THANKSGIVING DAY.

J. BAYARD TAYLOR, AUTHOR OF VIEWS A-FOOT."

WRITTEN IN GERMANY.

WE meet the sons of pilgrim sires,
Unchanged, where'er we roam,
Whilst gather round their happy fires
The happy bands of home.

And while across the far, blue wave,
Their prayers go up to God,
We pledge the faith our fathers gave---
The land by freemen trod.

The spirits of our fatherland

Their sacred trust still hold-
The freedom from a tyrant's hand
Wrench'd by the men of old.
That lesson to the broad earth given
We pledge, beyond the sea;

The land from dark oppression riven !
A blessing on the free!

BURIAL SONG FOR A GOOD MAN.

REV. WILLIAM GASKELL. FROM TEMPERANCE RHYMES."

1839.

CALMLY, calmly lay him down!
He hath fought a noble fight;
He hath battled for the right;
He hath won the fadeless crown!

Memories, all too bright for tears,
Crowd around us from the past;
He was faithful to the last,-
Faithful through long toilsome years.

All that makes for human good,

Freedom, righteousness, and truth,--
These, the objects of his youth,
Unto age he still pursued.

Wealth, and pomp, and courtly nod,
Might by others worshipp'd be,
But to Man he bent the knee,

As the deathless child of God.

Meek and gentle was his soul,
Yet it had a glorious might;
Clouded minds it fill'd with light,
Wounded spirits it made whole.

Huts where poor men sat distress'd,
Homes where death had darkly pass'd,

Beds where suffering breathed its last,—
These he sought, and soothed, and bless'd.

Hoping, trusting, lay him down!
Many in the realms above

Look for him with eyes of love,
Wreathing his immortal crown!

YOUTH'S DREAMS.

ROBERT NICOLL, BORN AT TULLIEBELTANE, PERTHSHIRE, JANUARY 7, 1814, DIED 1837, BURIED IN

NEWHAVEN CHURCHYARD.

A PLEASANT thing it is to mind

Of youthfu' thoughts an' things,—

To pu' the fruit that on the tree

Of Memory ripely hings,

To live again the happiest hours
Of happy days gane by,-

To dream again as I ha'e dream'd
When I was herdin' kye!

Thae days I thought that far awa',
Where hill an' sky seem met,
The bounds o' this maist glorious earth
On mountain-tops were set,—
That sun an' moon, an' blinkin' stars,
Shone down frae heaven high
To light earth's garden: sae I dream'd
When I was herdin' kye!

I thought the little burnies ran,
An' sang the while to me!

To glad me, flowers cam' on the earth,
An' leaves upon the tree,

An' heather on the muirland grew,

An' tarns in glens did lie:

Of beauteous things like these I dreain'd When I was herdin' kye!

Sae weel I lo'ed a' things of earth!
The trees-the birds-the flowers-
The sun-

-the moon-the rocks an' glens-
The spring's an' summer's hours!
A wither'd woodland twig would bring
The tears into my eye :-

Laugh on but there are souls of love
In laddies herdin' kye!

Ah! weel I mind how I would muse,

An' think, had I the power,

How happy, happy I would make

Ilk heart the warld owre!
The gift, unendin' happiness-
The joyful giver I!—

So pure an' holy were my dreams
When I was herdin' kye!

A silver stream o' purest love
Ran through my bosom then ;
It yearn'd to bless all human things-
To love all living men !

Yet scornfully the thoughtless fool

Would pass the laddie by:

But, oh! I bless the happy time
When I was herdin' kye!

From thoughts averse to love and peace ;

Go oftener to the cottage door,

Be brothers, let distinction cease.