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To meet, to know, to love-and then to part, Is the sad tale of many a human heart.


Oh, I do love thee, meek Simplicity!
For of thy lays the lulling simpleness
Goes to my heart, and soothes each small distress;
Distress tho' small, yet haply great to me!
'Tis true, on Lady Fortune's gentlest pad
I amble on; yet tho' I know not why,
So sad I am! but should a friend and I
Grow cool and miff, Oh! I am very sad!
And then with sonnets and with sympathy
My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall;
Now of my false friend plaining plaintively,
Now raving at mankind in general:
But whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all,
All very simple, meek Simplicity.


It was some spirit, Sheridan, that breath'd

O'er thy young mind such wildly-various power!

My soul hath marked thee in her shaping hour, Thy temples with Hymettian flowrets wreath'd: And sweet thy house, as when o'er Laura's bier

Sad music trembled thro' Vauclusa's glade;

Sweet, as at dawn the love-lorn Serenade That wasts soft dreams to Slumber's list'ning ear. Now patriot Rage and Indignation high Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beams

dance Meanings of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry!

Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance The Apostate by the brainless rout adored, As erst that elder Fiend beneath great Michael's sword.

-Ibid. SONNET.


Mild splendor of the various-vested night!
Mother of wildly-working visions, hail!
I watch thy gliding, while with wat’ry light
*Thy weak eye glimmers thro' a fleecy veil,
And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud
Behind the gathered blackness lost on high;
And when thou dartest from the wind-rent cloud
Thy placid lightning o'er th' awakened sky.
Ah, such is Hope! as changeful and as fair!
Now dimly peering on the wistful sight;
Now hid behind the dragon-winged Despair:
But soon emerging in her radiant might,
She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care
Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight.


My heart has thanked thee, Bowles, for those soft

strains Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring

Of wild bees in the sunny showers of spring! For hence not callous to the mourner's pains Thro' Youth's gay prime and thornless paths I

And when the darker day of life began,

And I did roam, a thought-bewildered man,
Their mild and manliest melancholy lent
A mingled charm, which oft the pang consigned

To slumber, tho' the big tear it renewed:

Bidding such strange mysterious pleasure brood Over the wavy and tumultuous mind,

As made the soul enamoured of her woe:
No common praise, dear Bard, to thee I owe!



As when a child on some long winter's night,

Affrighted clinging to its Grandam's knees, With eager wond'ring and pertubed delight

Listens strange tales of fearful dark decrees Muttered to wretch by necromantic spell;

Or of those hags, who at the witching time

Of murky midnight ride the air sublime, And mingle foul embrace with friends of Hell:

Cold Horror drinks its blood! Anon the tear More gentle starts, to hear the Beldame tell

Of pretty babes, that loved each other dear, Murdered by cruel Uncle's mandate fell:

Ev'n such the shiv'ring joys thy tones impart, Ev'n so thou, Siddons, meltest my sad heart!


Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West! How many various-fated years have passed, What blissful and what anguished hours, since

last I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,

Numbering its light leaps! Yet so deep imprest Sink the sweet scenes of Childhood, that mine eyes I never shut amid the sunny blaze,

But straight with all their tints thy waters rise, Thy crossing plank, thy margin's willowy maze;

And bedded sand that, veined with various dyes, Gleamed through thy bright transparence to the

gaze! Visions of Childhood! oft have ye beguiled Lone Manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs. Ah! that once more I were a careless child!


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Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat left and right He glanced; the old flag met his sight.

“Halt!” —the dust-brown ranks stood fast; “Fire!''-out blazed the rifle-blast.

It shivered the window, pane and sash; It rent the banner with seam and gash.

And where are the foes who so vauntingly swore

That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps'

pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of Aight, or the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's desola

tion! Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven

rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved

us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just; And this be our motto: “In God is our trust;" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

FRANCIS Scott Key.

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;

She leaned far out on the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will.

“Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag,” she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came;

The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman's deed and word:

“Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!” he said. All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet;

All day long that free flag tost Over the heads of the rebel host.

Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.
Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,
And the rebel rides on his raids no more.

What cordial welcomes greet the guest
By thy lone rivers of the west;
How faith is kept, and truth revered,
And man is loved, and God is feared,

In woodland homes,
And where the ocean border foams.
There's freedom at thy gates, and rest
For earth's down-trodden and opprest,
A shelter for the hunted head,
For the starved laborer toil and bread.

Power, at thy bounds,
Stops, and calls back his baffled hounds.
O fair young mother! on thy brow
Shall sit a nobler grace than

now; Deep in the brightness of thy skies, The thronging years in glory rise,

And, as they fleet,
Drop strength and riches at thy feet.
Thine eye, with every coming hour,
Shall brighten, and thy form shall tower;
And when thy sisters, elder born,
Would brand thy name with words of scorn,

Before thine eye
Upon their lips the taunt shall die.


Honor to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, Flag of freedom and union, wave! Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law;

And ever the stars from above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!




O MOTHER of a mighty race,
Yet lovely in thy youthful grace!
The elder dames, thy haughty peers,
Admire and hate thy blooming years;

With words of shame
And taunts of scorn they join thy name.

For on thy cheeks the glow is spread
That tints thy morning hills with red;
Thy step,--the wild deer's rustling feet
Within thy woods are not more fleet:

Thy hopeful eye
Is bright as thine own sunny sky.

Ay, let them rail, those haughty ones,
While safe thou dwellest with thy sons.
They do not know how loved thou art,
How many a fond and fearless heart

Would rise to throw
Its life between thee and the foe.

When Freedom from her mountain-height

Unfurl'd 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 alost thy regal form,
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud,
And see the lightning lances driven,

When strive the warriors of the storm, And rolls the thunder-drum of heavenChild of the sun! to thee 'tis given

To guard the banner of the free,
To hover in the sulphur-smoke,
To ward away the battle-stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,

The harbingers of victory!

They know not, in their hate and pride,
What virtues with thy children bide, –
How true, how good, thy graceful maids
Make bright, like flowers, the valley shades;

What generous men
Spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen;

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