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I did not mean it should be so,
And yet I might have known
Can never keep their own.
And, do whate'er I may,
And sadder every day.
And when I try to rest,
Is pillowed on my breast;
And sleeping men around,
And dream upon the ground.
My mates in other years,
Till I am choked with tears.
On glory's shining track,
How few of them come back !
One sleeps beside the Tennessee,
And one beside the James,
And perished in its flames.
Are breathing out their life ;
Have left the deadly strife.
Of all the boys have done And suffered in this weary war!
Brave heroes, every one!
I hear their voices call:
That we should bear it all?”
My thoughts are never free,
And die for you and me.
It seems almost a sin
I will not help to win.
O, do not cling to me and cry,
For it will break my heart;
Than not to bear my part.
To care for those away;
If I should go or stay.
And all are loved again;
No more than other men.
Which way my duty lies,
My fire of sacrifice.
And though I seem to boast,
To those who need it most.
That which is fair and right;
And pray to Heaven for light.
Peace in the clover-scented air,
And stars within the dome;
A plain New England home.
From whom all joy is flown,
And weeps and prays alone!
THE CLOSING YEAR.-By George D. Prentice. "Tis midnight's holy hour,--and silence now Is brooding like a gentle spirit o'er The still and pulseless world. Hark! on the winds The bell's deep tones are swelling,-'tis the knell of the departed year. No funeral train Is sweeping past ; yet, on the stream and wood, With melancholy light, the moon-beanis rest Like a pale, spotless shroud; the air is stirred As by a mouruer's sigh; and on yon cloud
That Noats so still and placidly throug!ı lieaven,
'Tis a time
Has gone, and, with it, many a glorious throng
It passed o'er
His rushing pinions.
Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave
his mountain crag,--but Time knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, And night's deep darkness has no chain to bind
Revolutions sweep O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast Of dreaming sorrow,-cities rise and sink Like bubbles on the water,-fiery isles Spring blazing from the Ocean, and go back To their mysterious caverns,-- Mountains rear To heaven iheir bald and blackened cliffs, and bow Their tall heads to the plain,-new Empires rise, Gathering the strength of hoary centuries, And rush down like the Alpine avalanche, Startling the nations, -and the very stars, Yon bright and burning blazonry of God, Glitter a while in their eternal depths, And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train, Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away To darkle in the trackless void,- Yet, Tin.e, Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, Dark, stern, all-pitiless, and pauses not Amid the mighty vrecks that strew inis path, To sit and mice, like other conquerors Upon the fearíul ruin he has wrought.
SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSE.
very presence of the regal sun!
, then! I loved Its very storms. Ay, often have I sat my
boat at night, when midway o'er the lake, The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge The wind came roaring, I have sat and eyed The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, And think I had no master sa e his own.
The honey-bee that wanders all day long
The field, the woodland, and the garden o'er,
To gather in his fragrant winter store, Humming in calm content his quiet song, Sucks not alone the rose's glowing breast,
The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips,
But from all rank and noisome weeds he sips The single drop of sweetness ever pressed Within the poison chalice. Thus, if we
Seek only to draw forth the hidden sweet
In all the varied human flowers we meet,
SEEING AND NOT SEEING.-C. T. Brooks.
Trees, meadows, mountains, groves, and streams!
HAMLET TO HIS MOTIDER.
:-Shakspeure. Look here, upon this picture, and on this; The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See what a grace was seated on this brow:Ilyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury, New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; A combination, and a form, indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man. This was your husband.--Look you, now, what follows: Here is vour husband: like a mildewder.