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THE LIGHT OF HOME.

XIV. THE LIGHT OF HOME.

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"THE heart has memories that never die. They are memories of home early home. There is a magic in the very sound. There is the old tree under which the light-hearted boy swung many a day; yonder the river in which he learned to swim: there the house in which he knew a parent's protection; nay, there is the room in which he romped with brother and sister, long since, alas! laid in the grave in which he must soon be gathered, over-shadowed by yon old church, whither, with a joyous troop like himself, he has often followed his parents to worship with, and hear the good old man who ministered at the altar. * * * * There are certain feelings of humanity, and those too, among the best, that can find an appropriate place for their exercise only by one's own fireside."-Dr. Hawkes.

My boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair,
And thy spirit will sigh to roam;

And thou must go; but never, when there,
Forget the light of home.

Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright,
It dazzles to lead astray:

Like the meteor's flash, 'twill deepen the night

When thou treadest the lonely way.

But the hearth of home has a constant flame,
And pure as vestal fire:

"Twill burn, 'twill burn, for ever the same,
For nature feeds the pyre.

The sea of ambition is tempest-tost,

And thy hopes may vanish like foam;

But when sails are shiver'd, and rudder lost,
Then look to the light of home ;-

And then, like a star through the midnight cloud,
Thou shalt see the beacon bright!

For never, till shining on thy shroud,
Can be quench'd its holy light.

The sun of fame, 'twill gild the name;
But the heart ne'er felt its ray;

And fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim,
Are but the beams of a wintry day.

And how cold and dim those beams must be,
Should life's wretched wanderer come!
But, my boy, when the world is dark to thee,
Then turn to the light of home.

SARAH Q. HALE

XV. THE HAPPIEST LAND.

FRAGMENT OF a Modern Ballad from THE GERMAN. WHENCE does this love of our country, this universal passion, proceed? Why does the eye ever dwell with fondness upon the scenes of infant life? Why do we breathe with greater joy the breath of our youth? Why are not other soils as grateful, and other heavens as gay? Why does the soul of man ever cling to that earth where it first knew pleasure and pain, and, under the rough discipline of the passions, was roused to the dignity of moral life? Is it only that our country contains our kindred and our friends? And is it nothing but a name for our social affections? It cannot be this; the most friendless of human beings has a country which he admires and extols, and which he would, in the same circumstances, prefer to all others under heaven. Tempt him with the fairest face of nature, place him by living waters under shadowy trees of Lebanon, open to his view all the gorgeous allurements of the climates of the sun, he will love the rocks and deserts of his childhood better than all these, and thou canst not bribe his soul to forget the land of his nativity; he will sit down and weep by the waters of Babylon when he remembers thee, oh Sion !Rev. Sydney Smith.

THERE sat one day in quiet,

By an alehouse on the Rhine,
Four hale and hearty fellows,
And drank the precious wine.

The landlord's daughter fill'd their cups,
Around the rustic board;
Then sat they all so calm and still,
And spake not one rude word.

But when the maid departed,

A Swabian raised his hand,
And cried, all hot and flushed with wine,
"Long live the Swabian land!
"The greatest kingdom upon earth
Cannot with that compare;
With all the stout and hardy men,
And the nut-brown maidens there."
"Ha!" cried a Saxon, laughing,—
And dashed his beard with wine,-
"I had rather live in Lapland,

Than that Swabian land of thine!
"The goodliest land on all this earth,
It is the Saxon land!

There have I as many maidens
As fingers on this hand!"

ENGLANDS HEART.

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"Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon ""

A bold Bohemian cries;

"If there's a heaven upon this earth,

In Bohemia it lies.

"There the tailor blows the flute,
And the cobbler blows the horn,
And the miner blows the bugle,
Over mountain gorge and bourn."
And then the landlord's daughter
Up to heaven raised her hand,

And said, "Ye may no more contend,-
There lies the happiest land!"

LONGFELLOW.

XVI. ENGLAND'S HEART.

"THE great distinction of a country, is, that it produces superior men. Its natural advantages are not to be disdained. But they are of secondary importance. No matter what races of animals a country breeds. The great question is, does it breed a noble race of men? No matter what its soil may be. The great question is, how far is it prolific of moral and intellectual power? No matter how stern its climate is, if it nourish force of thought and virtuous purpose. These are the products by which a country is to be tried, and institutions have value only by the impulse which they give to the mind. It has sometimes been said, that the noblest men grow where nothing else will grow. This we do not believe, for mind is not the creature of climate or soil. But were it true, we should say, that it were better to live among rocks and sands, than in the most genial and productive region on the face of the earth."- Channing.

ENGLAND'S heart! Oh never fear

The sturdy good old stock;

Nothing's false or hollow here,
But solid as a rock:

England's heart is sound enough,

And safe in its old place,

Honest, loyal, blithe, and bluff,

And open as her face!

England's heart! With beating nerves

It rallies for the throne,

And, like Luther, well preserves

The knee for God alone!

England's heart is sound enough,
Unshaken and serene,

Like her oak-trees, true and tough,
And old, but glad and green!

England's heart! All Europe hurl'd
To ruin, strife, and death,

Sees yet one Zoar in all the world
The Goshen of the earth!

England's heart is sound enough,-
And though the skies be dark,

Though winds be loud, and waves be rough--
Safe as Noah's ark!

England's heart,—ay God be praised,
That thus, in patriot pride,

An English cheer can yet be raised
Above the stormy tide:

Safe enough and sound enough,
It thrills the heart to feel

A man's a bit of English stuff,

True from head to heel!

TUPPER'S Ballads and Poems.

XVII. THE TRIUMPHS OF OUR LANGUAGE.

"I CANNOT forbear to remark, that however toilsome in general, and however unproductive in part, may be the labours endured in the collection and arrangement of the materials for an English Dictionary, the author of it has it in his power, at the present æra, to congratulate himself upon the enjoyment of a prospect, much more rich and spacious than could fall to the lot of the compiler of a similar work in any language of the European Continent :—

The world is all before him.'

And, perhaps, no subject of philosophic contemplation, possessing a livelier interest, can be proposed to a thoughtful and enlightened mind, than a comparison of the field of renown, which even 240 years ago was sketched by the graphic powers of a very humble poet of our own country, with that over which the more lofty genius of the Roman lyric bard extended its survey. When the former imagined himself soaring on wing, non usitata, nec tenui,' he prescribes the shores of the Bosphorus, the Syrtes of Getulia, and the Hyperborean plains, to be the utmost confines of his flight; he was content that the Colchian and the Dacian should become familiar with his name, and that the peritus Iber, Rhodanique potor,' should rehearse his song. Our poet, Daniel, animated probably by the spirit of discovery and

THE TRIUMPHS OF OUR LANGUAGE.

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general enterprize, for which the princes of the house of Tudor, and the illustrious men who adorned that period of our history, are so distinguished, depictures to his fancy far more ample and resplendent scenes of glory: not, indeed, in personal exultation for the offspring of his own muse especially, but in patriotic pride for the language in which he wrote.

"These scenes are no longer imaginary: The treasures of our tongue' are spread over continents, scattered among islands in the Northern and the Southern Hemisphere, from the unformed occident, to the strange shores of unknowing nations in the East.' The sun, indeed, now never sets upon the empire of Great Britain. Not one hour of the twenty-four, in which the earth completes her diurnal revolution; not one round of the minute-hand of the dial is allowed to pass in which, on some portion of the surface of the globe, the air is not filled with accents that are ours.' They are heard in the ordinary transactions of life; or in the administration of law, or in the deliberations of the senate-house or council-chamber; in the offices of private devotion, or in the public observance of the rites and duties of a common faith."—Richardson, conclusion of Preface to "English Dictionary."

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Now gather all our Saxon bards,
Let harps and hearts be strung,
To celebrate the triumphs of

Our own good Saxon tongue;
For stronger far than hosts that march
With battle-flags unfurled,

It goes with FREEDOM, THOUGHT, and TRUTH,
To rouse and rule the world.

Stout Albion learns its household lays

On every surf-worn shore,

And Scotland hears its echoing far

As Orkney's breakers roar

From Jura's crags and Mona's hills
It floats on every gale,

And warms with eloquence and song
The homes of Innisfail.

On many a wide and swarming deck,
It scales the rough wave's crest,
Seeking its peerless heritage-

The fresh and fruitful West:
It climbs New England's rocky steeps,
As victor mounts a throne;

Niagara knows and greets the voice
Still mightier than its own.

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