TO MONTAGUE, At Thirry-three. O, No, I'll not forget the day,- A sparkling cup, an honest lay, Sacred to friendship's soothing power. 'Tis not all ice, this heart of mine, How often sung, and yet how sweet Ere in the world our hearts grew cold! Fond memory wakes! each pulse beats high; Like some sweet tale past joys come o'er : The years of ruin backward fly, And I am young and gay once more. Friend of my soul, in this poor verse O, if, from time's wide-yawning grave, "Twould be the line that tells of thee. Though to the busy world unknown Each noble act that shrinks from fame, Goodness its favorite son shall own, And orphan lips shall bless his name. Thou'rt the small stream that silent goes, Yet, all unnoticed though it flows, Its banks are clothed in living green. We met in that bright, sunny time, Though oft of valued friends bereft, To cheer my journey to the tomb. And now, the dear ones of our race Have come to live our pleasures o'er ; A lovely troop, to fill our place, And weep for us when we're no more. Ever, O ever may they keep The holy chain of friendship bright, Till, rich in all that's good, they sleep With us through death's long, dreamless night. ORATIONS. AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. An Oration pronounced before the Inhabitants of Boston, July 4, 1825. WHY, on THIS day, lingers along these sacred walls the spirit-kindling anthem? Why, on THIS day, waits the herald of God at the altar, to utter forth his holy prayer? Why, on THIS day, congregate here the Wise, and the Good, and the Beautiful of the land? - Fathers! Friends! it is the SABBATH DAY OF FREEDOM! The race of the ransomed, with grateful hearts and exulting voices, have again come up, in the sunlight of peace, to the Jubilee of their Independence! The story of our country's sufferings, our country's triumphs, though often and eloquently told, is still a story that cannot tire, and must not be forgotten. You will listen to its recital, however unadorned; and I shall not fear, therefore, even from the place where your chosen ones have so long stood to delight and enlighten, I shall not fear to address you. Though I tell you no new thing, I speak of that which can never fall coldly on your ears. You will listen, for you are the sons and daughters of the heroic men who lighted the beacon of 'rebellion,' and unfurled, by its blaze, the triumphant banner of liberty; your own blood will speak for me. A feeble few of that intrepid band are now among you, yet spared by the grave for your veneration; they will speak for me. Their sinking forms, their bleached locks, their honorable scars;· these will, indeed, speak for me. Undaunted men! how must their dim eyes brighten and their old hearts grow young with rapture, as they look round on the happiness of their own creation! Long may they remain, our glad and grateful gaze, to teach us all, that we may treasure all, of the hour of doubt and danger; and when their God shall summon them to a glorious rest, may they bear to their departed comrades the confirmation of their country's renown and their children's felicity! We meet to indulge in pleasing reminiscences. happy household, we have come round the table of memory to banquet on the good deeds of others, and to grow good ourselves, by that on which we feed. Our hope for remembrance, our desire to remember friends and benefactors, are among the warmest and purest sentiments of our nature. To the former we cling stronger, as life itself grows weaker. We know that we shall forget, but the thought of being forgotten, is the |