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MEMORY GEMS

WARREN'S ADDRESS

Stand! the ground's your own, my braves !
Will ye give it up to slaves ?
Will'ye look for greener graves ?

Hope ye mercy still ?
What's the mercy despots feel ?
Hear it in that battle peal!
Read it on yon bristling steel!

Ask it, - ye who will.

Fear ye foes who kill for hire ?
Will ye to your homes retire ?
Look behind you! — they're afire!

And, before you, see
Who have done it! From the vale
On they come! And will ye quail ?
Leaden rain and iron hail

Let their welcome be!

In the God of battles trust!
Die we may — and die we must:
But, 0, where can dust to dust

Be consign'd so well,
As where Heaven its dews shall shed
On the martyr'd patriot's bed,
And the rocks shall raise their head

Of his deeds to tell?Pierpont.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,

Sails the unshadowed main,

The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings

In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,

And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;

Wrecked is the ship of pearl

And every chambered cell,
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,

Before thee lies revealed, —
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

Year after year beheld the silent toil

That spread his lustrous coil;

Still, as the spiral grew,
He left the past year's dwelling for the new,
Stole with soft step its shining archway through,

Built up its idle door,
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no

more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,

Child of the wandering sea,

Cast from her lap, forlorn!
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
Than ever Triton blew from wreathéd horn!

While on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that
: sings :-
Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

As the swift seasons roll !

Leave thy low-vaulted past !
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,

Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!

- Holmes.

FROM THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
Sail on, O Union, strong and great!
Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
We know what Master laid thy keel,
What Workman wrought thy ribs of steel,
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge and what a heat
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
'Tis of the wave and not the rock;
'Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale!
In spite of rock and tempest's roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore,
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,
Are all with thee, — are all with thee - Longfellow.

THE DAFFODILS

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never ending line
Along the margin of the bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;

A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company;
I gazed and gazed, but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie,

In vacant, or in pensive, mood, They flash upon that inward eye,

Which is the bliss of solitude ; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. — Wordsworth.

FROM THE BROOK

I come from haunts of coot and hern,

I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,

To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,

Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town,

And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow

To join the brimming river,
For men may come, and men may go,

But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,

In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays,

I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve, my banks I fret

By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set

With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow

To join the brimming river,
For men may come, and men may go,

But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,

With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout,

And here and there a grayling.

And here and there a foamy flake

Upon me as I travel,
With many a silvery waterbreak

Above the golden gravel,
And draw them all along, and flow

To join the brimming river,
For men may come, and men may go,

But I go on forever. — Tennyson.

CONCORD HYMN
By the rude bridge that arched the flood,

Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,

And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps ; And Time the ruined bridge has swept

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,

We set to-day a votive stone;

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