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THE BURIAL-PLACE AT LAUREL HILL.

BY WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK.

HERE the lamented dead in dust shall lie,

Life's lingering languors o'er, its labours done; Where waving boughs, betwixt the earth and sky, Admit the farewell radiance of the sun.

Here the long concourse from the murmuring town,
With funeral pace and slow, shall enter in;
To lay the loved in tranquil silence down,
No more to suffer, and no more to sin.

And in this hallow'd spot, where Nature showers Her summer smiles from fair and stainless skies, Affection's hand may strew her dewy flowers,

Whose fragrant incense from the grave shall rise.

And here the impressive stone, engraved with words
Which grief sententious gives to marble pale,
Shall teach the heart; while waters, leaves, and birds
Make cheerful music in the passing gale.

Say, wherefore should we weep, and wherefore pour
On scented airs the unavailing sigh-
While sun-bright waves are quivering to the shore,
And landscapes blooming-that the loved must die?

There is an emblem in this peaceful scene:
Soon rainbow colours on the woods will fall;
And autumn gusts bereave the hills of green,
As sinks the year to meet its cloudy pall,

UNIV. OF

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THE WINGED WORSHIPPERS

Then, cold and pale, in distant vistas round,

Disrobed and tuneless, all the woods will stand;
While the chain'd streams are silent as the ground,
As Death had numb'd them with his icy hand.

Yet when the warm, soft winds shall rise in spring,
Like struggling daybeams o'er a blasted heath,
The bird return'd shall poise her golden wing,
And liberal Nature break the spell of Death.

So, when the tomb's dull silence finds an end,
The blessed dead to endless youth shall rise;
And hear th' archangel's thrilling summons blend
Its tone with anthems from the upper skies,

There shall the good of earth be found at last,
Where dazzling streams and vernal fields expand;
Where Love her crown attains-her trials past-
And, fill'd with rapture, hails the "better land!"

THE WINGED WORSHIPPERS.

BY CHARLES SPRAGUE.

Two swallows, having flown into church during divine service, were apostrophized in the following stanzas.

GAY, guiltless pair,

What seek ye from the fields of heaven?

Ye have no need of prayer,
Ye have no sins to be forgiven.

Why perch ye here,

Where mortals to their Maker bend?

Can your pure spirits fear

The God ye never could offend?

102

THE WINGED WORSHIPPERS.

Ye never knew

The crimes for which we come to weep:
Penance is not for you,

Bless'd wanderers of the upper deep.

To you 'tis given

To wake sweet nature's untaught lays;
Beneath the arch of heaven
To chirp away a life of praise.

Then spread each wing,

Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands,
And join the choirs that sing

In

yon

blue dome not rear'd with hands.

Or if ye stay

To note the consecrated hour,

Teach me the airy way,

And let me try your envied power.

Above the crowd,

On upward wings could I but fly,

I'd bathe in yon bright cloud,
And seek the stars that gem
the sky.

'T were heaven indeed,
Through fields of trackless light to soar,
On nature's charms to feed,

And nature's own great God adore.

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

BY JOSEPH R. DRAKE.

WHEN Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurl'd her standard to the air,

She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there.
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure, celestial white,
With streakings of the morning light;
Then from his mansion in the sun
She call'd her eagle-bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land.
Majestic monarch of the cloud,

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest trumpings loud
And see the lightning lances driven,
When strive the warriors of the storm,
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven,
Child of the sun! to thee 't is given

To guard the banner of the free,
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle-stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbingers of victory!

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,

The sign of hope and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line comes gleaming on.

104

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn

To where thy sky-born glories burn;
And as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And when the cannon-mouthings loud

Heave in wild wreathes the battle-shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall;
Then shall thy meteor glances glow,
And cowering foes shall sink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death,

Flag of the seas! on ocean wave

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack,

Each dying wanderer of the sea

Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendours fly

In triumph o'er his closing eye.

Flag of the free heart's hope and home!
By angel hands to valour given ;

Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,

And all thy hues were born in heaven.

For ever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us,

With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us!

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