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And Echo, for fear she should lose it, Came down from her green-skirted hills, And faintly repeated the music

To teach to her murmuring rills.

And still the wild sonnet's repeated
By brooks upon every mount,
For Echo has taught every hillock

To sing to the notes of each fount.

As the traveller strays through the woodland,
He hears-for still Echo is there-

From every meandering streamlet
The song of the leaves and the air.

MY BEAUTIFUL PIERRE.

BY MRS. HEWITT.

My mother doth bid me forget thee,
Ah! mother is aged and cold;
She sayeth I ne'er should regret thee;
But time maketh worldly the old;
Ah! what though she urge me to leave thee,
To wed with the frosty and sere,

This heart tells me ne'er to deceive thee,
My beautiful, beautiful Pierre.

Still chiding, my mother would move me
To link me to gold, and old age;
Oh! age it is dark and unlovely,
Yea, verily sayeth the sage.
Hath spring e'er forsaken her flowers,
For winter, the frosty and drear?
Oh! spring-time of life sure is ours,
My beautiful, beautiful Pierre.

Of halls decked with splendour she's telling,
I nor wealth nor their brilliancy prize;
Let the splendour that 'lumines my dwelling,
Oh Pierre be the light of thine eyes.
Say, should the bride crowned with flowers,
Ere wed with the frosty and sere?

Oh! say, would their hearts beat like ours,
My beautiful, beautiful Pierre ?

WE HAVE MET TO REMEMBER THE DAY.

BY JAMES FLINT.

We have met to remember the day,

When the Pilgrims first trod the bleak shore

That gave them a home far away

From the home they should visit no more.

We will not forget what we owe them
For all they have left us in trust;
And though fallen in virtues below them,
We still to their fame will be just.

We have met to remember their deeds,
The privations and toils they endured,
Though the heart o'er their sufferings bleeds,
It exults in the rights they secured;
The rights they bequeathed us we'll cherish,
A heritage sacred and dear;

And their rock-girdled refuge shall perish,
Ere their sons cease their names to revere.

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We'll remember the faith of our sires,

Their sun in their sojourn of gloom, That reflected from heaven's far spires, The bright halo of hope on the tomb. 'Twas to worship their God unmolested They left the loved scenes of their youth, For a land which no tyrant infested; Self-exiled for freedom and truth.

We'll remember their wisdom, who reared, On the pillars of justice and right,

A republic by sages revered,

And dreaded by kings in their might. Of their skill and prophetic discerning,

New England a monument stands, In her morals, religion, and learning, The glory and pride of all lands.

The neat village, the school-house, and church, Her broad hills, her deep valleys, and streams, The tall pine, the rough oak, the smooth birch, Are all fresh in our day thoughts and dreams. O, New England, wherever sojourning,

Thy children in sadness or mirth,

By distance unweaned, with fond yearning
Still turn to the land of their birth.

We can never the pathways forget,
We so oft in our boyhood have trod,
To the school, where our playmates we met,
And the house, where we worshipped our God.
Ere we're found in our waywardness shunning
The lessons there taught us in love,

Be our right hand bereft of its cunning,
And, palsied, our tongue cease to move.

ART THOU HAPPY, LOVELY LADY?

BY RUFUS DAWES.

ART thou happy, lovely lady,

In the splendour round thee thrown,

Can the jewels that array thee,

Bring the peace which must have flown?

By the vows which thou hast spoken,
By the faith which thou hast broken,
I ask of thee no token,

That thy heart is sad and lone.

There was one that loved thee, Mary!
There was one that fondly kept
A hope which could not vary,
Till in agony it slept.

He loved thee, dearly loved thee,
And thought his passion moved thee,
But disappointment proved thee,
What love has often wept.

ONE HAPPY YEAR HAS FLED, SALL.

BY J. R. DRAKE.

ONE happy year has fled, Sall,

Since you were all my own,

The leaves have felt the autumn blight,

The wintry storm has blown.

We heeded not the cold blast,

Nor the winter's icy air;

For we found our climate in the heart,

And it was summer there.

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