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146

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea;
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river,
On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odour of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands
Of care-encumbered men,

Each bearing his burden of sorrow,
Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession

Still passing to and fro,

The young heart hot and restless,
And the old subdued and slow!

And for ever, and for ever,

As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection
And its shadows shall appear,

As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.

N. P. WILLIS.

WINE.

Look not upon the wine when it
Is red within the cup!
Stay not for Pleasure when she fills
Her tempting beaker up!

Though clear its depths, and rich its glow,
A spell of madness lurks below.

They say 'tis pleasant on the lip,
And merry on the brain;

They say it stirs the sluggish blood,
And dulls the tooth of pain.
Aye-but within its glowing deeps
A stinging serpent, unseen, sleeps.

Its rosy lights will turn to fire,
Its coolness change to thirst;
And by its mirth, within the brain
A sleepless worm is nursed.
There's not a bubble at the brim
That does not carry food for him.

Then dash the brimming cup aside,
And spill its purple wine:
Take not its madness to thy lip-
Let not its curse be thine.

"Tis red and rich-but grief and woe
Are hid those rosy depths below.

J. G. LYONS.

THE TRIUMPHS OF OUR LANGUAGE.

Now gather all our Saxon bards,

Let harps and hearts be strung, To celebrate the triumphs of

Our own good Saxon tongue;

For stronger far than hosts that march
With battle-flags unfurled,

It goes with FREEDOM, THOUGHT, and TRUTH,
To rouse and rule the world.

Stout Albion learns its household lays

On every surf-worn shore,

And Scotland hears its echoing far
As Orkney's breakers roar-
From Jura's crags and Mona's hills
It floats on every gale,

And warms with eloquence and song
The homes of Innisfail.

On many a wide and swarming deck,
It scales the rough wave's crest,
Seeking its peerless heritage-

The fresh and fruitful West;
It climbs New England's rocky steeps,
As victor mounts a throne;
Niagara knows and greets the voice
Still mightier than its own.

It spreads where winter piles deep snows
On bleak Canadian plains,

And where, on Essequibo's banks,

Eternal summer reigns:

J. G. LYONS.

It glads Acadia's misty coasts,
Jamaica's glowing isle,

And bides where, gay with early flowers,
Green Texan prairies smile.

It tracks the loud swift Oregon

Through sunset valleys rolled, And soars where Californian brooks Wash down their sands of gold.

It sounds in Borneo's camphor groves,
On seas of fierce Malay,

In fields that curb old Ganges' flood,
And towers of proud Bombay:
It wakes up Aden's flashing eyes,
Dusk brows, and swarthy limbs-
The dark Liberian soothes her child
With English cradle hymns.

Tasmania's maids are wooed and won
In gentle Saxon speech;
Australian boys read Crusoe's life
By Sydney's sheltered beach:

It dwells where Afric's southmost capes
Meet oceans broad and blue,
And Nieuveld's rugged mountains gird
The wide and waste Karroo.

It kindles realms so far apart,

That while its praise you sing,
These may be clad with autumn's fruits,
And those with flowers of spring:
It quickens lands whose meteor-lights
Flame in an arctic sky,

And lands for which the Southern Cross

Hangs its orbed fires on high.

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It goes with all that prophets told,
And righteous kings desired,
With all that great apostles taught,
And glorious Greeks admired;

With Shakspeare's deep and wondrous verse.
And Milton's loftier mind,

With Alfred's laws, and Newton's lore,

To cheer and bless mankind.

Mark, as it spreads, how deserts bloom,

And error flies away,

As vanishes the mist of night

Before the star of day!
But grand as are the victories

Whose monuments we see,

These are but as the dawn which speaks
Of noontide yet to be.

Take heed, then, heirs of Saxon fame,
Take heed, nor once disgrace
With deadly pen or spoiling sword
Our noble tongue and race.
Go forth, prepared in every clime
To love and help each other,
And judge that they who counsel strife
Would bid you smite-a brother.

Go forth, and jointly speed the time,
By good men prayed for long,
When Christian states, grown just and wise,
Will scorn revenge and wrong;

When earth's oppressed and savage tribes

Shall cease to pine or roam,

All taught to prize these English words-
FAITH, FREEDOM, HEAVEN, and HOME.

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