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629. PERRY'S VICTORY. Were anything | And those, forsaken of God, and to themselves? wanting, to perpetuate the fame of this vic- The prudent shunned him, and his house, len up tory, it would be sufficiently memorable, from As one, who had a deadly moral plague; the scene where it was fought. This war has And fain all would have shunned him, at the day been distinguished, by new and peculiar char: Of judgment; but in vain. All, who gave ear, acteristics. Naval warfare has been carried into the interior of a continent, and navies, With greediness, or, wittingly, their tongues as if by magic, launched from among the Made herald to his lies, around him wailed; depths of the forest! The bosom of peace- While on his face, thrown back by injured men ful lakes, which, but a short time since, were In characters of ever-blushing shame, scarcely navigated by man, except to be Appeared ten thousand slanders, all his own. skimmed by the light canoe of the savage, have all at once been ploughed by hostile ships. The vast silence, that had reigned, for ages, on these mighty waters, was broken by the thunder of artillery, and the affrighted savage-stared, with amazement, from his Covert, at the sudden apparition of a seafight, amid the solitudes of the wilderness. The peal of war has once sounded on that ake, but probably, will never sound again. The last roar of cannon, that died along her shores, was the expiring note of British domination. Those vast, eternal seas will, perhaps, never again be the separating space, between contending nations; but will be embosomed-within a mighty empire; and this victory, which decided their fate, will stand unrivalled, and alone, deriving lustre, and perpetuity, from its singleness.

630. TRUE FRIENDSHIP. Damon and Py thias, of the Pythagorean sect in philosophy. lived in the time of Dionysius, the tyrant of Their mutual friendship was so Sicily. strong, that they were ready to die for one another. One of the two, (for it is not known which,) being condemned to death, by the tyrant, obtained leave to go into his own country, to settle his affairs, on condition, that the other should consent to be imprisoned in his stead, and put to death for him, if he did not tention of every one, and especially of the tyreturn, before the day of execution. The atrant himself, was excited to the highest pitch. as every body was curious, to see what would be the event of so strange an affair. When the time was almost elapsed, and he who wa gone did not appear; the rashness of the oth In future times, when the shores of Erie shall er, whose sanguine friendship had put him hum with a busy population; when towns, upon running so seemingly desperate a haz and cities, shall brighten, where now, ex-ard, was universally blamed. But he still de tend the dark tangled forest; when ports shall clared, that he had not the least shadow of spread their arms, and lofty barks shall ride, doubt in his mind, of bis friend's fidelity. The event showed how well he knew him. He where now the canoe is fastened to the stake; when the present age shall have grown into came in due time, and surrendered himself to venerable antiquity, and the mists of fable that fate, which he had no reason to think he begin to gather round its history, then, will should escape; and which he did not desire the inhabitants of Canada look back to this to escape, by leaving his friend to suffer ir battle we record, as one of the romantic his place. Such fidelity softened, even the achievements of the days of yore. It will savage heart of Dionysius himself. He parstand first on the page of their local legends, doned the condemned; he gave the tw and in the marvellous tales of the borders. friends to one another, and begged that they The fisherman, as he loiters along the beach, would take himself in for a third. will point to some half-buried cannon, corroded with the rust of time, and will speak of Deep-in the wave, is a coral grove, ocean warriors, that came from the shores of Where the purple mullet, and gold-fish rove, the Atlantic; while the boatman, as he trims Where the sea-flower-spreads its leaves of blue his sail to the breeze, will chant, in rude dit-That never are wet, with fallen dew, ties, the name of Perry, the early hero of Lake Erie.-Irving.

THE SLANDERER.

'Twas Slander, filled her mouth, with lying words,
Slander, the foulest whelp of Sin. The man,
In whom this spirit entered, was undone.
His tongue-was set on fire of hell, his heart-
Was black as death, his legs were faint with haste
Tc propagate the lie, his soul had framed.
His pillow-was the peace of families
Destroyed, the sigh of innocence reproached,
Broken friendships, and the strife of brotherhoods;
Yet did he spare his sleep, and hear the clock
Number the midnight watches, on his bed,
Devising mischief more; and early rose,
And made mos: hellish meals of good men's names.
From door to door, you might have seen him speed,
Or, placed am: 1st a group of gaping fools,
And whispering in their ears, with his foul lips;
Peace fled the neighborhood, in which he made
His haunts; and, like a moral pestilence,
Before his breath-the healthy shoots and blooms
Of social joy and happiness, decayed.
Fools only, in his company were seen,

THE CORAL GROVE.

But in bright and changeful beauty shine,
Far down in the green, and glassy brine.
The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift,
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow;
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift

Their bows, where the tides and billows flow;
The water is calm and still below,

For the winds and the waves are absent there,
And the sands-are bright as the stars, that glos

In the motionless fields of upper air:
There, with its waving blade of green,

The sea-flag streams through the silent water,
And the crimson leaf of the pulse is seen
To blush, like a banner, bathed in slaughter:
There, with a light and easy motion,

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean,

Are bending like corn, on the upland lea:
And life, in rare and beautiful forms,

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe, when the wrathful Spirit of storms,
Has made the top of the waves his own.

Pride goeth before destruction.

Chlorine, and iodine, and aerostatics;
Also,-why frogs, for want of air, expire;
And how to set the Tappan sea on fire!
In all the modern languages, she was

631. BRUTUS' HARANGUE ON CESAR's | Dioptrics, opties, katoptrics, carbon,
DEATH. Romans, countrymen, and lovers!
hear me for my cause; and be silent, that
you may hear. Believe me-for mine honor;
and have respect to mine honor, that you may
believe. Censure me in your wisdom; and
awake your senses, that you may the better
judge. If there be any, in this assembly, any
dear friend of Cesar's, to him I say that Bru-
tus' love to Cesar-was no less than his. If,
then, that friend demand, why Brutus-rose
against Cesar, this is my answer: Not that I
loved Cesar--less, but, that I loved Rome
more. Had you rather Cesar were living, and
die all slaves; than that Cesar were dead, to
live all freemen? As Cesar loved me, I weep
for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it;
as he was valiant, I honor him; but, as he
was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears
for his love, joy-for his fortune, honor-for
his valor, and death-for his ambition. Who's
here so base, that would be a bondman? if
any, speak; for him--have I offended. Who's
here so rude, that would not be a Roman? if
any, speak? for him-have I offended. Who's
here so vile, that will not love his country? if
any, speak; for him--have I offended.
pause for a reply.

Exceedingly well versed; and had devoted,
To their attainment, far more time than has,
By the best teachers lately, been allotted;
For she had taken lessons, twice a week,
For a full month in each; and she could speak
French and Italian, equally as well

None! then none--have I offended. I have done no more to Cesar, than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death-is enrolled in the capitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death.

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth; as, which of you shall not?-With this I depart-that as I slew my best lover-for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death.

632. ACCOMPLISHED YOUNG LADY.
She shone, at every concert; where are bought
Tickets, by all who wish them, for a dollar;
She patronised the theatre, and thought,

As Chinese, Portuguese, or German; and What is still more surprising, she could spel Most of our longest English words, off hand; Was quite familiar in Low Dutch and Spanish, And tho❜t of studying modern Greek and Danish. She sang divinely: and in "Love's young dream,* And Fanny dearest." and "The soldier's bride;" And every song whose dear delightful theme,

Is "Love, still love," had oft till midnight tried Her finest, loftiest pigeon-wings of sound, Waking the very watchmen far around.-Halleck.

633. CHARITY. Though I speak-with the tongues of men, and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains. and have not charity, I am nothing.

And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. Charity-suffereth long, and is kind; charity--envieth not; charity-vaunteth not itself; it is not pulled up; doth not behave itself unseemly; seeketh not her own; is not easily provoked; thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

Charity--never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there

That Wallack looked extremely well in Rolla; be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we

She fell in love, as all the ladies do,

With Mr. Simpson-talked as loudly, too,

As any beauty of the highest grade,

To the gay circle in the box beside her;
And when the pit-half vexed, and half afraid,
With looks of smothered indignation eyed her;
She calmly met their gaze, and stood before 'em,
Smiling at vulgar taste, and mock decorum.
And though by no means a "Bas bleu," she had
For literature, a most becoming passion;
Had skimmed the latest novels, good, and bad,
And read the Croakers, when they were in
fashion;

And Dr. Chalmers' sermons, of a Sunday; [gundi.
And Woodworth's Cabinet, and the new Salma-
She was among the first, and warmest patrons
Ûf G******'s conversaziones, where, [matrons,
In rainbow groups, our bright eyed maids, and
On science bent, assemble; to prepare
Themselves for acting well, in life, their part,
As wives and mothers. There she learn'd by heart
Words, to the witches in Macbeth unknown,
Hydraulics, hydrostatics, and pneumatics

know, in part, and we prophecy, in part. But, when that which is perfect, is come, then that, which is in part, shall be done away.

When I was a child, I spake as a child, 1 understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now, we see through a glass, darkly; but then, face to face: now, I know i pari; but then, shall I know, even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.-St Paul.

EARLY RISING AND PRAYER.

When first thy eyes unvail, give thy soul leave
To do the like; our bodies-but forerun
The spirit's duty; true hearts-spread and heave
Unto their God, as flowers do-to the sun;
Give him thy first tho's then, so-shalt thou keep
Him company-all day, and in him-sleep.
Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer-should
Dawn with the day; there are set-awful hours-
Twixt heaven and us; the manna-was not good
Rise-to prevent the sun; sleep-doth sins glut,
After sun rising; for day-sullies flowers.
And heaven's gate opens, when the world's is shut
Converse with nature's charms, and see her stores unroll'd

634. SAILOR BOY'S DREAM.

In slumbers of midnight, the sailor boy lay;

His hammock swung loose, at the sport of the wind;
But watch-worn, and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.
He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasure that waited on life's merry morn;
While memory-stood sideways, half covered with flowers,
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.
Then fancy, her magical pinions spread wide,
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise-
Now far, far behind him, the green waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.
The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,

Lad the swallow sings sweet, from her nest in the wall;

all trembling with transport, he raises the latch,

And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him, with looks of delight,

His cheek is impearled, with a mother's warm tear,
And the lips of the boy, in a love-kiss unite,

With the lips of the maid, whom his bosom holds dear
The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,

Joy quickens his pulse-all his hardships seem o'er
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest-
"O God, thou hast blessed me-I ask for no more."
Ah, what is that flame which now bursts on his eye!
Ah, what is that sound, which now larums his ear!
'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky!
"Tis the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere
He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck,
Amazement confronts him with images dire-
Wild winds, and waves drive the vessel a wreck-
The masts fly in splinters-the shrouds are on fire!
Like mountains, the billows tremendously swell-
In vain the lost wretch calls on Mary to save;
neeen hands of spirits are wringing his knell,
And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave!
Oh! sailor boy, woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss-
Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright,
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss!
Oh! sailor boy! sailor boy! never again

Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay;
Unblessed, and unhonored, down deep in the main,
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay.
No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,
Or redeem form, or frame, from the merciless surge;
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge.
On beds of green sea-flower, thy limbs shall be laid;
Around thy white bones, the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair yellow locks, threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below.
Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away,
And the vast waters over thy body shall roll-
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye-

Oh! sailor boy! sailor boy! peace to thy soul.-Dimond. TIME AND ITS CHANGES. Reformation is a work of time. A national taste, however wrong it may be, cannot be totally changed at once; we must yield a little to the prepossession, which has taken hold on the mind, and we may then bring people to adopt what would offend them, if endeavored to be introduced by violence.

What's fame a fancied life in other's breath,
A thing bevond us, e'en before our death.
All fame foreign, but of true desert,
Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart;
One self-approving hour, whole years outweighs
Of stupid starers, and of loud hussas :
And more true joy, Marcellus-exil'd, feels,
Than: Cesar, with a senate at his heels.

Mind, not money-makes the man

CANTO гi.

635. CHILD HAROLD.
Oh! that the desert-were my dwelling place,
With one fair spirit-for my minister
That I might all forget the human race,
And hating no one, love but only her!
Ye elements!-in whose ennobling stir,
I feel myself exalted-Can ye not
Accord me such a being? Do I err
In deeming such-inhabit many a spot
Though with them to converse, can rarely be lo
There is a pleasure-in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture-on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:

I love not man the less, but nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I stea!
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle-with the Unigerse, and feel

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal
Roll on, thou deep, and dark blue ocean-roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
Stops with the shore ;-upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own;
When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths, with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknowe
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble, in their capitals,
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator, the vain title take-
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war!
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which nar
Alike, the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee-
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters wasted them, while they were free.
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts :-not so thou-
Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play-
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow-
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thoa rollest no
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
(Calm, or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime,
Dark-heaving,)-boundless, endless, and sublime
The image of Eternity-the throne

Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made! each zone
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alcne
And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne like the bubbles, onward; from a boy,

I wantoned with thy breakers-they to me
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea
Made them a terror-'twas a pleasing fear,
For I was, as it were, a child of thee,
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane-as I do here.

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In the dreams of delight, which with ardor we
Oft the phantom of sorrow appears; [seek,
And the roses of pleasure, which bloom on your
Must be steeped in the dew of your tears. [cheek,
The aged man, that coffers up his gold,
Is plagu'd with cramps, and gouts, and painfu
And scarce hath eyes, his treasure to behold,
But still, like pining Tantalus, he sits,
And useless bans the harvest of his wits,
Having no other pleasure of his gain,
But torment, that it cannot cure his pain.
To err-is human; to forgive-divine.

636. PATRIOTIC TRIUMPH. The citizens of America-celebrate that day, which gave birth to their liberties. The recollection of this event, replete with consequences so beneficial to mankind, swells every heart with joy, and fills every tongue with praise. We celebrate, not the sanguinary exploits of a tyrant, to subjugate, and enslave-millions of his fellow-creatures; we celebrate, neither the birth, nor the coronation, of that phantom, styled a king; but, the resurrection of liberty, the emancipation of mankind, the regeneration of the world. These are the sources of our joy, these the causes of our triumph. We pay no homage at the tomb of kings, to sublime our feelings-we trace no line of illustrious ancesters, to support our dignity-we recur to no usages sanctioned by the authority of the great, to protect our rejoicing; no, we love liberty, we glory in the rights of men, we glory in independence. On whatever part of God's creation a human form pines under chains, there, Americans drop their tears.

A dark cloud once shaded this beautiful quarter of the globe. Consternation, for awhile, agitated the hearts of the inhabitants. War desolated our fields, and buried our vales in blood. But the dayspring from on high soon opened upon us its glittering portals. The angel of liberty descending, dropped on Washington's brow, the wreath of victory, and stamped on American freedom, the seal of omnipotence. The darkness is past, and the true light now shines-to enliven, and rejoice mankind. We tread a new earth, in which dwelleth righteousness; and view a new heaven, flaming with inextinguishable stars. Our feet will no more descend into the vale of oppressions; our shoulders will no more bend-under the weight of a foreign domination, as cruel, as it was unjust. Well may we rejoice-at the return of this glorious anniversary; a day dear to every American; a day-to be had in everlasting remembrance; a day, whose light circulates joy-through the hearts of all republicans, and terror through the hearts of all tyrants.-Maxy.

637. TIT FOR TAT: COQUETRY PUNISHED.
Ellen was fair, and knew it too,
As other village beauties do,

Whose mirrors-never lie;
Secure of any swain she chose,
She smiled on half a dozen beaux,
And, reckless of a lover's woes,
She cheated these, and taunted those;
"For how could any one suppose

A clown could take her eye?"
But whispers through the village ran,
That Edgar was the happy man,

The maid design'd to bless;
For, wheresover moved the fair,
The youth was, like her shadow, there,
And rumor-boldly match'd the pair,
For village folks will guess.
Edgar did love, but still delay'd
To make confession to the maid,
So bashful was the youth;
But let the flame in secret burn,
Certain of meeting a return,

When, from his lips, the fair should learn,
Officially, the truth.

At length, one morn, to taste the air,
The youth and maid, in c ne horse chair,
A long excursion took.

Edgar had nerved his bashful heart,
The sweet confession to impart,
For ah! suspense had caused a smart,
He could no longer brook

He drove, nor slackened once his reins,
Till Hempstead's wide extended plains

Seem'd join'd to skies above: Nor house, nor tree, nor shrub was near The rude and dreary scene to cheer, Nor soul within ten miles to hearAnd still, poor Edgar's silly fear,

Forbade to speak of love.

At last, one desperate effort broke
The bashful spell, and Edgar spoke,
With most persuasive tone;
Recounted past attendance o'er,
And then, by all that's lovely, swore,
That he would love, for evermore,

If she'd become his own.
The maid, in silence, heard his prayer,
Then, with a most provoking air,

She, tittered in his face;
And said, "Tis time for you to know,
A lively girl must have a beau,
Just like a reticule-for show;
And at her nod to come, and go-

But he should know his place.
Your penetration must be dull,
To let a hope within
your skull

Of matrimony spring.
Your wife! ha, ha! upon my word,
The thought is laughably absurd,
As anything I ever heard-

I never dream'd of such a thing."
The lover sudden dropp'd his rein,
Now on the centre of the plain-

"The linch-pin's out!" he cried;
Be pleased, one moment, to alight,
Till I can set the matter right,
That we may safely ride."

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could rise?

638. RECITATIONS INSTEAD OF THEA- 639. WATERLOO; THE BALL AND BATTLE. TRES. In its present state, the theatre-de- There was a sound of revelry-by night, serves no encouragement. It has nourished And Belgium's capital-hal gathered then intemperance, and all vice. In saying this, Her beauty, and her chivalry; and bright I do not say that the amusement is radically, The lamps shone o'er fair women, and brave mer. essentially evil. I can conceive of a theatre, which would be the noblest of all amuse- A thousand hearts beat happily; and when ments, and would take a high rank, among Music arose, with its voluptuous swell, the means of refining the taste, and elevating Soft eyes looked love, to eyes, which spake again, the character of a people. The deep woes, And all went merry as a marriage-bell; [knell! the mighty, and terrible passions, and the But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising sublime emotions-of genuine tragedy, are titted to thrill us with human sympathies, Did ye not hear it?—No; 'twas but the wind, with profound interest in our nature, with a Or the car, rattling o'er the stony street: consciousness of what man can do, and dare, On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; and suffer, with an awed feeling of the fearful No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet, mysteries of life. The soul of the spectator To chase the glowing hours, with flying feetis stirred from its depths; and the lethargy, But hark! That heavy sound breaks in once more, in which so many live, is roused, at least for a time, to some intenseness of thought, and As if the clouds-its echo would repeat; sensibility. The drama answers a high pur- And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! [roar! pose, when it places us in the presence of the Arm! arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening most solemn, and striking event of human Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, history, and lays bare to us the human heart, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, in its most powerful, appalling, glorious workings. But how little does the theatre And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago accomplish its end? How often is it disgra- Blushed-at the praise of their own loveliness: And there were sudden partings, such as press ced, by monstrous distortions of human nature, and still more disgraced by profaneness, The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs, coarseness, indelicacy, low wit, such as no Which ne'er might be repeated; for who could woman, worthy of the name, can hear with- If ever more should meet, those mutual eyes, (guess, out a blush, and no man can take pleasure Since upon night, so sweet, such awful morn in-without self-degradation. Is it possible, that a christian, and a refined people, can resort to theatres, where exhibitions of dancing are given, fit only for brothels, and where the most licentious class in the community throng, unconcealed, to tempt, and destroy That the theatre should be suffered to exist, in its present degradation, is a reproach to the community. Were it to fall, a better drama might spring up in its place. In the meantime, is there not an amusement, having an affinity with the drama, which might be usefully introduced among us? I mean, Recitations. A work of genius, recited by a man of fine taste, enthusiasm, and powers of elocution, is a very pure, and high gratification. Were this art cultivated, and encouraged, great numbers, now insensible to the most beautiful compositions, might be waked up to their excellence, and power. It is not easy to conceive of a more effectual way, of spreading a refined taste through a community. The drama, undoubtedly, appeals more strongly to the passions than recitation; but the latter brings out the meaning of the author more. Shakspeare, worthily recited, would be better understood than on the stage. Then, in recitation, we escape the weariness of listening to poor performers; who, after all, fill up most of the time at the theatre. Recitations, sufficiently varied, so as to include pieces of chaste wit, as well of pathos, beauty and sublinity, is adapted to our present intellectual progress, as much as the drama falls below it. Should this exhibition be introduced among us successfully, the result would be, that the power of recitation would be extensively called forth, and this would be added to our social, and domestic pleasures.

Thou knowest but little,

If thou dost think true virtue-is confined
To climes, or systems; no, it flows spontaneous,
Like life's warm stream, throughout the whole cre-
And beats the pulse of every healthful heart. [ation,

And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum,
Roused up the soldier, ere the morning star;
While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb,
Or whispering with white lips-"The foe! they
come! they come !"

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with native's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave,-alas!
Ere evening, to be trodden like the grass,
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow,
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
[and low.
Of living valor, rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold,
Last noon-beheld them, full of lusty life,
Last eve-in beauty's circle, proudly gay,
The midnight-brought the signal-sound of strife,
The morn-the marshaling in arms,—the day,
Battle's magnificently-stern array!
[rent,
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when,
The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped, and pent,
Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial

blent!

What's in the air?

Some subtle spirit-runs through all my veins,
Hope-seems to ride, this morning, on the wind,
And outshines the sun.

When things go wrong, each fool presumes t' ad-
And if more happy, thinks himelf more wise: [vise.
All wretchedly deplore the present state;
And that advice seems best, which comes too late

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