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Around this ancient festal board
Glad spirits met of yore,
Their laugh will ring no more:
May their quiet graves be found,
The bowl our fathers drained
By the mist of Age is stained.
IF THAT BRIGHT FAITH.
BY ALFRED B. STREET.
IF that bright faith, whose holy beam
The future's darkness turns to day,
Returning reason sweeps away-
Oh, who survive the loss of bliss ?
And toil on through a world like this?
Brow-furrowing care, heart-breaking grief,
The bitter tears that anguish showersOh, where from these is found relief
Oh, where, if that dark creed be ours? Better at once to end our pain,
In the hushed grave our sorrows cast, Than drag along life's galling chain,
And have no goal to reach at last.
But if that faith which heavenward glows
Sheds in my heart its light sincere,
I care not for my sorrows here.
'Twill soon from every pang be free; Though chained by mortal here, on high 'Twill dwell in immortality.'
MINSTREL, SING THAT SONG AGAIN.
BY C. W. EVEREST.
MINSTREL, sing that song again,
Plaintive in its solemn flow;
Loved and cherished long ago:
Lo! the past, the mystic past,
Rises through the vista dimJust as twilight's shades are cast
At the day's departing hymn!
Minstrel, 'twas an eve like this:
Stars were spangling all the sky: Every zephyr spoke of bliss
Floating in its fragrance by; Then, within our moon-lit bower,
One, with voice like music's own, Sweetly charmed the lingering hour,
To the soft lute's silvery tone!
As the witching cadence fell
Wild within our bower of love, Angel bands might prove the spell,
Bending from the courts above! Minstrel, chant once more the air,
Soft as spring's departing breath: She who sang its numbers there
Slumbers as the bride of Death!
Minstrel, chide thou not my tears
Thou hast waked a mournful theme; Memory roves the slumbering years,
Like some dear, forgotten dream: Day will come, with joy and gladness
Cares once more will fling their blight; Chide not, then, my spirit's sadnessMinstrel, let me weep to-night!
THE WARRIOR'S DIRGE.
BY CAROLINE M. SAWYER.
WARRIOR, rest! thy toils are ended
Life's last fearful strife is o'er; Clarion-calls, with death-notes blended,
Shall disturb thine ear no more! Peaceful is thy dreamless slumber
Peaceful_but how cold and stern! Thou hast joined that silent number
In the land whence none return !
Warrior, rest! thy banner o'er thee
Hangs in many a drooping foldMany a manly cheek before thee
Stained with tear-drops we behold! Thine was not a hand to falter
When thy sword should leave its sheath; Thine was not a cheek to alter,
Though thy duty led to death!
Warrior, rest! a dirge is knelling
Solemnly from shore to shore : "Tis a nation's tribute, telling
That a patriot is no more! Thou where Freedom's sons have striven,
Firm and bold, didst foremost stand ! Freely was thy life-blood given
For thy home and father-land!