Gems of Poetry

Lines. By J. G. Percival....

Sunrise on the Hills. By H. W. Longfellow.......

America to Great Britain. By Washington Allston.

Love Unchangeable. By R. Dawes.....

The Star and the Lily. By O. W. Holmes............................. 139

To My Cigar. By Charles Sprague...

141

To the South Wind. By J. W. Miller..

143

His Captors to Andre. By J. W. Miller......

151

Funeral of the Osage Warrior. By Lydia H. Sig-

Hymn of Nature. By W. B. O. Peabody..

The Little Beach Bird. By R. H. Dana..............

165

167

Morning among the Hills. By J. G. Percival..

To a Lady. By J. W. Miller...

The Little Foot. By Hannah F. Gould..

The Dying Storm. By H. F. Gould................

The Dying Seneca. By O. W. Holmes..

Painting. By P. M. Wetmore...

The First Day of the Year. By S. J. Hale..

The Birth of Thunder. By W. J. Snelling..

To the Witch Hazel...

Illustration of a Picture. By I. McLellan, Jr..

To-
By O. W. B. Peabody.

The Storm of War. By J. G. C. Brainard..

Page.

200

The Last Leaf. By O. W. Holmes............................... 202

Stanzas. By J. G. C. Brainard................

204

The Dead Mariner. By G. D. Prentice.......

205

To the Daughter of a Friend. By J. G. C. Brainard... 207

The Sea Boy to his Barque. By G. D. Strong...

208

The Young. By W. G. Clark.....

211

To a Lady for a Nosegay. By J. G. C. Brainard..... 212

I see thee still. By Charles Sprague..

Canzonet. By John Howard Payne..

Lines. By Charles Sprague......

A Morning Hymn. By W. G. Clark..

Night Winds. By Henry Lance........

The Last Request. By B. B. Thatcher..

A Sea Piece..

Stanzas. By St.

George Tucker....................

The Billet-doux. By F. A. Durivage..

Song of the Bee. By O. C. Wyman.....

247

To a Lady with a withered Leaf. By W. G. Crosby.. 248

The Lyre. By M. Ward.......

250

GEMS OF POETRY.

POETRY.

BY JAMES G. PERCIVAL.

THE world is full of Poetry-the air
Is living with its spirit; and the waves
Dance to the music of its melodies,

And sparkle in its brightness. Earth is veiled
And mantled with its beauty; and the walls,
That close the universe with crystal in,
Are eloquent with voices, that proclaim
The unseen glories of immensity,
In harmonies, too perfect, and too high,
For aught but beings of celestial mould,
And speak to man in one eternal hymn
Unfading beauty, and unyielding power.

The year leads round the seasons; in a choir
For ever charming, and for ever new ;
Blending the grand, the beautiful, the gay,
The mournful, and the tender, in one strain,
Which steals into the heart, like sounds, that rise
Far off, in moonlight evenings, on the shore

Of the wide ocean resting after storms;

Or tones, that wind around the vaulted roof,
And pointed arches, and retiring aisles

Of some old, lonely minster, where the hand
Skilful, and moved, with passionate love of art,
Plays o'er the higher keys, and bears aloft
The peal of bursting thunder, and then calls
By mellow touches, from the softer tubes,
Voices of melting tenderness, that blend
With pure and gentle musings, till the soul,
Commingling with the melody, is borne,
Rapt, and dissolved in ecstasy, to Heaven.

"T is not the chime and flow of words, that move In measured file, and metrical array;

"T is not the union of returning sounds,
Nor all the pleasing artifice of rhyme,
And quantity, and accent, that can give
This all pervading spirit to the ear,

Or blend it with the movings of the soul.
"T is a mysterious feeling, which combines
Man with the world around him, in a chain
Woven of flowers, and dipped in sweetness, till
He tastes the high communion of his thoughts
With all existences, in earth and heaven,
That meet him in the charm of grace and power
"T is not the noisy babbler, who displays,

In studied phrase, and ornate epithet,
And rounded period, poor and vapid thoughts,
Which peep from out the cumbrous ornaments
That overload their littleness. Its words

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

Are few, but deep and solemn; and they break
Fresh from the fount of feeling, and ́are full
Of all that passion, which, on Carmel, fired
The holy prophet, when his lips were coals,
His language winged with terror, as when bolts
Leap from the brooding tempest, armed with wrath,
Commissioned to affright us, and destroy.

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

BY J. R, DRAKE.

WHEN Freedom from her mountain height,
Unfurled her standard to the air,

She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there!
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure, celestial white
With streakings of the morning light,
Then from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land!

Majestic monarch of the cloud!
Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest trumping loud,
And see the lightning-lances driven,
When stride the warriors of the storm,

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