Ex. LIV.-THE BELL OF THE ATLANTIC.* TOLL, toll, toll, MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. Thou Bell by billows swung; And, night and day, thy warning words Wrecked on yon rocky shore; Toll for the master bold, The high-souled and the brave, Amid the crested wave! Toll for the hardy crew, Sons of the storm and blast, Toll for the man of God, Whose hallowed voice of prayer Amid the fierce and freezing storm, Toll for the lover lost To the summoned bridal train! He cometh not, pale maiden,— Toll for the absent sire, Who to his home drew near, *It is a touching and remarkable fact, that the bell of the Atlantic supported by some portions of the wreck and the contiguous rock, continued, for days after the melancholy wreck of the vessel,-swept by heavy surges, to toll the requiem of the dead. To bless a glad expecting group,- Toll for the loved and fair, The whelmed beneath the tide,- Reft from the household throng; Toll for the hearts that bleed Toll for the living,-not the dead, Toll, toll, toll, O'er breeze and billow free, And with thy startling lore instruct Each rover of the sea: Tell how o'er proudest joys May swift destruction sweep, And bid him build his hopes on high,- Ex. LV.-NUMBER ONE. HOOD. It's very hard!-and so it is, to live in such a row,- shun; I'm sure he has been asked enough to call at Number One! I'm sick of all the double knocks that come to Number Four! Miss Bell I hear has got a dear exactly to her mind,— Yet arts that thrive at Number Five do n't take at Number 'Tis hard, with plenty in the street, and plenty passing by,There's nice young men at Number Ten, but only rather shy; And Mrs. Smith across the way has got a grown-up son, But, la! he hardly seems to know there is a Number One! There's Mr. Nick at Number Nine, but he's intent on pelf, And though he 's pious will not love his neighbor as himself. At Number Seven there was a sale-the goods had quite a run! And here I've got my single lot on hand at Number One! My mother often sits at work, and talks of props and stays, Once only, when the flue took fire, one Friday afternoon, Young Mr. Long came kindly in and told me not to swoon: Why can't he come again without the Phoenix and the sun ? We can not always have a flue on fire at Number One! I am not old, I am not plain, nor awkward in my gait― I'm sure white satin made her look as brown as any bun— At Number Six they say Miss Rose has slain a score of hearts, And Cupid, for her sake, has been quite prodigal of darts, The imp they show with bended bow, I wish he had a gun! But if he had, he'd never deign to shoot with Number One! It's very hard, and so it is, to live in such a row! And here's a ballad-singer come to aggravate my woe; Ex. LVI-A PEAN FOR INDEPENDENCE. PARK BENJAMIN. FROM West to East, a sudden splendor breaking, Sacred to Freedom! newer hopes awaking Lighting our shores with undiminished glory, Of all our fathers won through blood and tears. Our brave forefathers! few of their bright number To keep their memories is our holy duty- These fair possessions, these broad realms of beauty, No tyrant's hand can rob us of dominion; Here are no slaves of old-world, dead convention, When men their fellows would in fetters bind. When kings to Freedom's spirit bid defiance, To wage a warfare of unrighteous deeds, Then to the nations cry we-Be strong-hearted; Her starry flag shall float above your legions- Ex. LVII-NATIONAL ANNIVERSARY. A. H. RICE. THE return of this joyous day has refreshed our recollections of the greatest event in American history. Impressed with grateful memories, we hailed its dawning light with emotions of irrepressible joy. Here, in the old pilgrim city, always faithful to the commemoration of patriotic events, we have sought again to penetrate the vail of the past, and gaze in fancy once more upon the patriotic fathers, arrayed in all the glowing imagery of the heroic days. The warm blood quickened in our veins as we listened again to the untiring story of their deeds and valor, and under this last recital we have owned still a new devotion to the land of our heritage and birth. And we linger still for a few moments in this sacred temple of freedom-a temple where associations are bounded by no territorial limits, and which fade not under any lapse of years,—we still linger here |