The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think; From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink, To the life we are clinging they also would cling; They loved, but the story we cannot unfold; They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come; They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb. They died, aye! they died; and we things that are now, Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, And the smiles and the tears, the song and the dirge; "Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath; From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroudOh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? BRIDGE OF SIGHS. (HOOD.) One more Unfortunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care;- Look at her garments, Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully Now, is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Rash and undutiful; Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's familyWipe those poor lips of hers, Oozing so clammily; Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Take her up tenderly, Smooth and compose them; Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity, Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Burning insanity, Into her rest, Cross her hands humbly, Owning her weakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour! SCOTT AND THE VETERAN. (BAYARD TAYLor.) An old and crippled veteran to the War Department came, He sought the Chief who led him, on many a field of fame The Chief who shouted "Forward!" where'er his ban ner rose, And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes. "Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried, "The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your side? Have you forgotten Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane? 'Tis true, I'm old and pensioned, but I want to fight again." "Have I forgotten?" said the Chief: "My brave old soldier, no! And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so; But you have done your share, my friend; you're crippled, old, and gray, And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day." "But General," cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, "The very men who fought with us, they say are traitors now: They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old red, white, and blue, And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is true. "I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good old gun, To get the range of traitors' hearts, and pick them, one by one. Your Minie rifles and such arms, it ain't worth while to try; I couldn't get the hang o' them, but I'll keep my pow der dry!" "God bless you, comrade!" said the Chief,-“ God bless your loyal heart! But younger men are in the field, and claim to have a part; |