SONGS IN MANY KEYS. THE piping of our slender, peaceful reeds Strong arms, broad breasts, brave hearts, are better worth Rolls o'er the prairied West, the rock-bound North: The myriad-handed Future stretches forth Its shadowy palms. Behold, we come, we come! Turn o'er these idle leaves. Such toys as these We lay beside our lotus-feeding streams, And nursed our fancies in forgetful ease. It matters little if they pall or please; Dropping untimely, while the sudden gleams Glare from the mustering clouds whose blackness seems MAY 1, 1861. 'T was strange no Chloe's "beauteous Next, on their left, the slender spires, Form," And "Eyes' cœlestial Blew," This Strephon of the West could warm, No Nymph his Heart subdue! Perchance he wooed as gallants use, Whom fleeting loves enchain, But still unfettered, free to choose, Would brook no bridle-rein. He saw the fairest of the fair, But smiled alike on all; No band his roving foot might snare, No ring his hand enthrall. And glittering vanes, that crown, The home of Salem's frugal sires, The old, witch-haunted town. So onward, o'er the rugged way That shut between their outstretched arms The crews of Marblehead, The lords of ocean's watery farms, Who plough the waves for bread. |