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patriotism, that devoted love of country which his words have commended, which his example has consecrated:

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Loop up her tresses

Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home?

Who was her father?
Who was her mother?
Had she a sister?

Had she a brother?

Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other?

Alas! for the rarity

Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
Oh! it was pitiful!

Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly,

Feelings were changed;
Love, by harsh evidence,

Thrown from its eminence
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.
Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light

From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night.

The bleak winds of March

Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch,

Or the black flowing river:
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery

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THE ripe red berries of the wintergreen
Lure me to pause a while
In this deep, tangled wood.

I stop and lean
Down where these wild flowers smile,

And rest mo in thin 1.

I wonder that the woodbine thrives and grows,
And is indifferent to the nation's woes.
For while these mornings shine, these blossoms bloom,
Impious rebellion wraps the land in gloom.

Nature, thou art unkind,
Unsympathizing, blind!'

Yon lichen, clinging to th' o'erhanging rock,
Is happy, and each blade of grass,
O'er which unconsciously I pass,
Smiles in my face, and seems to mock

Me with its joy. Alas! I cannot find

One charm in bounteous nature, while the wind
That blows upon my cheek bears on each gust
The groans of my poor country, bleeding in the dust.

The air is musical with notes

That gush from winged warblers' throats,

And in the leafy trees

I hear the drowsy hum of bees.

Prone from the blinding sky

Dance rainbow-tinted sunbeams, thick with motes,

Daisies are shining, and the butterfly

Wavers from flower to flower; yet in this wood
The ruthless foeman stood,

And every turf is drenched with human blood.

O heartless flowers!

O trees, clad in your robes of glistering sheen,
Put off this canopy of gorgeous green!

These are the hours

For mourning, not for gladness. While this smart
Of treason dire gashes the Nation's heart,
Let birds refuse to sing,

And flowers to bloom upon the lap of spring.
Let Nature's face itself with tears o'erflow,
In deepest anguish for a people's woe.

While rank rebellion stands

With blood of martyrs on his impious hands;
While slavery, and chains,

And cruelty, and direst hate,

Uplift their heads within th' afflicted state, And freeze the blood in every patriot's veins,Let these old woodlands fair

Grow black with gloom, and from its thunder-lair
Let lightning leap, and scorch th' accursed air,
Until the suffering carth,

Of treason sick, shall spew the monster forth,
And each regenerate sod

Be consecrate anew to Freedom and to God!

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O. W. Holmes.

A DISTRICT School, not far away,
'Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day,
Was humming with its wonted noise'
Of three-score mingled girls and boys;
Some few upon their tasks intent,
But more on furtive mischief bent.
The while the master's downward look
Was fastened on a copy-book:
When suddenly, behind his back,
Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack!
As 'twere a battery of bliss

Let off in one tremendous kiss!
"What's that?" the startled master cries;
"That, thir," a little imp replies,
"Wath William Willith, if you pleathe-
I thaw him kith Thuthanna Peathe!"
With frown to make a statue thrill,
The master thundered, "Hither, Will!"
Like wretch o'ertaken in his track,
With stolen chattels on his back,

Will hung his head in fear and shame,
And to the awful presence came-
A great, green, bashful simpleton,
The butt of all good-natured fun.
With smile suppressed, and birch upraised,
The threatener faltered-"I'm amazed
That you, my biggest pupil, should
Be guilty of an act so rude!

Before the whole set school to boot-
What evil genius put you to't?"
"Twas she, herself, sir," sobbed the lad,
"I did not mean to be so bad;

But when Susannah shook her curls,
And whispered, I was 'fraid of girls,
And dursn't kiss a baby's doll,

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