Thy cry is weak and scared, As if thy mates had shared The doom of us. Thy wail

What does it bring to me?

III.

Thou call'st along the sand, and haunt'st the surge, Restless and sad; as if, in strange accord

With the motion and the roar

Of waves that drive to shore,

One spirit did ye urge—

The Mystery-the Word.

IV.

Of thousands thou both sepulchre and pall,
Old Ocean, art! A requiem o'er the dead
From out thy gloomy cells

A tale of mourning tells—
Tells of man's woe and fall,

His sinless glory fled.

V.

Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight

Where the complaining Sea shall sadness bring Thy spirit never more.

Come, quit with me the shore

For gladness, and the light
Where birds of summer sing.

4*

Francis Scott Key.

THE STAR SPANGLED

BANNER.

OH! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last

gleaming;

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly stream.

ing?

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 the 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, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam;
Its 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 is the band who so vauntingly swore,

'Mid the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,

A home and a country they'd leave us no more?
Their blood hath washed out their foul footsteps' pollu-

tion;

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 our loved home and the war's desolation;
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, for 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!

John Howard Payne.

SWEET HOME.

ID pleasures and palaces though we may roam,

MID

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!

A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,

Which seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home! home, sweet home!

There's no place like home!

An exile from home, splendour dazzles in vain—
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again;

The birds singing gayly, that come at my

call:

Give me these, and the peace of mind, dearer than all.

Home! sweet, sweet home!

There's no place like home!

James A. Hillhouse.

THE LAST EVENING BEFORE ETERNITY.

Y this, the sun his westering car drove low;

BY

Round his broad wheels full many a lucid cloud
Floated, like happy isles in seas of gold;

Along the horizon castled shapes were piled,
Turrets and towers, whose fronts embattled gleamed
With yellow light: smit by the slanting ray,
A ruddy beam the canopy reflected;
With deeper light the ruby blushed; and thick
Upon the seraphs' wings the glowing spots
Seemed drops of fire. Uncoiling from its staff,
With fainter wave, the gorgeous ensign hung,
Or, swelling with the swelling breeze, by fits
Cast off, upon the dewy air, huge flakes
Of golden lustre. Over all the hill,
The heavenly legions, the assembled world,
Evening her crimson tint forever drew.

Round I gazed

Where, in the purple west, no more to dawn,
Faded the glories of the dying day.
Mild-twinkling through a crimson-skirted cloud,
The solitary star of evening shone.
While gazing wistful on that peerless light,
Thereafter to be seen no more (as oft

In dreams strange images will mix), sad thoughts

Passed o'er my soul. Sorrowing I cried, “Farewell,

Pale, beauteous planet, that display'st so soft,
Amid yon glowing streak, thy transient beam—

1

A long, a last farewell! Seasons have changed,
Ages and empires rolled, like smoke, away;
But thou, unaltered, beam'st as silver fair
As on thy birthnight. Bright and watchful eyes
From palaces and bowers, have hailed thy gem
With secret transport! Natal star of love,
And souls that love the shadowy hour of fancy,
How much I owe thee, how I bless thy ray'
How oft thy rising o'er the hamlet green,
Signal of rest, and social converse sweet,
Beneath some patriarchal tree, has cheered
The peasant's heart, and drawn his benison!
Pride of the West! beneath thy placid light
The tender tale shall never more be told-
Man's soul shall never wake to joy again:
Thou set'st forever-lovely orb, farewell!"

Alexander H. Everett.

THE YOUNG AMERICAN.

SCION of a mighty stock!

Hands of iron-hearts of oak

Follow with unflinching tread

Where the noble fathers led.

Craft and subtle treachery,

Gallant youth! are not for thee:
Follow thou in word and deeds

Where the God within thee leads.