To catch the thrill of a happy voice, I have walked the world for fourscore years ; And my heart is ripe for the reaper, Death, It is very true; it is very true; I'm old, and "I 'bide my time;" But my heart will leap at a scene like this, Play on, play on; I am with you there, I am willing to die when my time shall come, For the world, at best, is a weary place, But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail In treading its gloomy way; And it wiles my heart from its dreariness, Fall of Tecumseh.-NEW YORK STATESMAN. WHAT heavy-hoofed coursers the wilderness roam, To the war-blast indignantly tramping? Their mouths are all white, as if frosted with foam, The steel bit impatiently champing. 'Tis the hand of the mighty that grasps the rein, Ah' see them rush forward, with wild disdain, From the mountains had echoed the charge of death, The savage was heard, with untrembling breath, One moment, and nought but the bugle was heard, The next, and the sky seemed convulsively stirred, As if by the lightning riven. The din of the steed, and the sabred stroke, Were screened by the curling sulphur-smoke, In the mist that hung over the field of blood, That steed reeled, and fell, in the van of the fight, The moment was fearful; a mightier foe Had ne'er swung the battle-axe o'er him; But hope nerved his arm for a desperate blow, And Tecumseh fell prostrate before him. O ne'er may the nations again be cursed Gloom, silence, and solitude, rest on the spot He fought, in defence of his kindred and king, And long shall the Indian warrior sing S The lightning of intellect flashed from his eye, Above, near the path of the pilgrim, he sleeps, And the bright-bosomed Thames, in its majesty, sweeps, The Missionaries' Farewell.-ANONYMOUS. LAND where the bones of our fathers are sleeping, Land of our fathers, in grief we forsake thee, God is thy God; thou shalt walk in His brightness; Dark is our path o'er the dark rolling ocean: Hail to the land of our toils and our sorrows! * This highly intellectual savage, appropriately styled "king of the woods," was no less distinguished for his acts of humanity than heroism He fell in the bloody charge at Moravian town, during the war of 1812-15 Mozart's Requiem.-Rurus DAWES. THE tongue of the vigilant clock tolled one, The shrouded moon looked out upon A cold, dank region, more cheerless and dun, Mozart now rose from a restless bed, Though long had he wooingly sought to wed He knelt to the God of his worship then, He was tall, the stranger who gazed on him, His cheek was pale, and his eye was dim, "Mozart, there is one whose errand I bear, Who cannot be known to thee; He grieves for a friend, and would have thee prepare A requiem, blending a mournful air With the sweetest melody." "I'll furnish the requiem then," he cried, Mozart grew pale when the vision fled, He knew 'twas a messenger sent from the dead, He knew that the days of his life were told, And his breast grew faint within; The blood through his bosom crept slowly and cold, And his lamp of life could barely hold The flame that was flickering. Yet he went to his task with a cheerful zeal, He spoke not, he moved not, but only to kneel 'Tis best thy will be done!" He gazed on his loved one, who cherished him well, "This music will chime with my funeral knell, The cold moon waned: on that cheerless day, "I will be glad in the Lord." Psalm civ. 34ANONYMOUS. WHEN morning's first and hallowed ray To chase the pearly dews away, Bright tear-drops of the night,— My heart, O Lord, forgets to rove, On wings of everlasting love, And finds its home in THEE. When evening's silent shades descend, And nature sinks to rest, Still to my Father and my Friend My wishes are addressed. |