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Oh, father! then for her and thee

Gushed madly forth the scorching tears;
And oft, and long, and bitterly,

Those tears have gushed in later years;
For as the world grows cold around,
And things take on their real hue,
'Tis sad to learn that love is found
Alone above the stars, with you!

THE CLOSING YEAR.

THE year

G. D. PRENTICE.

Has gone, and, with it, many a glorious throng
Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow,
Its shadow in each heart. In its swift course,
It waved its sceptre o'er the beautiful,
And they are not. It laid its pallid hand
Upon the strong man, and the haughty form
Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim.
It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged
The bright and joyous, and the tearful wail,
Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the song
And reckless shout resounded. It passed o'er
The battle-plain, where sword and spear and shield
Flashed in the light of midday-and the strength
Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass,
Green from the soil of carnage, waves above
The crushed and mouldering skeleton. It came
And faded like a wreath of mist at eve;
Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air,

It heralded its millions to their home

In the dim land of dreams. Remorseless Time-
Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe-what power
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt

His iron heart to pity? On, still on

He presses, and for ever. The proud bird,

The condor of the Andes, that can soar

Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave

The fury of the northern hurricane,

And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home,

Furls his broad wings at nightfall, and sinks down
To rest upon his mountain-crag,—but Time
Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness,

And night's deep darkness has no chain to bind
His rushing pinion. Revolutions sweep
O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast
Of dreaming sorrow; cities rise and sink,
Like bubbles on the water; fiery isles

Spring, blazing, from the ocean, and go back
To their mysterious caverns; mountains rear
To heaven their bald and blackened cliffs, and bow
Their tall heads to the plain; new empires rise,
Gathering the strength of hoary centuries,
And rush down like the Alpine avalanche,
Startling the nations; and the very stars,
Yon bright and burning blazonry of God,
Glitter a while in their eternal depths,

And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train,
Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away,
To darkle in the trackless void :-yet Time-
Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career,
Dark, stern, all-pitiless, and pauses not
Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path,
To sit and muse, like other conquerors,
Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought.

THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER.

BESIDE yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion skilled to rule,
The village master taught his little school:
A man severe he was, and stern to view,
I knew him well, and every truant knew;
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper circling round,
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned:
Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declared how much he knew,
"Twas certain he could write, and cipher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And even the story ran-that he could gauge:

GOLDSMITH.

In arguing too, the parson owned his skill,

For even though vanquished, he could argue still;

While words of learnèd length, and thundering sound,
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around;

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.

THE TRAVELLER'S EYRIE.

EVEN now, where Alpine solitudes ascend,
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend;
And, placed on high above the storm's career,
Look downward where an hundred realms appear;
Lakes, forests, cities, plains, extending wide,
The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride.

When thus Creation's charms around combine,
Amidst the store, should thankless pride repine?
Say, should the philosophic mind disdain

That good which makes each humbler bosom vain?
Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can,
These little things are great to little man ;
And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind

Exults in all the good of all mankind.

GOLDSMITH.

Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor crowned;

Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round;

Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale;

Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale;

For me your tributary stores combine:

Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine!

WASHINGTON.

ELIZA COOKE.

LAND of the west! though passing brief the record of thine age,
Thou hast a name that darkens all on history's wide page!
Let all the blasts of fame ring out-thine shall be loudest far:
Let others boast their satellites-thou hast the planet star.

Thou hast a name whose characters of light shall ne'er depart; 'Tis stamped upon the dullest brain, and warms the coldest heart;

A war-cry fit for any land where freedom's to be won.

Land of the west! it stands alone-it is thy Washington!

Rome had its Cæsar, great and brave; but stain was on his wreath: He lived the heartless conqueror, and died the tyrant's death. France had its eagle; but his wings, though lofty they might soar, Were spread in false ambition's flight, and dipped in murder's gore.

Those hero-gods, whose mighty sway would fain have chained the

waves

Who fleshed their blades with tiger zeal, to make a world of slavesWho, though their kindred barred the path, still fiercely waded onOh, where shall be their "glory" by the side of Washington?

He fought, but not with love of strife; he struck but to defend;
And ere he turned a people's foe, he sought to be a friend.
He strove to keep his country's right, by reason's gentle word,
And sighed when fell injustice threw the challenge-sword to sword.

He stood the firm, the calm, the wise, the patriot and sage;
He showed no deep, avenging hate-no burst of despot rage.
He stood for liberty and truth, and dauntlessly led on,
Till shouts of victory gave forth the name of Washington.

No car of triumph bore him through a city filled with grief;
No groaning captives at the wheels proclaimed him victor chief;
He broke the gyves of slavery with strong and high disdain,
And cast no sceptre from the links when he had crushed the chain.

He saved his land, but did not lay his soldier trappings down
To change them for the regal vest, and don a kingly crown.
Fame was too earnest in her joy-too proud of such a son-
To let a robe and title mask a noble Washington.

England, my heart is truly thine-my loved, my native earth!— The land that holds a mother's grave, and gave that mother birth! Oh, keenly sad would be the fate that thrust me from thy shore, And faltering my breath, that sighed, "farewell for evermore!"

But did I meet such adverse lot, I would not seek to dwell
Where olden heroes wrought the deeds for Homer's song to tell.
Away, thou gallant ship! I'd cry, and bear me swiftly on:
But bear me from my own fair land, to that of Washington!

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