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Take thy banner;-and if e'er
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,
Then this crimson flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee.

And the warrior took that banner proud,
And it was his martial cloak and shroud.

The Raising of Jairus's Daughter.-N. A. REVIEW.

THEY have watched her last and quivering breath,
And the maiden's soul has flown;

They have wrapped her in the robes of death,
And laid her, dark and lone.

But the mother casts a look behind,
Upon that fallen flower,-

Nay, start not-'twas the gathering wind;
Those limbs have lost their power.

And tremble not at that cheek of snow,
O'er which the faint light plays;
'Tis only the crimson curtain's glow,
Which thus deceives thy gaze.

Didst thou not close that expiring eye,
And feel the soft pulse decay?
And did not thy lips receive the sigh,
Which bore her soul away?

She lies on her couch, all pale and hushed,

And heeds not thy gentle tread,

And is still as the spring-flower by traveller crushed,

Which dies on its snowy bed.

The mother has flown from that lonely room,

And the maid is mute and pale;

Her ivory hand is cold as the tomb,

And dark is her stiffened nail.

Her mother strays with folded arms,
And her head is bent in wo;

She shuts her thoughts to joy or charms;
No tear attempts to flow.

But listen! what name salutes her ear?
It comes to a heart of stone;

"Jesus," she cries, "has no power here;
My daughter's life has flown."

He leads the way to that cold white couch,
And bends o'er the senseless form;
Can his be less than a heavenly touch?
The maiden's hand is warm!

And the fresh blood comes with roseate hue,
While Death's dark terrors fly;

Her form is raised, and her step is true,
And life beams bright in her eye.

Departure of the Pioneer.-Brainard.

FAR away from the hill-side, the lake and the hamlet,
The rock and the brook, and yon meadow so gay;
From the foot-path, that winds by the side of the streamlet;
From his hut and the grave of his friend far away;
He is gone where the footsteps of man never ventured,
Where the glooms of the wild tangled forest are centred,
Where no beam of the sun or the sweet moon has entered,
No blood-hound has roused up the deer with his bay.

He has left the green valley for paths where the bison Roams through the prairies, or leaps o'er the flood; Where the snake in the swamp sucks the deadliest poison, And the cat of the mountains keeps watch for its food. But the leaf shall be greener, the sky shall be purer,

The eyes shall be clearer, the rifle be surer,

And stronger the arm of the fearless endurer,

That trusts nought but Heaven in his way through the wood

Light be the heart of the poor lonely wanderer,

Firm be his step through each wearisome mile,

Far from the cruel man, far from the plunderer,

Far from the track of the mean and the vile.
And when death, with the last of its terrors, assails him,
And all but the last throb of memory fails him,

He'll think of the friend, far away, that bewails him,
And light up the cold touch of death with a smile.

And there shall the dew shed its sweetness and lustre,
There for his pall shall the oak leaves be spread;
The sweet brier shall bloom, and the wild grape shall cluster,
And o'er him the leaves of the ivy be shed.
There shall they mix with the fern and the heather,
There shall the young eagle shed its first feather,
The wolves with his wild dogs shall lie there together,
And moan o'er the spot where the hunter is laid.

The Alpine Flowers.-MRS. SIGOURNEY.*

MEEK dwellers mid yon terror-stricken cliffs!
With brows so pure, and incense-breathing lips,
Whence are ye?-Did some white-winged messenger
On Mercy's missions trust your timid germ
To the cold cradle of eternal snows?

Or, breathing on the callous icicles,

Bid them with tear-drops nurse ye?—

-Tree nor shrub

Dare that drear atmosphere; no polar pine
Uprears a veteran front; yet there ye stand,
Leaning your cheeks against the thick-ribbed ice,
And looking up with brilliant eyes to Him
Who bids you bloom unblanched amid the waste
Of desolation. Man, who, panting, toils

O'er slippery steeps, or, trembling, treads the verge
Of yawning gulfs, o'er which the headlong plunge
Is to eternity, looks shuddering up,

And marks ye in your placid loveliness-
Fearless, yet frail-and, clasping his chill hands,
Blesses your pencilled beauty. 'Mid the pomp

Of mountain summits rushing on the sky,

*This piece is, perhaps, the finest of Mrs. Sigourney's poetry. It is in some respects so sublime, that it forcibly reminds us of Coleridge's Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouny.-ED.

And chaining the rapt soul in breathless awe,
He bows to bind you drooping to his breast,
Inhales your spirit from the frost-winged gale,
And freer dreams of heaven.

A Child's first Impression of a Star.-N. P. WILLIS.

SHE had been told that God made all the stars
That twinkled up in heaven, and now she stood
Watching the coming of the twilight on,
As if it were a new and perfect world,
And this were its first eve. How beautiful
Must be the work of Nature to a child
In its first fresh impression! Laura stood
By the low window, with the silken lash
Of her soft eye upraised, and her sweet mouth
Half parted with the new and strange delight
Of beauty that she could not comprehend,
And had not seen before. The purple folds
Of the low sunset clouds, and the blue sky
That looked so still and delicate above,
Filled her young heart with gladness, and the eve
Stole on with its deep shadows, and she still
Stood looking at the west with that half smile,
As if a pleasant thought were at her heart.
Presently, in the edge of the last tint
Of sunset, where the blue was melted in
To the faint golden mellowness, a star
Stood suddenly. A laugh of wild delight
Burst from her lips, and, putting up her hands,
Her simple thought broke forth expressively-
"Father, dear father, God has made a star!"

The Leper.-N. P. WILLIS.

"ROOM for the leper! Room!" And, as he came, The cry passed on" Room for the leper! Room!” Sunrise was slanting on the city gates

Rosy and beautiful, and from the hills

The early risen poor were coming in,

Duly and cheerfully, to their toil, and up

Rose the sharp hammer's clink, and the far hum

Of moving wheels and multitudes astir,
And all that in a city murmur swells,
Unheard but by the watcher's weary ear,
Aching with night's dull silence, or the sick
Hailing the welcome light, and sounds that chase
The death-like images of the dark away.

"Room for the leper!" And aside they stood,
Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood-all
Who met him on his way-and let him pass.
And onward through the open gate he came,
A leper with the ashes on his brow,
Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip
A covering, stepping painfully and slow,
And with a difficult utterance, like one
Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down,
Crying" Unclean!-Unclean!"

'Twas now the depth

Of the Judean summer, and the leaves,
Whose shadows lay so still upon his path,
Had budded on the clear and flashing eye
Of Judah's loftiest noble. He was young,
And eminently beautiful, and life
Mantled in eloquent fulness on his lip,
And sparkled in his glance; and in his mien
There was a gracious pride that every eye
Followed with benisons-and this was he!
With the soft airs of summer there had come
A torpor on his frame, which not the speed
Of his best barb, nor music, nor the blast
Of the bold huntsman's horn, nor aught that stirs
The spirit to its bent, might drive away.
The blood beat not as wont within his veins;
Dimness crept o'er his eye; a drowsy sloth
Fettered his limbs like palsy, and his port,
With all its loftiness, seemed struck with eld.
Even his voice was changed-a languid moan
Taking the place of the clear, silver key;
And brain and serse grew faint, as if the light,
And very air, were steeped in sluggishness.
He strove with it awhile, as manhood will,
Ever too proud for weakness, till the rein
Slackened within his grasp, and in its poise
The arrowy jereed like an aspen shook.

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