A great revolution must be inaugurated with a great sacrifice, and all the loftier passions are ennobled by the purification of sorrow; nor is it certain that Warren, had he assumed the command and driven the enemy back to his boats, would have done as much to kindle a chastised and resolute enthusiasm throughout the country, and unite the colonies in the impending struggle, as when he shouldered his musket and fell in the ranks.

And, O! my friends, let the lesson of fraternal affection which he taught us in his death be repeated in the persuasive silence of those stony lips! In his own heart-stirring language, let “ the voice of our fathers' blood cry to us from the ground;" and, upon this sacred day, and on this immortal hill, let it proclaim a truce to sectional alienation and party strife.

Wherever else the elements of discord may rage, let the billows sink down, and the storm be hushed, like yonder placid waves, at the foot of Bunker Hill! Here let the kindly feelings that animated our fathers revive in the bosoms of their sons, assured that should "malice domestic or foreign levy" invade us — if living champions should fail, that monumental cheek would burn with the glow of patriotism, that marble sword would leap from its scabbard, and the heaving sods of Bunker Hill give up their sheeted regiments to the defence of the Union!

EVERETT.

THE HELP OF THE HUMBLE.

SMALL service is true service while it lasts;
Of friends, however humble, scorn not one:

The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dew-drop from the sun.

WORDSWORTH.

THE PRUSSIAN GENERAL ON THE RHINE.

"T WAS on the Rhine the armies lay :-
To France or not? Is 't yea or nay?
They pondered long, and pondered well;
At length old Blucher broke the spell :

The road to France is straight and free : -
Where is the foe?" "The foe? Why, here !"
"We'll beat him. Forward! Never fear!
Say, where lies Paris?" Paris? here!"
"We'll take it. Forward! Never fear!
So throw a bridge across the Rhine :
Methinks the Frenchman's sparkling wine
Will taste the best where grows the vine!

FROM THE GERMAN OF KOPISCH.

THE BETTER LAND.

I HEAR thee speak of the better land:
Thou call'st its children a happy band;
Mother, O, where is that radiant shore
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more?
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs?
"Not there, not there, my child.”

Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies,
Or 'mid the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds on their starry wings
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?

"Not there, not there, my child.”

Is it far away in some region old,

Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold,
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand,—
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?

"Not there, not there, my child.

Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy,
Dreams can not picture a world so fair,
Sorrow and death may not enter there;
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,
It is there, it is there, my child!"