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The corse,

To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
The pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw

the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance! Rouse, ye Romans! rouse, ye slaves!
Have ye brave sons? Look, in the next fierce brawl,
To see them die! Have ye daughters fair? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonored! and if ye dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash! Yet this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne
Of beauty, ruled the world ! Yet we are Romans!
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman
Was greater than a king !-and once again--
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus !-once again I swear,
The eternal city shall be free! her sons
Shall walk with princes !

THE BLACK REGIMENT. PORT HUDSON, May 27, 1863.

Geo. H. Boker,

DARK as the clouds of even,
Ranked in the western heaven,
Waiting the breath that lifts
All the dread mass, and drifts
Tempest and falling brand
Over a ruined land ;-
So still and orderly,
Arm to arm, knee to knee,
Waiting the great event
Stands the black regiment.

Down the long dusky line
Teeth gleam and eye-balls shine,
And the bright bayonet,
Bristling, and firmly set,
Flashed with a purpose grand,
Long, ere the sharp command

“Now," the flag-sergeant cried, “Though death and hell betide, Let the whole nation see If we are fit to be Free in this land; or bound Down, like the whining hound, Bound with red stripes of pain In our cold chains again!". Oh! what a shout there went l'rom the black regiment !

w Charge !" trump and drum awoks,
Onward the bondmen broke:
Bayonet and sabre stroke
Vainly opposed their rush.
Through the wild battle's crush,
With but one thought aflush,
Driving their lords like chats,
In the guns' mouths they laugh;
Or at the slippery brands
Leaping with open hands,
Down they tear man and horse,
Down in their awful course;
Trampling with bloody heel
Over the crashing steel,
All their eyes forward bent,

Rushed the black regiment. & Freedom !" their battle-cry, * Freedom ! or learn to die

Ah! and they. meant the word,
Not as with us 'tis heard,
Not a mere party shout:
They gave their spirits out;
Trusted the end to God,
And on the

gory

sod Rolled in triumphant blood. Glad to strike one free blow, Whether for weal or woe; Glad to breathe one free breath, Though on the lips of death. Praying-alas ! in vain ! That they might fall again, So they could once more see That burst to liberty ! This was what "freedom" lent To the black regiment. Hundreds on hundreds fell; But they are resting well; Scourges and shackies strong Never shall do them wrong.

O, to the living few,
Soldiers, be just and true!
Hail them as comrades tried ;-
Figlit with them side by side;
Never in field or tent,
Scorn the black regiment.

THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.-- By C. B. Southey.

TREAD softly-how the head;

In reverent silence bow;
No passing bell duih toll,
Yet an immortal soul

Is passing now.
Stranger ! however great,

With lowly reverence bow;
There's one in that poor shed,
One by that paltry bed,

Greater than thou.
Beneath that beggar's roof,

Lo! Death doth keep his state;
Enter--no crowds attend;
Enter--no guards defend

This palace gate.
That pavement, camp and cold,

No smiling courtiers tread;
One silent woman stands,
Listing with meagre hands

A dying head.
No mingling voices sound-

An infant wail alone;
A sob suppressed-again
That short, deer gasp, and then

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ROMBASTIC DESCRIPTION OF A MIDNIGHT MURDER.

'Twas night! the stars were shrouded in a vail of mist; a clouded canopy o'erhung the world; the vivid lightnings flashed and shook their fiery darts upon the earth; the deeptoned thunder rolled along the vaulted sky; the elements were in wild commotion; the storm-spirit howled in the air; the winds whistled ; the hail-stones fell like leaden balls; the huge undulations of the ocean dashed upon the rock-bound shore; and torrents leaped from mountain-tops; when the murderer sprang from his sleepless couch with vengeance on his brow,--murder in his heart, -and the fell instrument of destruction in his band.

The storm increased; the lightnings flashed with brighter glare; the thunder growied with deeper energy; the winds whistled with a wilder fury; the confusion of the hour was congenial to his soul, and the stormy passions which raged in his bosom. He clenched his weapon with a sterner grasp. A demoniac smile gathered on his lip; he grated his teeth; raised his arm; sprang with a yell of triumph upon bis via tim; and relentlessly killed-a MUSQUITO !

1

SHORT POETICAL EXTRACTS.

Oi, man,

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boast not thy “lion heart !"
Tell not of proud heroic deed !
Have we not seen thy vaunted art

Fail in the deepest hour of need ?
But, woman's courage! 'tis more deep,

More strong, than heart of man can feel,-
To save her little ones that sleep,
She bares her bosom to the steel!

S. F. STREETER

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll!

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin; his control

Stops with the shore ; --upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain

A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

BYROX,

0, hark! what mean those yells and cries?

His chain some furious madman breaks! He comes! I see his glaring eyes !

Now, now, my dungeon grate he shakes! Help! help!-he's gone! O, fearful woe,

Such screams to hear, such sights to see! My brain, my brain! I know, I know,

I am not mad—but soon shall be! M. G. LEWIS.

Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!
I hold to you the hands you first beheld,
To show they still are free. Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me,
And bid your tenant welcome to his home.

J. S. KNOWL13.

Hush! 'tis a holy hour! the quiet room

Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance through the gloom,

And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads, With all their clustering locks untouched by care, And bowed as flowers are bowed with night in prayer.

B. BARTON

The auctioneer, then, in his labor began ;
And called out aloud, as he held up a man,
“How much for a bachelor? Who wan's to buy ?
In a twink, every maiden responded, "I-I!"
In short, at a hugely extravagant price,
The bachelors all were sold off in a trice,
And forty old maidens some younger, some older-
Each lugged an old bachelor home on her shoulder.

Oh Men, with Sisters dear!

Oh! Men with Mothers and Wives! It is not linen you're wearing out,

But human creatures' lives!
Stitch-stitch-stitch,

In poverty, hunger and dirt,
Sewing at once, with a double thread,

A shroud as well as a shirt! HOOD.

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