TO ENGLAND.

EAR and Cordelia! 'twas an ancient tale

Before thy Shakespeare gave it deathless fame:
The times have changed, the moral is the same.
So like an outcast, dowerless, and pale,
Thy daughter went; and in a foreign gale

Spread her young banner, till its sway became
A wonder to the nations. Days of shame
Are close upon thee: prophets raise their wail.
When the rude Cossack with an outstretched hand
Points his long spear across the narrow sea,
"Lo! there is England!" when thy destiny

Storms on thy straw-crowned head, and thou dost stand
Weak, helpless, mad, a by-word in the land,-
God grant thy daughter a Cordelia be!

TO AMERICA.

"HAT, cringe to Europe! Band it all in one,

WHAT

Stilt its decrepit strength, renew its age,
Wipe out its debts, contract a loan to wage
Its venal battles-and, by yon bright sun,

Our God is false, and liberty undone,

If slaves have power to win your heritage!

Look on your country, God's appointed stage,

Where man's vast mind its boundless course shall run:

For that it was your stormy coast He spread-

A fear in winter; girded you about

With granite hills, and made you strong and dread.

Let him who fears before the foemen shout,

Or gives an inch before a vein has bled,

Turn on himself, and let the traitor out!

HERE was a gay maiden lived down by the mill

THER

Ferry me over the ferry

Her hair was as bright as the waves of a rill,

When the sun on the brink of his setting stands still,

Her lips were as full as a cherry.

A stranger came galloping over the hill

Ferry me over the ferry

He gave her broad silver and gold for his will:
She glanced at the stranger, she glanced o'er the sill;
The maiden was gentle and merry.

"O! what would you give for your virtue again ? ”—

Ferry me over the ferry

"O! silver and gold on your lordship I'd rain, I'd double your pleasure, I'd double my pain, This moment forever to bury."

"Freedom!" their battle-cry,— "Freedom! or leave 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 shackles strong
Never shall do them wrong.
O, to the living few,
Soldiers, be just and true!
Hail them as comrades tried;
Fight with them side by side;

Never, in field or tent

Scorn the black regiment.