Come then,-great shades of glorious men,
From your still glorious grave;
Look on your own proud land again,
O, bravest of the brave!

We call you from each moldering tomb,
And each blue wave below,

To bless the world ye snatched from doom,
Two hundred years ago!

Then to your harps,—yet louder,—higher,
And pour your strains along,-
And smite again each quivering wire,
In all the pride of song!

Shout for those godlike men of old,

Who, daring storm and foe,

On this blest soil their anthem rolled
Two hundred years ago!

Ex. XCVII-NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD.

ISAAC M'LELLAN, JR.

"I shall enter into no encomium upon Massachusetts; she needs none. There she is; behold her, and judge for yourselves.-There is her history. The world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill; and there they will remain for ever. The bones of her sons, falling in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every state, from New England to Georgia; and there they will remain for ever."— Webster's Speech

NEW ENGLAND's dead! New England's dead!

On every hill they lie;

On every field of strife made red

By bloody victory.

Each valley, where the battle poured

Its red and awful tide,

Beheld the brave New England sword
With slaughter deeply dyed.
Their bones are on the northern hill,
And on the southern plain,

By brook and river, lake and rill,
And by the roaring main.

'The land is holy where they fought,
And holy where they fell;

For by their blood that land was bought,
The land they loved so well.
Then glory to that valiant band,
The honored saviours of the land!

Oh! few and weak their numbers were,-
A handful of brave men;

But to their God they gave their

prayer,

And rushed to battle then.
The God of battles heard their cry,
And sent to them the victory.

They left the plowshare in the mold,
Their flocks and herds without a fold,
The sickle in the unshorn grain,
The corn, half garnered, on the plain,
And mustered, in their simple dress,
For wrongs to seek a stern redress.

To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe,
To perish, or o'ercome their foe.

And where are ye, O fearless men?
And where are ye to-day?

I call: the hills reply again

That ye have passed away;

That on old Bunker's lonely height,

In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground,
The grass grows green, the harvest bright,
Above each soldier's mound.

The bugle's wild and warlike blast
Shall muster them no more;
An army now might thunder past,
And they not heed its roar.

The starry flag, 'neath which they fought,

In many a bloody day,

From their old graves shall rouse them not,
For they have passed away.

Ex. XCVIII-THE CONVICT SHIP.

MORN on the waters!-and purple and bright
Bursts on the billows the flushing of light;

HERVEY

O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun,
See! the tall vessel goes gallantly on;

Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail,

And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the gale;
The winds come around her in murmur and song,
And the surges rejoice as they bear her along;
See! she looks up to the golden-edged clouds,
And the sailor sings gayly aloft in the shrouds;
Onward she glides, amid ripple and spray,
Over the waters,-away, and away!
Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part,
Passing away, like a dream of the heart!
Who, as the beautiful pageant sweeps by,-
Music around her, and sunshine on high,-
Pauses to think, amid glitter and glow,
O, there be hearts that are breaking below!

Night on the waves!—and the moon is on high,
Hung, like a gem, on the brow of the sky,
Treading its depths in the power of her might,
And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to light!
Look to the waters!-asleep on their breast,
Seems not the ship like an island of rest?
Bright and alone on the shadowy main,

Like a heart-cherished home on some desolate plain!
Who, as she smiles in the silvery light,
Spreading her wings on the bosom of night,
Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky,

A phantom of beauty, could deem, with a sigh,
That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin,

And that souls that are smitten lie bursting within ?—
Who, as he watches her silently gliding,
Remembers that wave after wave is dividing
Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever,
Hearts which are parted and broken for ever?
Or deems that he watches, afloat on the wave,
The death-bed of hope, or the young spirit's grave?

'Tis thus with our life, while it passes along,
Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song!
Gayly we glide, in the gaze of the world,
With streamers afloat, and with canvas unfurled;
All gladness and glory to wandering eyes,

Yet chartered by sorrow, and freighted with sighs.

Fading and false is the aspect it wears,

As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears;

And the withering thoughts which the world can not know, Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below;

Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore,

Where the dreams of our childhood are vanished and o'er.

Ex. XCIX.-CŒUR-DE-LION AT THE BIER OF HIS

FATHER*.

TORCHES were blazing clear,

Hymns pealing deep and slow,
Where a king lay stately on his bier,
In the church of Fontevraud.

Banners of battle o'er him hung,
And warriors slept beneath,

MRS. HEMANS.

And light, as noon's broad light, was flung
On the settled face of death,-

On the settled face of death

A strong and ruddy glare,

Though dimmed, at times, by the censer's breath,
Yet it fell still brightest there;

As if each deeply-furrowed trace
Of earthly years to show,—
-Alas! that sceptered mortal's race
Had surely closed in woe!

The marble floor was swept

By many a long dark stole,

As the kneeling priests round him that slept,
Sang mass for the parted soul;

And solemn were the strains they poured

Through the stillness of the night,

With the cross above, and the crown and sword,
And the silent king in sight.-

*The body of Henry the Second lay in state in the Abbey church of Fontevraud, where it was visited by Richard Coeur-de-Lion, who, on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and bitterly reproached himself for that rebellious conduct which had been the means of bringing his father to an untimely grave.

There was heard a heavy clang,

As of steel-girt men the tread;

And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang
With a sounding thrill of dread;

And the holy chant was hushed awhile,
As, by the torches' flame,

A gleam of arms, up the sweeping aisle,
With a mail-clad leader came.

He came with haughty look,

An eagle-glance and clear,

But his proud heart through its breastplate shook,
When he stood beside the bier!

He stood there still with a drooping brow,
And clasped hands o'er it raised ;-

For his father lay before him low,

It was Coeur-de-Lion gazed!

And silently he strove

With the workings of his breast,

But there's more in late repentant love

Than steel may keep suppressed!

And his tears brake forth, at last, like rain;—
Men held their breath in awe,

For his face was seen by his warrior-train,
And he recked not that they saw.

He looked upon the dead,
And sorrow seemed to lie,

A weight of sorrow, even like lead,
Pale on the fast-shut eye.

He stooped and kissed the frozen cheek,
And the heavy hand of clay,

Till bursting words,-yet all too weak,-
Gave his soul's passion way.

66

"O, father! is it vain,

This late remorse and deep? Speak to me, father! once again, I weep,-behold, I weep! Alas! my guilty pride and ire!

Were but this work undone,

I would give England's crown, my sire!
To hear thee bless thy son.