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I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness alone,
Her every tone is music's own, like those of morning birds,
Affections are as thoughts to her, the measures of her hours:
Of her bright face one glance will trace a picture on the brain,
I fill'd this cup to one made up of loveliness alone,
Her health ! and would on earth there stood some inore of such a frame,
That life might be all poetry, and weariness a name.
Look out upon the stars, my love,
Sleep not s—thine image wakes for aye
GEORGE P. MORRIS.
G Eorge P. MoRRIs, to whom the common voice of the country has given tho title of The SoNg-WRITER of AMERICA, was born in Philadelphia in 1802. He early commenced his literary career, and in 1822 became the editor of “The New York Mirror,” which remained under his control till 1843, when pecuniary difficulties, occasioned by the storin of financial embarrassment which had but shortly before passed over the country, compelled him to relinquish its publication. During this long period, this periodical was very ably conducted, and became the vehicle of introduction to the public of some of the best writers in the country. In 1844, he established “The New Mirror,” in conjunction with his friend N. P. Willis, which was soon after changed into “The Evening Mirror.” This, after being continued a year as a daily paper, with great spirit and taste, was sold out, and in November, 1846, these two gifted authors started a weekly paper, called “The Home Journal,” which has been continued from year to year, with increasing popularity,+a popularity richly deserved, from the taste, elegance, and enterprise with which it is conducted.
General Morris has published the following works:—The Deserted Bride, and other Poems, 1843; The Whip-poor-will, a Poem; American Melodies; two or three dramas; and, in conjunction with his friend Willis, an admirable book entitled The Prose and Poetry of Europe and America. But it is as a writer of songs, which exert no little influence upon national character and manners, and of a few short pieces which, by their elevated moral sentiment and touching pathos, go right to the heart, that General Morris will hold an enduring place in American literature."
“General Morris's fame as ‘The Song-Writer of America' belongs to two hemispheres, and is greater now than it has ever been before. “You ask me,’ says a recent letter from an English gentleman, now representing in the House of Commons one of the most ancient of the English boroughs, “whether I have seen General Morris's last song, “Jenny Marsh of Cherry Valley.” You can hardly know, when you put such a question, the place he has built himself in the hearts of all classes here. His many songs and ballads are household words in every home in England, and have a dear old chair by every circle in which kindly friends are gathered; and parents smile with pleasure to see brothers and sisters join their voices in the evening song, and twine closer those loving chords, —the tenderest of the human heart. It is no mean reward to feel that the child of one's brain has a chair in such circles, and that the love for the child passes in hundreds of hearts into love for its unseen parent. After all, what are all the throat-warblings in the world to one such heart-song as “My Mother's Bible"? It possesses the true test of genius, touching with sympathy the human heart equally in the palace and the cottage.’”
For a most beautifully-written critical essay upon General Morris's" genius and poems, read “Literary Criticisms, and other Papers, by the late Horace Binney Wallace, Esq., of Philadelphia,”—a volume which does the highest credit to the author as a man of pure taste, correct judgment, and finished scholarship.
* He receives the title of General from his holding the rank of brigadier-general in the military organization of New York.
LIFE IN THE WEST.
Ho! brothers, come hither and list to my story,
Talk not of the town, boys, -give me the broad prairie,
Here, brothers, secure from all turmoil and danger,
WHEN OTHER FRIENDS ARE ROUND THEE.
When other friends are round thee,
Yet do not think I doubt thee,
I would not live without thee,
Thou art the star that guides me
And whate'er fate betides me,
UP WITH THE SIGNAL.
Up, up with the signals. The land is in sight!
The signal is waving ! Till morn we'll remain,
The signal is answer'd? The foam-sparkles rise
wooDMAN, SPARE THAT TREE."
Woodman, spare that tree: That old familiar tree,
o “After I had sung the noble ballad of “Woodman, Spare that Tree,’ at Boulogne,” says Mr. Henry Russell, the vocalist, “an old gentleman among the audience, who was greatly moved by the simple and touching beauty of the words, rose and said, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Russell; but was the tree really spared 7” “It was,” said [.. “I am very glad to hear it,' said he, as he took his seat amidst the unanimous applause of the whole assembly. I never saw such excitement in a concert-room.”
When but an idle boy, My heart-strings round thee cling,
MY MOTHER's BIBLE.
This book is all that’s left me now :
Ah ! well do I remember those
My father read this holy book
Thou truest friend man ever knew,
GEORGE DENISON PRENTICE,
The accomplished editor of the “Louisville Journal,” was born at Preston, Conne"ticut, December 18, 1802. He was graduated at Brown University, 1823, and then studied law; but he never practised his profession, preferring to devote himself to editorial labors. In 1828, he established “The New England Weekly Review,” at