Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Land of the south!-imperial land!
Then here's a health to thee!-
Long as thy mountain barriers stand,
Mayst thou be blest and free!-
May dark dissension's banner ne'er
Wave o'er thy fertile loam,-

But should it come, there's one will die
To save his native home!

MY PRAYER FOR THEE, DEAREST.

BY OLIVER WENDELL WITHINGTON.

My prayer for thee, dearest, is not that thy way
May be sunny and bright as a calm summer day,
That no shadows may darken thy morning's blue sky,
No grief cloud thy spirit, no tear-drop thine eye;—
That the pleasures of earth, with her gayest of flowers,
May be strewed at thy footsteps to gladden life's hours,
And thy days, without sorrow or trial, may seem
Like the cherished remembrance of some hallowed
dream.

It vere vain. We may slumber in hope's chain secure,
Bu. her fabric is transient, and may not endure;
The visions most worshipped in morning's pure light,
We are destined to weep o'er in silence at night.

And yet, when I bend to that Being on high,
Whose throne is the Heaven-who illumines the sky,
Thou still art remembered, beloved, and there

Thy name ever breathed in the stillness of prayer:

That thy soul may be turned from the vain things of earth,

Thy young heart be changed by a holier birth,
That his spirit within its recesses may come,
And meet in thy spirit a calm, perfect home.
And when thy glad eye shall wax languid and dim,
May thy thoughts turn to heaven, thy spirit to him;
And when death's bitter draught thou art destined to

sip,

May his peace be around thee, his name on thy lip.

THE FIRST LOVE.

BY FREDERICK WEST.

THE first love! The first love!
There's nothing like the first love-
Other throes

The bosom knows,

But nothing like the first love.

The heart may smile

In bliss awhile

Where eyes are brightly beaming;
As when the sun

Its course has run,

We love the stars' soft gleaming:
But the first love! the first love!
There's nothing like the first love.
Other throes

The bosom knows,

But nothing like the first love.

Yes, mem'ry still

Our hearts will fill

With the sweet hope that's perishedAnd lesser light

Will sink in night

By that first fondly cherished

As even in death

The rose's breath

Outlives its sad decay;

So memory still

Our hearts will fill

With incense passed away.
O the first love! the first love!
There's nothing like the first love-
Other throes

The bosom knows,

But nothing like the first love.

THE YANKEE GIRLS.

BY MICAH HAWKINS.

HISTORIANS, poets, painters, all,
Yes, all mankind, since Adam's fall,
Have toasted with a vivid glare

The glowing charms of ancient fair,

But I am one of those blind-sided churls

Who think none so pretty as the Yankee girls.

Their unassuming mien imparts

The spotless essence of their hearts;
Their youthful chasteness, title page
The volumes of unsullied age,
While peace and war alike unfurls
The virtues of the Yankee girls.

The Yankee girls! oh what a charm!

"Twas that which nerved Columbia's arm!

Which arm in spite of tyranny

Declared this soil forever free;

Then while our standard round us furls,

The watchword be, the Yankee girls!

SHADOWS.

BY H. HASTINGS WELD.

"What shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue.'
"

SKIRTING with gold Heaven's tranquil blue,
Aurora opes the smiling dawn:
Through drapery of resplendent hue,

Hope breaks the sun of manhood's morn.
As pale the stars before the day,

Melting to nothing in its eye,

So fade in young hope's glowing ray,

The stars that gemmed the infant's sky.
Long, pleasant shadows throws the morning sun-
Hope too, foreshadows large, the good unwon.

The sun has risen above the wave

It looks down on the mountain's brow-
The shadow that the morning gave
In measure vast-where is it now?
So shrinks hope's promise-still is man
Panting in his meridian day-

The phantoms with which morn began

In hope's bright dawning-where are they; Noon breaks the word of promise made to morn: Hope of its gaudy dawn-dreams all, is shorn.

[ocr errors]
« AnteriorContinuar »