KISMET.

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

-A Couplet.

SIMPLICITY.

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.

TO THE AUTUMNAL MOON.

-Sonnets

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.

MRS. SIDDONS.

-Ibid.

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! -Ibid.

SHERIDAN.

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 wafts 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.

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 went:

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!
-Ibid.

RIVER OTTER.

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!

-Ibid.

WAR BALLADS.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.

OH, say, can you see by the dawn's early light What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly

streaming?

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;

Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?

On that shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,

Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,

What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering

steep,

As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,

In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream; 'Tis the star-spangled banner; oh, long may it

wave

O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!

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 flight, 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 desolation!

Blest with victory and peace, may the heavenrescued 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.

BARBARA FRIETCHIE.

Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn,

The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peace tree fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When Lee marched over the mountain wall,-

Over the mountains winding down, Horses and foot into Frederick town.

Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,

Flapped in the morning wind; the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her four-score years and ten;

Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down;

In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.

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.

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.

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!
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

AMERICA.

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.

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;

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.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

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 aloft 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!