patriotism, that devoted love of country which his words have Commended, which his example has consecrated: "Where may the wearied eye repose, When gazing on the great; Where neither guilty glory glows Whom Envy dared not hate, BRIDGE OF SIGHS.-T. Hood. ONE more Unfortunate, Take her up tenderly, Look at her garments, Touch her not scornfully Now, is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Rash and undutiful; Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family Wipe those poor lips of hers, Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas! for the rarity Near a whole city full, Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly, Feelings were changed; Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence Even God's providence Seeming estranged. Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, Houseless by night. The bleak winds of March Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river: Mad from life's history, The rough river ran,- Lave in it, drink of it Then, if you can! Take her up tenderly, Smooth and compose them; Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity, Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Cross her hands humbly, Owning her weakness, And leaving with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour! THE WOOD OF CHANCELLORSVILLE THE ripe red berries of the wintergreen In this deep, tangled wood. I stop and lean And rest me in this shade; for many a mile, Through lane and dusty street, I've walked with weary, weary feet; And now I tarry 'mid this woodland scene, 'Mong ferns and mosses sweet. Here all around me blows The pale primrose. I wonder if the gentle blossom knows The feeling at my heart-the solemn grief That it disdains relief, And will not let me weep. I wonder that the woodbine thrives and grows, For while these mornings shine, these blossoms bloom, Nature, thou art unkind, Yon lichen, clinging to th' o'erhanging rock, One charm in bounteous nature, while the wind The groans of my poor country, bleeding in the dust. The air is musical with notes That gush from winged warblers' throats, And in the leafy trees I hear the drowsy hum of bees. Prone from the blinding sky Dance rainbow-tinted sunbeams, thick with motes, Wavers from flower to flower; yet in this wood And every turf is drenched with human blood. O heartless flowers! O trees, clad in your robes of glistering sheen, These are the hours For mourning, not for gladness. While this smart Let birds refuse to sing, And flowers to bloom upon the lap of spring. Let Nature's face itself with tears o'erflow, In deepest anguish for a people's woe. While rank rebellion stands With blood of martyrs on his impious hands; And cruelty, and direst hate, Uplift their heads within th' afflicted state, Grow black with gloom, and from its thunder-lair Of treason sick, shall spew the monster forth, Be consecrate anew to Freedom and to God! THE SMACK IN SCHOOL. O. W. Holmes. A DISTRICT School, not far away, Let off in one tremendous kiss! "Wath William Willith, if you pleathe- Will hung his head in fear and shame, With smile suppressed, and birch upraised, Be guilty of an act so rude! Before the whole set school to boot- But when Susannah shook her curls, 179 |