Puslapio vaizdai
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THE WESTERN EMIGRANT.

Making rich music. Didst thou ever hear,
In far New England, such a mellow tone?"
"I had a robin that did take the crumbs
Each night and morning, and his chirping voice
Did make me joyful as I went to tend
My snowdrops. I was always laughing then
In that first home. I should be happier now,
Methinks, if I could find among these dells
The same fresh violets." Slow night drew on,
And round the rude hut of the emigrant
The wrathful spirit of the rising storm

Spake bitter things. His weary children slept,
And he, with head declined, sat listening long
To the swoln waters of the Illinois,

Dashing against their shores. Starting, he spake :
"Wife! did I see thee brush away a tear?
'Twas even so. Thy heart was with the halls
Of thy nativity. Their sparkling lights,
Carpets, and sofas, and admiring guests,
Befit thee better than these rugged walls
Of shapeless logs, and this lone hermit home."
"No, no.
All was so still around, methought
Upon mine ear that echoed hymn did steal,
Which mid the church where erst we paid our vows,

So tuneful peal'd. But tenderly thy voice

Dissolved the illusion." And the gentle smile
Lighting her brow, the fond caress that soothed
Her waking infant, reassured his soul
That, wheresoe'er our best affections dwell,
And strike a healthful root, is happiness.
Content and placid to his rest he sank:

But dreams, those wild magicians, that do play
Such pranks when reason slumbers, tireless wrought
Their will with him. Up rose the thronging mart

ᎪᎡᎢ .

Of his own native city; roof and spire,
All glittering bright, in fancy's frost-work ray.
The steed his boyhood nurtured proudly neigh'd;
The favourite dog came frisking round his feet,
With shrill and joyous bark; familiar doors
Flew open; greeting hands with his were link'd
In friendship's grasp; he heard the keen debate
From congregated haunts, where mind with mind
Doth blend and brighten; and, till morning, roved
Mid the loved scenery of his native land.

ᎪᎡᎢ .

BY CHARLES SPRAGUE.

WHEN, from the sacred garden driven,
Man fled before his Maker's wrath,

An angel left her place in heaven,

And cross'd the wanderer's sunless path. 'Twas Art! sweet Art! new radiance broke

Where her light foot flew o'er the ground,

And thus with seraph voice she spoke :
"The curse a blessing shall be found."

She led him through the trackless wild,
Where noontide sunbeam never blazed;
The thistle shrunk, the harvest smiled,
And Nature gladden'd as she gazed.
Earth's thousand tribes of living things,
At Art's command to him are given;
The village grows, the city springs,
And point their spires of faith to heaven.

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He rends the oak-and bids it ride,
To guard the shores its beauty graced;
He smites the rock-upheaved in pride,

See towers of strength and domes of taste.
Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal,
Fire bears his banner on the wave,
He bids the mortal poison heal,

And leaps triumphant o'er the grave.

He plucks the pearls that stud the deep,
Admiring beauty's lap to fill;

He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep,
And mocks his own Creator's skill.
With thoughts that fill his glowing soul,
He bids the ore illume the page,
And, proudly scorning Time's control,
Commerces with an unborn age.

In fields of air he writes his name,
And treads the chambers of the sky,
He reads the stars, and grasps the flame
That quivers round the throne on high.
In war renown'd, in peace sublime,

He moves in greatness and in grace;
His power, subduing space and time,
Links realm to realm, and race to race.

TO THE URSA MAJOR.

BY HENRY WARE, JR.

WITH what a stately and majestic step
That glorious constellation of the north
Treads its eternal circle! going forth
Its princely way among the stars in slow
And silent brightness. Mighty one, all hail!
I joy to see thee on thy glowing path
Walk, like some stout and girded giant: stern,
Unwearied, resolute, whose toiling foot
Disdains to loiter on its destined way.

The other tribes forsake their midnight track,
And rest their weary orbs beneath the wave;
But thou dost never close thy burning eye,
Nor stay thy steadfast step. But on, still on,
While systems change, and suns retire, and worlds
Slumber and wake, thy ceaseless march proceeds.
The near horizon tempts to rest in vain.
Thou, faithful sentinel, dost never quit

Thy long-appointed watch; but, sleepless still,
Dost guard the fix'd light of the universe,
And bid the north for ever know its place.

Ages have witness'd thy devoted trust,

Unchanged, unchanging. When the sons of God
Sent forth that shout of joy which rang through heaven,
And echoed from the outer spheres that bound

The illimitable universe, thy voice

Join'd the high chorus; from thy radiant orbs
The glad cry sounded, swelling to His praise,
Who thus had cast another sparkling gem,

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TO THE URSA MAJOR.

Little, but beautiful, amid the crowd

Of splendours that enrich his firmament.

As thou art now, so wast thou then the same.

Ages have roll'd their course, and time grown gray;
The earth has gather'd to her womb again,

And yet again, the myriads that were born

Of her uncounted, unremember'd tribes.

The seas have changed their beds; the eternal hills
Have stoop'd with age; the solid continents

Have left their banks; and man's imperial works-
The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, which had flung
Their haughty honours in the face of Heaven,
As if immortal-have been swept away,
Shatter'd and mouldering, buried and forgot.
But time has shed no dimness on thy front,

Nor touch'd the firmness of thy tread; youth, strength,
And beauty, still are thine; as clear, as bright,
As when the Almighty Former sent thee forth,
Beautiful offspring of his curious skill,

To watch earth's northern beacon, and proclaim
The eternal chorus of eternal Love.

I wonder as I gaze. That stream of light,
Undimm'd, unquench'd-just as I see it now-
Has issued from those dazzling points through years
That go back far into eternity.

Exhaustless flood! for ever spent, renew'd
For ever! Yea, and those refulgent drops,
Which now descend upon my lifted eye,
Left their far fountain twice three years ago.
While those wing'd particles, whose speed outstrips
The flight of thought, were on their way, the earth
Compass'd its tedious circuit round and round,
And, in the extremes of annual change, beheld
Six autumns fade, six springs renew their bloom.

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