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That woo'd me to its bosom: Raleigh's fame,
With that wild seaman.
The villain whom I trusted, when we reached
His crew-dark, swarthy men-the refuse crimes
I wrench'd From his own hand the blade it bore, and struck The slanderer to my feet. With that, a shout, A hundred knives gleam'd round me; but the pirate, Wiping the gore from his gash'd brow, cried "Hold! Such death were mercy." Then they grip d and bound me To a slight plank-spread to the wind their sails, And left me on the waves alone with God!
That day, and all that night, upon the seas
Toss'd the frail barrier between life and death.
Heaven lull'd the gales; and when the stars came forth,
Recall'd that wretch's words, and murmur'd, "Wave
Day dawn'd, and glittering in the sun, behold
It pass'd away,
And saw me not. Noon, and then thirst and famine;
And then methought I saw beneath the clear
And lifted hair, I floated on, till sense
Grew dim and dimlier, and a terrible sleep,
Fell on me.
I awoke, and heard
My native tongue. Kind looks were bent upon me;
JOHN A. ANDREW.
THE heart swells with unwonted emotion when we remember our sons and brothers whose constant valor has sustained, on the field, the cause of our country, of civilization, and liberty. On the ocean, on the rivers, on the land, on the heights where they thundered down from the clouds of Lookout Mountain the defiance of the skies, they have graven with their swords a record imperishable.
The Muse herself demands the lapse of silent years to soften, by the influences of Time, her too keen and poignant realization of the scenes of War-the pathos, the heroism, the fierce joy, the grief of battle. But, during the ages to 'come, she will brood over their memory. Into the hearts of her consecrated priests she will breathe the inspirations of lofty and undying beauty, sublimity, and truth, in all the glowing forms of speech, of literature, and plastic art. By the homely traditions of the fireside,—by the head-stones in the church-yard consecrated to those whose forms repose far off in rude graves by the Rappahannock, or sleep beneath the sea,--embalmed in the memories of succeeding generations of parents and children, the heroic dead will live on in immortal youth. By their names, their character, their service, their fate, their glory, they cannot fail :
"They never fail who die
Their heads may sodden in the sun, their limbs
They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts
The edict of Nantes, maintaining the religious liberty of the Huguenots, gave lustre to the fame of Henry the Great, whose name will gild the pages of history after mankind may have forgotten the material prowess and the white plume of Navarre. The Great Proclamation of Liberty will lift the ruler who uttered it, our nation and our age, above all vulgar destiny.
The bell which rang out the Declaration of Independence has found at last a voice articulate, to " proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof." It has been heard across oceans, and has modified the sentiments of cabinets and kings. The people of the Old World have heard it, and their hearts stop to catch the last whisper of its echoes. The poor slave has heard it, and with bounding joy, tempered by the mystery of religion, he worships and adores. The waiting continent has heard it, and already foresees the fulfilled prophecy, when she will sit 'redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled by the irresistible Genius of Universal Emancipation."
THE CLOSING YEAR.
GEORGE D. PRENTICE.
'Tis midnight's holy hour,-and silence now
The still and pulseless world. Hark! on the winds
Is sweeping past; yet, on the stream and wood,
THE CLOSING YEAR.
With melancholy light, the moon-beams rest
In mournful cadences that come abroad
Like the far wind-harp's wild and touching wail,
'Tis a time
For memory and for tears. Within the deep,
And holy visions that have passed away,
The coffin-lid of Hope, and Joy, and Love,
And bending mournfully above the pale,
Sweet forms, that slumber there, scatters dead flowers
Has gone, and with it, many a glorious throng
It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged
It passed o'er
The battle-plain where sword, and spear, and shield, Flashed in the light of mid-day,-and the strength Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass,
Green from the soil of carnage, waves above
Yet ere it melted in the viewless air
It heralded its millions to their home
Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe!—what power
And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home,
O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast