onward to his bier.
Yet if the faithful heart have kept in clearness
   The sunny moments of the passing day,
Still shall they cast amidst autumnal drearness
   Of the lost summer a surviving ray.

Thus muse I, as my fond farewell is spoken,
   Thou loveliest pearl beside the Mälar coast.
Nor shall sweet memory's bond 'twixt us be broken,
   Where'er my bark on life's rough sea be tossed!
To thee my heart will yearn when sorrow shroudeth
   My world of thought, and all is dark as night;
And if thick mist the future overcloudeth,
   I will ascend unto the past delight.

Farewell ye hills and valleys, groves and meadows,
   Where Flora scattered all her pomp abroad,
And elves amidst the full moon's lights and shadows
   Traced magic rings in dances on the sward;
Thou shore, reed-garlanded, where softly stringing
   His harp at eve the Necken charms the scene;
Thou wood, made musical with wild birds' singing,
   And waters lapsing through the leafy screen.

Farewell thou starry eve, so oft reflected
   In the still waters, where my light bark drove
The downward depth which still my gaze rejected,
   Turning instead unto the heaven above;
Have thanks for all the quiet joy supernal,
   Which in my heart's recess by thee was laid,
The whilst thy azure vault of truth eternal
   Expanded as a blessing, o'er my head!

Farewell thou lovely scene! The heart's deep feeling
   Gives forth these accents of my parting song!
Yet thou in memory wilt be sorrow's healing,
   And speed the mournful winter night along;
I'll think of thee when autumn fogs are glooming,
   Oh! Drottningholm, for still thy sun will shine;
Thou art to me in every season blooming,
   And peaceful lilies round thy name entwine!

CARACAS TO VALENCIA.

THE next thing was to settle whether I should
proceed south to Valencia, or west to San Felipe,
a town about forty miles from Puerto Cabello,
where it was said that General Falcon had
promised to attend at the consecration of a church.
On inquiry I found that the route to Felipe lay
through a treeless waste, where, if I went by
day, I should be exposed to a sun that no
European could encounter with impunity, while
at night I should infallibly be stricken down by
the fever, for which the coast of the Golfo Triste
is infamous. Of two European engineers, who
had been out on this route a few weeks before,
one had died of sun-stroke, and the other was
lying at the point of death from fever at Puerto
Cabello. Besides, General Falcon's movements
were so uncertain, that I thought it likely he
might not come after all; and so, in fact, it
turned out. On the other hand, if I went to
San Felipe, I could easily go on to the copper-mines
of Aroa, which I was desirous of visiting.
These mines were worked for a time under the
superintendence of Englishmen, with good
results; but unfortunately one fine day the native
miners took it into their heads that they had a
grievance against the foreigners, so they fell on
them suddenly, split their skulls with hatchets,
and decamped with their property. For this
cruel and cowardly deed some of the guilty
parties were afterwards executed, but the mines
were for a time abandoned, and the working of
them had only lately been resumed. After some
consideration I resolved to send a courier with a
letter to General Falcon, and proceed myself to
Valencia, whence, if requisite, I could go by a
less unhealthy route to San Felipe.

At four P.M. on the 12th of August, I took
leave of C. and my kind host, and started with a