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Come in her crowning lour, -and then
Thy sunken eye's unearthly light,
To him is welcome as the sight

Of sky and stars to prison'd men;
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand
Of brother in a foreign land;
Thy summons welcome as the cry
That told the Indian isles were nigh

To the world-secking Genoese,
When the land-wind, from woods of palm,
And orange-groves, and fields of balm,

Blew o'er the Haytien seas.

Bozzaris! with the storied brave

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee: there is no prouder grave,

Even in her own proud clime. She wore no funeral weeds for thee,

Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, In sorrow's pomp and pageantry,

The heartless luxury of the tomb); But she remembers thee as one Long loved, and for a season gone; For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, Her marble wrought, her music breathed; For thee she rings the birthday bells; Of thee her babes' first lisping tells; For thine her evening prayer is said, At palace conch and cottage bed; Uer soldier, closing with the foe, Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow; His plighted maiden, when she fears For him, the joy of her young years, Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears;

And she, the mother of thy boys, Though in her eye and faded cheek Is read the grief she vill not speak,

The memory oi' her buried joys, And even she who gave thee birth, Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth,


To the quiet nooks of home,

To the public halls so wide,
The women, all loyal, hurrying come,

And sit down side by side,
To fight for their native land,

With womanly weapons girt,
For dagger a needle, scissors for brand,

While they sing the song of the shirt.

O women with sons so dear,

O tender, loving wives,
It is not money you work for now,

But the saving of precious lives. 'Tis roused for the battle we feel

O for a thousand experts, Armed with tiny darts of steel,

To conquer iliousands of shirts !


Under the sheltering roof, Come to the rescue, poor and rich,

Nor stay from the work aloof; To the men who are shedding their blood,

To the brave, devoted band, Whose action is honor, whose cause is good,

We pledge our strong right hand.


With earnest heart and soul-

To keep the Union whole.
And 'tis O for the land of the brave,

Where treason and cowardice lurk,
Where there's all to lose or all to save,

That we're doing this Christian work.

Brothers are fighting abroad,

Sisters will help them ere Ilusbands and wives with one accord

Serving the cause so dear. Stand by our colors to-day

Keep to the Union trueUnder our flag while yet we may

Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue.



ONE summer morning a daring band
Of rebels rode into Maryland,

Over the prosperous peaceful farms,
Sending terror and strange alarms,

The clatter of hoofs and the clang of arms.
Fresh from the South, where the hungry pine,
They ate like Pharaoh's starving kine;

They swept the land like devouring surge,
And left their path, to its farthest verge,

Bare as the track of the locust-scourge “The rebels are coming," far and near Rang the tidings of dread and fear;

Some paled, and cowered, and sought to hide;
Some stood erect in their fearless pride ;

And women shuddered, and children cried.
But others-vipers in human form,
Stinging the bosom that kept them warm-

Welcomed with triumph the thievish band,
Hurried to offer the friendly hand,

As the rebels rode into Maryland, -
Made them merry with food and wine,
Clay them in garments rich and fine, -

For rags and hunger to make amends, -
Flattered them, praised them with selfish ends.
'Leave us scathless, for we are friends !"
Could traitors trust a traitor ? No!
Little they favored friend or foe,

But gathered the cattle the farms across,
Flinging back, with a scornful toss--
“If ye are friends, ye can bear the loss !"
Flushed with triumph, and wine, and prey,
They neared the dwelling of Ishmael Day,

A sturdy veteran, gray and old,
With heart of a patriot, firm and bold,

Strong and steadfast-unbribed, unsold.
And Ishmael Day, his brave head bare,
His white locks tossed by the morning air,

Fearless of danger, or death, or scars,
Went out to raise, by the farm-yard bars,

The dear old flag of the Stripes and Stars.
Proudly, steadily, up it flew,
Gorgeous with crimson, and white, and blue:

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His withered hand, as he shook it freer,
May have trembled, but not with fear,

While, shouting, the rebels drew more near.
“Halt!” They had seen the hated sign
Floating free from old Isbmael's line-
Lower that rag!” was their wrathful cry.
“Never!" rung Isłımael Day's reply ;
“Fire, if it please you-I can but die!"
One, with a loud, defiant laugh,
Left his comrades, and neared the staff.
“Down !"--came the fearless patriot's cry--
“Dare to lower that fag, and die!

One njust bleed for it-you or I!"
But caring not for the stern command,
He drew the halliards with daring hand;

Ping! went the rifle-ball-down he came
Under the flag he had tried to shame

Old Ishmael Day took careful aim !
Seventy winters and three had shed
Their snowy glories on Ishmael's head;

But though cheeks may wither, and locks grow gray,
His fame shall be fresh, and young alway-
Honor be lo old Ishmael Day !


(T happened once that a young Yorkshire clown, but newly come to far-famed London town, was gaping round at many a Wondrous sight, grinning at all he saw, with vast delight; attended by his terrier Tyke, who was as sharp as sharp may be: and thus the master and the dog, d'ye see, were very much alike.

After wandering far and wide, and seeing every street and square,--the parks, the plays, the Queen, and the Lord Mayor, with all in which your “Cockneys" place their pride ;-and, being quizzed by many a city spark for coat of country cut and red-haired pate, he came at length to noisy Billingsgate. He saw the busy scene with mute surprise, opening his ears and wondering eyes at the loud clamor, une the monstrous fish, hereafter doomed to grace full my a dish.

Close by him was a turbot on a stall, which, with stretched mouth, as if to pant for breath, seemed in the agonies of death.' Said Lubin, “What name, zur, d'ye that, bish cabi?

* A turbot," answered the sarcastic elf; “a flat, you sce-50 something like yourself.” “D'ye think," said Lubin, "that lie'll bite?!! Why, said the fishman, with a roguish grin, “his mouth is open; put your finger'in ard then you'll know. 'Why, zur,'' replied the wight, “I shouldn't like to try; but there's my Tyke shall put his tail there, an' you like. Agreed,'' rejoined the man, and laughed delight.

Within the turbot's teeth was placed the tail, and the fish bit with all its might. The dog no sooner felt the bite, than off he ran, the dangling turbot holding tight.' The astonished man began most furiously to bawl and rail; but, after numerous escapes and dodgings, Tyke sately got to Master Lubin's lodyings. Thither the fishimonger in anger flew. Says Lubin,

Lwon tricks on me won't do! I ze come froin York to queer such tlats as you; and Tyke, my dog, is Yorkshire, too!” Then, laughing at the man, who sneaked away, he had the aslı for dinner that same day.

RIENZI'S ADDRESS.-By 11. R. Mitford

FRIENDS: I come not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom ;--we are slaves!
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beam
Falls on a slave !--not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory and undying fame;
But base, ignoble slaves-slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords,
Rich in some dozen paltry villages-
Strong in some hundred spearsmen-only great
In that strange spell, a name! Each hour, dark fraan,
Or open rapine, or protected murder,
Cries out against them. But this very day,
An honest man, my neighbor-there he stands-
Was struck-struck like a dog, by one who wore
The badge of Crsini! because, fürscoth,
lle tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruflian! Be we inen,
And suler such dishonor? Men, and wash not
The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common.
I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to you—
I had a brother once,-a gracious boy,
Full of all contieness, of calmest hope,
Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give

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