Forty flags with their silver stars, Flapp'd in the morning wind: the sun Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bravest of all in Frederick town, In her attic-window the staff she set, Up the street came the rebel tread, Under his slouch'd hat left and right It shiver'd the window-pane and sash, Quick, as it fell from the broken staff, She lean'd far out on the window-sill, "Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, The nobler nature within him stirr'd All day long that free flag toss'd Ever its torn folds rose and fell And, through the hill-gaps, sunset light Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the rebel rides on his raids no more. Honor to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, Peace and order and beauty draw And ever the stars above look down THE STUDENT. "I have seen the pale student, bending over his written volume, or studying the exhaustless tomes of nature, until the springs of life were dried up, and--he died!" "POOR FOOL!" the base and soulless worldling cries, "To waste his strength for naught,-to blanch his cheek, And bring pale Death upon him in his prime. Why did he not to pleasure give his days, His nights to rest, and live while live he might?" Oh! when the mighty GOD from nothing brought How shall we measure life? Not by the years,- Base worldly things, whose heart is fixed in Heaven,-- When in the silent night, all earth lies hushed No! in the solemn stillness of the night, Or where it burns with ray more mild,-more sure, His years, 'tis true, are few,-his life is long; The spark of pure Divinity, which shines With light unceasing. Yes, his life is long, Long to the dull and loathsome epicures,— Long to the slothful man's-the groveling herds THE TWO ROADS.-By Richter. Ir was New Year's night. An aged man was standing at a window. He mournfully-raised his eyes towards the deep blue sky, where the stars were floating like white lilies on the surface of a clear, calm lake. Then he cast them on the earth, where few more helpless beings than himself were moving towards their inevitable goal-the tomb. Already he had passed sixty of the stages which lead to it, and he had brought from his journey nothing but errors and remorse. His health was destroyed, his mind unfurnished, his heart sorrowful, and his old age devoid of comfort. The days of his youth rose up in a vision before him, and he recalled the solemn moment when his father had placed him at the entrance of two roads, one leading into a peaceful, sunny land, covered with a fertile harvest, and resounding with soft, sweet songs; while the other conducted the wanderer into a deep, dark cave, whence there was no issue, where poison flowed instead of water, and where serpents hissed and crawled. He looked towards the sky, and cried out, in his anguish :"O, youth, return! O, my father, place me once more at the crossway of life, that I may choose the better road!" But the days of his youth had passed away, and his parents were with the departed. He saw wandering lights float over dark marshes, and then disappear. "Such," he said, the days of my wasted life!" He saw a star shoot from Heaven, and vanish in darkness athwart the church-yard. "Behold an emblem of myself!" he exclaimed; and the sharp arrows of unavailing remorse struck him to the heart. 66 were Then he remembered his early companions, who had en tered life with him, but who, having trod the paths of virtue and industry, were now happy and honored on this New Year's night. The clock in the high church-tower struck, and the sound, falling on his ear, recalled the many tokens of the love of his parents for him, their erring son; the lessons they had taught him; the prayers they had offered up in his behalf. Overwhelmed with shame and grief, he dared no longer look towards that Heaven where they dwelt. His darkened eyes dropped tears, and, with one despairing effort, he cried aloud, Come back, my early days! Come back!'' And his youth did return; for all this had been but a dream, visiting his slumbers on New Year's night. He was still young; his errors only were no dream. He thanked God fervently that time was still his own; that he had not yet entered the deep, dark cavern, but that he was free to tread the road leading to the peaceful land where sunny har vests wave. Ye who still linger on the threshold of life, doubting which path to choose, remember that when years shall be passed, and your feet shall stumble on the dark mountain, you will ery bitterly, but cry in vain, "O, youth, return! O, give me Lack my early days!" ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND, MARCH 7, 1862. "STAND to your guns, men !" Morris cried; And then began the sailors' jests: A frown came over Morris' face; Mann'd by a rebel crew. "So shot your guns and point them straight: We'll try of what her metal's made." "Remember, boys, this flag of ours And where it falls, the deck it strikes "I ask but this: or sink or swim, My last sight upon earth may be Meanwhile the shapeless iron mass |