So I played and I played, till, so weary I grew, While the birds sang so sweetly high up on its top: O mother, an angel was beck'ning to me! "And, 'Brother!' once more, 'come, O brother!' he cried, And flew on light pinions close down by my side! And mother, oh! never was being so bright As the one which then beamed on my wondering sight! His hair down his shoulders in fair ringlets fell, "And then on my forehead he tenderly pressed Such kisses - O mother, they thrilled through my breast, While his breath, floating round me, was soft as the breeze At last on my head a deep blessing he poured, Then plumed his bright pinions and upward he soared! Yet still my eyes followed his radiant flight, Oh, pale grew that mother, and heavy her heart, For she knew her fair boy from this world must depart! Till the soft light of heaven seemed shed o'er his face, Let me once more gaze up to that dear, loving eye, Oh, wild was the anguish that swept through her breast, I will wait for you there-but, oh, tarry not long, F LINT. IBRE by fibre, shred by shred, It falls from her delicate hand In feathery films, as soft and slow In the lap of a summer land. There are jewels of price in her roseate ears, And gold round her white wrist coils; A rare bird sings in a gilded cage A sun ray glints through a swaying bough, A sob floats out to the summer air "Ah! beauty of earth is nought, is nought! I have seen a sister's scarred face shine "I have read of another,* whose passing shade In the far Crimea!" There are no more tears, The bird still sings in his gilded cage; Hath stung her soul with a noble pain; Fibre by fibre, shred by shred, Still fall from her delicate hand The feathery films, as soft and slow *Florence Nightingale, an English lady, who cared for her country's soldiers in the Crimean War. As fall the flakes of a vanishing snow There are crimson stains on breasts and brows, The walls are lofty and white and bare, Through the chamber where she toils. No glitter of gold on her slender wrist, But a youth and a beauty all divine AN APPEAL FOR OUR COUNTRY. The following is an extract from a discourse in commemoration of the first settlement of Salem, Massachusetts, delivered by Judge Story, September 18, 1828. I CALL upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors, by the dear ashes which repose in this precious soil, by all you are and all you hope to be- resist every project of disunion, resist every encroachment upon your liberties resist every attempt to fetter your consciences, or smother your public schools, or extinguish your system of public instruction. I call upon you, mothers, by that which never fails in woman the love of your offspring: teach them, as they climb your knees, or lean upon your bosoms, the blessings of liberty. Swear them at the altar, as with their baptismal vows, to be true to their country, and never to forget or forsake her. I call upon you, young men, to remember whose sons you are, whose inheritance you possess. Life can never be too short, which brings nothing but disgrace and oppression. Death never comes too soon, if necessary in defence of the liberties of your country. I call upon you, old men, for your counsels, and your prayers, and your benedictions. May not your gray hairs go down in sorrow to the grave with the recollection that you have lived in vain! May not your last sun sink in the west upon a nation of slaves! The time of our departure is at hand, to make way for our children upon the theatre of life. May God speed them and theirs! May he who, at the distance of another century, shall stand here, to celebrate this day, still look round upon a free, May he have reason to exult as we happy, and virtuous people! do! May he, with all the enthusiasm of truth, as well as of poetry, exclaim that here is still his country. Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free; WASHINGTON AND LINCOLN. The following is an extract from a eulogy on President Lincoln pronounced by Charles Sumner before the citizens of Boston on Thursday, June 1, 1865. N the universe of God there are no accidents. From the fall IN of a sparrow to the fall of an empire, or the sweep of a planet, all is according to Divine providence, whose laws are everlasting. It was no accident which gave to his country the patriot whom we now honor. It was no accident which snatched this patriot, so suddenly and so cruelly, from his sublime duties. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord. Perhaps never in history has this providence been more conspicuous than in that recent procession of events where the final triumph was wrapped in the gloom of tragedy. It will be our duty to catch the moral of this stupendous drama. For the second time in our annals, the country has been summoned by the President to unite, on an appointed day, in commemorating the life and character of the dead. The first was on the death of George Washington, when, as now, a day was set apart for simultaneous eulogy throughout the land; and cities, towns, and villages all vied in tribute. More than half a century has passed since this early observance in memory of the Father of his Country, and now it is repeated in memory of Abraham Lincoln. Thus are Washington and Lincoln associated in the grandeur |