And unto them the glancing oars

A joyous measure keep,

Where the dark rocks that crest our shores Dash back the foaming deep.

So let it be a light they shed
O'er each old fount and grove;
A memory of the gentle dead,
A lingering spell of love.
Murmuring the names of mighty men,
They bid our streams roll on,
And link high thoughts to every glen
Where valiant deeds were done.

Teach them your children round the hearth, When evening fires burn clear,

And in the fields of harvest mirth,

And on the hills of deer:

So shall each unforgotten word,

When far those loved ones roam,

Call back the hearts which once it stirr'd,
To childhood's holy home.

The green woods of their native land
Shall whisper in the strain,
The voices in thy household band
Shall breathe their names again;
The heathery heights in vision rise
Where, like the stag, they roved-
Sing to your sons those melodies,
The songs your fathers loved'

THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL.

WILDLY and mournfully the Indian drum

On the deep hush of moonlight forests broke ;

"Sing us a death song, for thine hour is

So the red warriors to their captive spoke. Still, and amidst those dusky forms alone,

A youth, a fair-hair'd youth of England stood, Like a king's son; though from his cheek had flown

The mantling crimson of the island-blood, And his press'd lips look'd marble.-Fiercely bright,

And high around him, blazed the fires of night, Rocking beneath the cedars to and fro,

As the wind pass'd, and with a fitful glow Lighting the victim's face:-But who could tell Of what within his secret heart befell,

Known but to heaven that hour?-Perchance a

thought

Of his far home then so intensely wrought,
That its full image, pictured to his eye
On the dark ground of mortal agony,

Rose clear as day !—and he might see the band,
Of his young sisters wandering hand in hand,
Where the laburnums droop'd; or haply binding
The jasmine, up the door's low pillars winding;

Or, as day closed upon their gentle mirth,
Gathering, with braided hair, around the hearth
Where sat their mother;-and that mother's face
Its grave sweet smile yet wearing in the place.
Where so it ever smiled!-Perchance the prayer
Learn'd at her knee came back on his despair;
The blessing from her voice, the very tone
Of her "Good night," might breathe from boy-
hood gone!

He started and look'd up;-thick cypress boughs Full of strange sound, waved o'er him, darkly red

In the broad stormy firelight;-savage brows, With tall plumes crested and wild hues o'erspread,

Girt him like feverish phantoms; and pale stars Look'd through the branches as through dungeon bars,

Shedding no hope.-He knew, he felt his doomOh! what a tale to shadow with its gloom

That happy hall in England !-Idle fear! Would the winds tell it ?-who might dream or hear

The secrets of the forests?-To the stake

They bound him; and that proud young soldier strove

His father's spirit in his breast to wake,

Trusting to die in silence! He, the love Of many hearts!-the fondly rear'd,-the fair, Gladdening all eyes to see!-And fetter'd there He stood beside his death-pyre, and the brand Flamed up to light it, in the chieftain's hand.

He thought upon his God.-Hush! hark! a cry Breaks on the stern and dread solemnity,—

A step hath pierced the ring!-Who dares intrude

On the dark hunters in their vengeful mood!A girl a young slight girl-a fawn-like child Of green savannas and the leafy wild,

Springing unmark'd till then, as some lone flower,

Happy because the sunshine is its dower;

Yet one that knew how early tears are shed,— For hers had mourn'd a playmate brother dead.

She had sat gazing on the victim long,
Until the pity of her soul grew strong;
And, by its passion's deepening fervor sway'd,
Ev'n to the stake she rush'd, and gently laid
His bright head on her bosom, and around
His form her slender arms to shield it round
Like close Liannes; then raised her glittering

eye

And clear-toned voice that said, "He shall not die!"

"He shall not die!"-the gloomy forest thrill'd To that sweet sound. A sudden wonder fell On the fierce throng; and heart and hand were still'd,

Struck down, as by the whisper of a spell. They gazed, their dark souls bow'd before the

maid,

She of the dancing step in wood and glade!

And, as her cheek flush'd through its olive hue, As her black tresses to the night wind flew, Something o'ermaster'd them from that young

mien

Something of heaven, in silence felt and seen; And seeming, to their child-like faith, a token That the Great Spirit by her voice had spoken.

They loosed the bonds that held their captive's breath;

From his pale lips they took the cup of death; They quench'd the brand beneath the cypress

tree;

"Away," they cried, "young stranger, thou art free!"

CASABIANCA.

THE boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck,
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;

A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though child-like form.

The flames roll'd on-he would not go
Without his Father's word;

That Father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.