་

Our fathers sought this land afar,
By the light of Freedom's star;
Thro' trackless seas, unplough'd before,
For us they left their native shore :
The soil, for which their blood has flown,
Shall be protected with our own.
CHORUS.....Till, &c.

Beneath the gentle smiles of peace,
In arts our fame shall rival GREECE.
For power insatiate, let the car
Of wild Ambition rush to war;
We twine, beneath the Olive's shade,
A wreath that age can never fade.
CHORUS... Till, &c.

Lofty pæans strike the skies,
To the power who gave the prize;
While WACHUSETT lifts it's head
O'er the plains on which you bled,
Yearly let it's vales reply,

Freely live, or nobly die.'

CHORUS.

Hark! already to the strain, How they echo back again, As you are, forever be, Independent, firm, and free.

4.

mense,

ears,

5.

7.

Look down from heaven's empyreal height,

And gild with smiles this joyful day, Send us some chosen son of light, Our feet to guide in wisdom's way.

ODE TO INDEPENDENCE.

Written by WILLIAM BIGELOW, A. M. and sung by Mrs. Jones, at St. Peter's Church, in Salem, on Wednesday, 4th July, 1804. WHEN Britain gigantic, by justice unaw'd,

Strode over the westerly main, With eyes darting fury, and hands bath'd in blood,

Sought to rivet fell tyranny's chain;

Then, arm'd with a shepherdess' sling

and a stone,

Rous'd youthful Columbia to meet her alone, Unmov'd by the sword, and the spear, and the shield,

And thus to high heaven undaunted appeal'd:

;

God of armies! hear my prayer ;
Rise, thine holy arm make bare
From the radiant hosts on high
Bid war's mighty angel fly,
With victory's light'ning in his eye.
Mighty angel! through the air
Hither to thy post repair;
Here on Colombia's helmet rest,
Assume her eagle, form her crest.
Direct her arm, and fire her breast.

Drive back the foe beyond the sea; Bid this favour'd land, be free, That millions yet unborn may own, COLUMBIA'S GOD is GOD alone.

Lo! the conquering weapon's sped! See, the haughty giant's fled! Sons of Freedom, while ye pay Honours to her natal day,

Confess the Godhead, and obey. Around his altar while you stand With grateful heart and lifted hand, Swear, while life and thought remain,

Your Independence to maintain, Sacred from oppression's rod, Sacred from anarchy and blood, Sacred, as the gift of God!

ODE

Written by J. STORY, Esq. and sung by Mrs. Vonhagen before the Salem Female Charitable Society. July 11, 1804.

WHEN droops the hapless child of woe, Oppress'd with want, disease and care, What hand shall healing balm bestow? What voice shall soothe the deep despair?

When anguish wakes the widow's tear, And sends the air the orphan's cry, Is no protecting angel near,

To chase the gloom, and hush the sigh?

Yes-Mercy's gentle sprite is given,

To lull the throes of keen distress; Her voice, the music breath'd from heaven,

Her smile, the extatic wish to bless.

She leans on pity's soften'd breast,

Love, hope, devotion, grace her shrine, But most she loves a home of rest,

Where dwell the Charities divine.

To each his sufferings fate ordains, Untimely falls the opening flower; O'er wit and genius ruin reigns,

They bloom-they perish in an hour.

Since all are doom'd to feel the blow, Let all indulge the social grief;

The heart, that bleeds for human woe, In turn shall find its kind relief.

What though the joys of life depart,

And age and sorrow bow the soul, These tenderer sympathies impart

A charm that lives beyond control.

Sweet is the fame that waits the good,
For them the sainted prayer shall rise,
The silent praise of gratitude,
The bright reward of happier skies.

THE LOVER'S DREAM.

From D'Israeli's Romances.

CHRYSTAL WORLD! thy shadows pour!
LAND where FANCY builds her BOWER!
In thy silver circle deep
Lies the TREASURY OF SLEEP;

Many a glittering dream of air,
Many a picturing phantom there!
Shades of soft ideas bless;
IMAGES OF HAPPINESS!

Last night, in sleep, my Love did speak,
I press'd her HAND, I kiss'd her CHEEK.
Her FOREHEAD was with softness hung;
Soft as the timid moon when young.
Two founts of silvery light unfold,
With EYE-BALLS dropping liquid gold,
Ber BROWS nor part, nor join, their jet;
Her TEETH, like pearls in coral set.

Her BOSOM gave its odorous swell,
Each breathing wave now rose, now fell;
And oft the flying blushes deck
With vermil light her marble NECK.
Ah! union strange of CHASTE DESIRE!
Mixt in her CHEEK Were SNOW and FIRE!
My lips a million kisses pour
Her silver shining BODY o'er.

Lengthening her crisped LOCKS em

braced

The BEAUTY laughing round her wAIST; These snare the soul, these wake the

sigh;

I gaz'd till madness fir'd the eye!

Time throws its poison round the bed
Where manhood lays its head
weary
The summer-day of life will lour,
As long, poor Boy, as winter's hour,
Unless the pilot Fortune brings
The magic of her GOLDEN WINGS !

TO AN INFANT, SLEEPING.

WORM.

A FABLE FROM MOORE.

THE prudent nymph, whose cheeks disclose

The lily, and the blushing rose,

glows,

An emblem of the living rose !
Thy breath, a zephyr seems to rise,
And placid are thy half-clos'd eyes!
And silent is thy snowy breast,
Which gently heaves in transient rest;
And dreaming is thy infant brain
Of pleasure, undisturb'd by pain!

Soon shall thy youth to sorrow rise, And tears shall dim those half-clos'd eyes;

And storms shall fade that living rose,
And keen unkindness wound repose!
Soon will thy slumber painful be
And thou wilt watch, and weep, like

me;

And thou wilt shrink, with fear aghast,
From wild misfortune's chilling blast!

Ah! then no more in balmy sleep
Shall mem'ry fond her garland steep;
No more shall visions sweetly gay,
Sport in the coming beams of day!
No more thy downy pillow be
A pillow, Boy, of down to thee!
For many a thorn shall ruthless care
In envious rancour scatter there.

Sweet Baby Boy! then sleep awhile, For youth will never wake to smile,

And rarely in the crowd be seen; This simple truth shall keep her wise, "The fairest fruits attract the flies."

One night a Glow-worm, proud and vain,

Contemplating her glittering train, Cried, "Sure there never was in nature So elegant, so fine a creature! All other insects that I see, The frugal ant, industrious bee, Or silk worm, with contempt I view, With all that low mechanic crew, Who servilely their lives employ In business, enemy to joy. Mean vulgar herd! ye are my scorn; For grandeur only I was born, Or sure am sprung from race divine; And plac'd on earth to live and shine, Those lights that sparkle so on high, Are but the Glow-worms of the sky, And kings on earth their gems admire, Because they imitate my fire."

She spoke; attentive on a spray, A Nightingale forbore his lay, He saw the shining morsel near, And flew directed by the glare; Awhile he gaz'd with sober look, And thus the trembling prey bespoke, "Deluded fool! with pride elate, Know 'tis thy beauty brings thy fate; Less dazzling long thou might'st have

lain

Unheeded on the velvet plain.
Pride soon or late degraded mourns,
And Beauty wrecks whom she adorns."

"LITERARY MISCELLANY."

A NEW publication under the above title has, during the last month, issued from the press of Mr. William Hilliard, Cambridge. It is to be published quarterly. It professes to be devoted to the cause of literature and religion. In the prospectus to the work, it is said; "that it was projected by a few friends, who agreed to contribute such reflections and remarks, as were the result of their studies, with a wish to rouse a mutual emulation in literary pursuits, and to excite in others a taste for scientific investigations." The subjects to which the views of this association are directed, and on which they solicit communications, are ancient and modern

history; chronology; the my thology, customs, manners and antiquities of nations ; Hebrew and oriental literature; criticisms on the Greek and Roman classics; biographical notices of eminent men; sketches of the lives of any on the catalogue of college graduates; ethics, jurisprudence, natural religion and the evidences and doctrines of the christian revelation; mathematics, natural philosophy, astronomy, chemistry and natural history; discoveries and improve ments in the mechanic poetry; and reviews of publications, ancient and modern. This number gives us a promising specimen of the genius, learning and taste of its su porters. It adds a new leaf of laurel to the venerable brow of our beloved Alma

arts;

Mater. We regard this new literary guest rather with eyes of fraternal affection, than of envy; and hope, that the joint efforts of the family connections will tend to improve the morals, and refine the taste of the public. We are sorry however to observe in this truly Literary Miscellany, a departure from English orthography. If we were a nation of philosophers, or were only as wise as our national philosophers would seem to imagine us, we might construct a language of our own. But it is the fate of. the people of the United States to receive their language, as well as many other good things, mediately, from the people of England.