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I wheeled around the welcome bark,
As it sought the desolate shore,
And up to heaven, like a joyous lark,
My quivering pinions bore.

"And now that bold and hardy few
Are a nation wide and strong;

And danger and doubt I have led them through, And they worship me in song;

And over their bright and glancing arms,

On field, and lake, and sea,

With an eye that fires and a spell that charms I guide them to victory."

NEW ENGLAND.

AIL to the land whereon we tread,

HAIL

Our fondest boast;

The sepulchre of mighty dead,

The truest hearts that ever bled,
Who sleep on Glory's brightest bed,
A fearless host!

No slave is here; our unchained feet
Walk freely as the waves that beat
Our coast.

Our fathers crossed the ocean's wave
To seek this shore;

They left behind the coward slave

To welter in his living grave;

With hearts unbent, and spirits brave,
They sternly bore

Such toils as meaner souls had quelled;
But souls like these, such toils impelled
To soar.

Hail to the morn, when first they stood On Bunker's height,

And, fearless, stemmed the invading flood,
And wrote our dearest rights in blood,
And mowed in ranks the hireling brood,
In desperate fight!

Oh, 'twas a proud, exulting day,
For even our fallen fortunes lay

In light.

There is no other land like thee,
No dearer shore;

Thou art the shelter of the free;
The home, the port of Liberty,
Thou hast been, and shalt ever be,
Till time is o'er.

Ere I forget to think upon

My land, shall mother curse the son
She bore!

Thou art the firm, unshaken rock,
On which we rest;

And, rising from thy hardy stock,
Thy sons the tyrant's frown shall mock,
And slavery's galling chains unlock,

And free the oppressed:

All, who the wreath of Freedom twine
Beneath the shadow of their vine,

Are blessed.

We love thy rude and rocky shore,
And here we stand-

Let foreign navies hasten o'er,
And on our heads their fury pour,

And peal their cannon's loudest roar,
And storm our land;

They still shall find our lives are given
To die for home ;-and leaned on Heaven
Our hand.

THE CORAL-GROVE.

EEP in the wave is a coral-grove,

DEB

Where the purple mullet and goldfish rove,
Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue,
That never are wet with falling dew,
But in bright and changeful beauty shine,
Far down in the green and glassy brine;
The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift,
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow;
From coral-rocks the sea-plants lift

Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow; The water is calm and still below,

For the winds and waves are absent there,
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow
In the motionless fields of upper
air:
There, with its waving blade of green,

The sea-flag streams through the silent water,
And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen

To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter: There, with a light and easy motion,

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear, deep sea;

And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean
Are bending like corn on the upland lea:
And life, in rare and beautiful forms,

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe, when the wrathful Spirit of Storms
Has made the top of the wave his own:
And when the ship from his fury flies,

Where the myriad voices of Ocean roar,
When the Wind-god frowns in the murky skies,
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore;
Then far below in the peaceful sea,

The purple mullet and goldfish rove, Where the waters murmur tranquilly,

Through the bending twigs of the coral-grove.

IT IS GREAT FOR OUR COUNTRY TO DIE.

OH, it is great for our country to die, where ranks are

contending!

Bright is the wreath of our fame; glory awaits us for

aye

Glory, that never is dim, shining on with light never

ending

Glory that never shall fade-never, oh, never away !

Oh, it is sweet for our country to die! How softly reposes Warrior-youth on his bier, wet by the tears of his love, Wet by a mother's warm tears! they crown him with garlands of roses,

Weep, and then joyously turn, bright where he triumphs above.

Not to the shades shall the youth descend who for country hath perished;

Hebe awaits him in heaven, welcomes him there with

her smile:

There, at the banquet divine, the patriot spirit is cherished; Gods love the young who ascend pure from the funeral

pile.

Not to Elysian fields, by the still, oblivious river;

Not to the isles of the blest, over the blue rolling sea; But on Olympian heights shall dwell the devoted forever; There shall assemble the good, there the wise, valiant,

and free.

Oh, then, how great for our country to die, in the front rank to perish―

Firm with our breast to the foe, Victory's shout in our

ear!

Long they our statues shall crown, in songs our memory cherish;

We shall look forth from our heaven, pleased the sweet music to hear.

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66 NOW,

To be cast in some low and lonely spot,

To melt, and to sink unseen or forgot?

And then will my course be ended ?"

"Twas thus a feathery Snow-Flake said,

As down through the measureless space it strayed,

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