To swell the reddening fruit that even now Breathes a slight fragrance from the sunny slope.

But thou art of a gayer fancy. Well— Let then the gentle Manitou of flowers, Lingering amid the bloomy waste he loves, Though all his swarthy worshippers are gone— Slender and small, his rounded cheek all brown And ruddy with the sunshine; let him come On summer mornings, when the blossoms wake, And part with little hands the spiky grass; And touching, with his cherry lips, the edge

Of these bright beakers, drain the gathered dew

A DREAM.

I HAD a dream—a strange, wild dream-
Said a dear voice at early light;

And even yet its shadows seem

To linger in my waking sight.

Earth, green with spring, and fresh with dew, And bright with morn, before me stood;

And airs just wakened softly blew

On the young blossoms of the wood.

Birds sang within the sprouting shade,

Bees hummed amid the whispering grass,

And children prattled as they played
Beside the rivulet's dimpling glass.

Fast climbed the sun: the flowers were flown, There played no children in the glen;

For some were gone, and some were grown To blooming dames and bearded men.

'Twas noon, 'twas summer: I beheld

Woods darkening in the flush of day, And that bright rivulet spread and swelled, A mighty stream, with creek and bay.

And here was love, and there was strife,
And mirthful shouts, and wrathful cries,
And strong men, struggling as for life,
With knotted limbs and angry eyes.

Now stooped the sun-the shades grew thin;
The rustling paths were piled with leaves;
And sunburnt groups were gathering in,

From the shorn field, its fruits and sheaves.

The river heaved with sullen sounds;
The chilly wind was sad with moans;
Black hearses passed, and burial-grounds
Grew thick with monumental stones.

Still waned the day; the wind that chased
The jagged clouds blew chillier yet;

The woods were stripped, the fields were waste;
The wintry sun was near its set..

And of the young, and strong, and fair,
A lonely remnant, gray and weak,

Lingered, and shivered to the air
Of that bleak shore and water bleak.

Ah! age is drear, and death is cold!
I turned to thee, for thou wert near,
And saw thee withered, bowed, and old,

And woke all faint with sudden fear.

'Twas thus I heard the dreamer say,

And bade her clear her clouded brow; "For thou and I, since childhood's day,

Have walked in such a dream till now.

"Watch we in calmness, as they rise, The changes of that rapid dream, And note its lessons, till our eyes

Shall open in the morning beam."

THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.

HERE are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines,
That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground
Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up
Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet
To linger here, among the flitting birds

And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds
That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass,
A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set

With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades-
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old—

My thoughts go up the long dim path of years,
Back to the earliest days of liberty.

Oh FREEDOM! thou art not, as poets dream,
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs,
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap
With which the Roman master crowned his slave
When he took off the gyves. A bearded man,
Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed hand

Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow,