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But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew,
Drowsily flying, and weaving anew

Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea,

How gently, O sleep, fall thy poppies on me!

For I drink water, pure, cold, and bright,

And my dreams are of Heaven the livelong night.

So hurrah for thee, water! hurrah! hurrah !

Thou art silver and gold, thou art ribbon and star:
Hurrah for bright water! hurrah! hurrah!

E PLURIBUS UNUM.

HOUGH many and bright are the stars that appear

THOU

In that flag by our country unfurl'd,

And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there

Like a rainbow adorning the world —

Their light is unsullied as those in the sky,

By a deed that our fathers have done,

And they're linked in as true and as holy a tie,
In their motto of "Many in One."

From the hour when those patriots fearlessly flung
That banner of starlight abroad,

Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clung
As they clung to the promise of God;

By the bayonet traced in the midnight of war,
On the fields where our glory was won

Oh! perish the heart or the hand that would mar

Our motto of "Many in One."

'Mid the smoke of the conflict, the cannon's deep roar,

How oft it has gathered renown!

While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore,

Where the cross and the lion went down;

And though few were their lights in the gloom of that hour,

Yet the hearts that were striking below

Had God for their bulwark, and truth for their power,
And they stopped not to number the foe.

From where our green mountain-tops blend with the sky,
And the giant St. Lawrence is rolled,

To the waves where the balmy Hesperides lie,
Like the dream of some prophet of old,

They conquered, and, dying, bequeathed to our care
Not this boundless dominion alone,

But that banner whose loveliness hallows the air,
And their motto of "Many in One.”

We are many in one, while there glitters a star
In the blue of the heavens above,

And tyrants shall quail, 'mid their dungeons afar,
When they gaze on that motto of love.

It shall gleam o'er the sea, 'mid the bolts of the storm-
Over tempest, and battle, and wreck-

And flame where our guns with their thunder grow warm,
'Neath the blood on the slippery deck.

The oppress'd of the earth to that standard shall fly,
Wherever its folds shall be spread,

And the exile shall feel 't is his own native sky,

Where its stars shall wave over his head;

And those stars shall increase till the fulness of time

Its millions of cycles have run

Till the world shall have welcomed their mission sublime,
And the nations of earth shall be one.

Though the old Allegheny may tower to heaven,

And the Father of Waters divide,

The links of our destiny cannot be riven

While the truth of those words shall abide.
Then, oh! let them glow on each helmet and brand,
Though our blood like our rivers should run;

Divide as we may in our own native land,

To the rest of the world we are ONE.

Then up with our flag! — let it stream on the air;
Though our fathers are cold in their graves,

They had hands that could strike-they had souls that could

dare

And their sons were not born to be slaves.

Up, up with that banner!—where'er it may call,
Our millions shall rally around,

And a nation of freemen that moment shall fall,
When its stars shall be trailed on the ground.

ARNOLD WINKELRIED.

The noble voluntary death of the Switzer, Winkelried, is accurately described in the following verses. In the battle of Shempach, in the ourteenth century, this martyrpatriot, perceiving that there was no other means of breaking the heavy-armed lines of the Austrians than by gathering as many of their spears as he could grasp together, opened, by this means, a passage for his fellow-combatants, who, with hammers and hatchets, hewed down the mailed men-at-arms, and won the victory.

AKE way for liberty!" he cried

“MA

Made way for liberty, and died!

falany

In arms the Austrian phalanx stood,
A living wall, a human wood;
Impregnable their front appears,
All horrent with projected spears.
Opposed to these, a hovering band.
Contended for their fatherland,

Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke
From manly necks the ignoble yoke;

Marshalled once more at Freedom's call,

They came to conquer or to fall.

And now the work of life and death

Hung on the passing of a breath;
The fire of conflict burned within;
The battle trembled to begin;

Yet, while the Austrians held their ground,
Point for assault was nowhere found;
Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed,
The unbroken line of lances blazed;
That line 't were suicide to meet,

And perish at their tyrants' feet.
How could they rest within their graves,
To leave their homes the haunts of slaves?
Would they not feel their children, tread,
With clanking chains, above their head?

It must not be; this day, this hour,
Annihilates the invader's power!
All Switzerland is in the field-
She will not fly; she cannot yield;
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast,
But every freeman was a host,
And felt as 't were a secret known
That one should turn the scale alone,
While each unto himself was he
On whose sole arm hung victory.

It did depend on one, indeed;
Behold him - Arnold Winkelried!
There sounds not to the trump of Fame
The echo of a nobler name.

Unmarked, he stood amid the throng,
In rumination deep and long,

Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face;
And, by the motion of his form,
Anticipate the bursting storm;
And, by the uplifting of his brow,

Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.

But 't was no sooner thought than done

The field was in a moment won!
"6 Make way for liberty!" he cried,
Then ran, with arms extended wide,
As if his dearest friend to clasp;

Ten spears he swept within his grasp.

"Make way

for liberty!" he cried;

Their keen points crossed from side to side;
He bowed among them, like a tree,
And thus made way for liberty.

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Swift to the breach his comrades fly -
"Make way for liberty!" they cry,

And through the Austrian phalanx dart,
As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart,

While, instantaneous as his fall,
Rout, ruin, panic seized them all.
An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.

Thus Switzerland again was free-
Thus death made way for liberty!

I

NOBILITY OF LABOR.

CALL upon those whom I address to stand up for the nobility of labor. It is Heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. Let not that great ordinance be broken down. What do I say? It is broken down; and it has been broken down, for ages. Let it, then, be built up again; here, if anywhere, on these shores of a new world-of a new civilization. But how, I may be asked, is it broken down? Do not men toil? it may be said. They do, indeed, toil; but they too generally do it because they must. Many submit to it as, in some sort, a degrading necessity; and they desire nothing so much on earth as to escape from it. They fulfil the great law of labor in the letter, but break it in the spirit; fulfil it with the muscle, but break it with the mind. To some field of labor, mental or manual, every idler should fasten, as a chosen and coveted theatre of improvement. But so is he not impelled to do, under the teachings of our imperfect civilization. On the contrary, he sits down, folds his hands, and blesses himself in his idleness. This way of thinking is the heritage of the absurd and unjust feudal system, under which serfs labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. It is time that this opprobrium of toil were done away. Ashamed to toil, art thou? Ashamed of thy dingy workshop and dusty laborfield; of thy hard hand, scarred with service more honorable than that of war; of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on which mother nature has embroidered, midst sun and rain, midst fire and steam, her own heraldic honors? Ashamed of these tokens and titles, and envious of the flaunting robes of imbecile idleness and vanity? It is treason to Nature - it is impiety to Heaven it is breaking Heaven's great ordinance. Toil, I repeat - toil, either of the brain, of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true manhood, the only true nobility !

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