Now that his frame the lightning shock Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn! JOHN LEYDEN. A Visit from St. Nicholas. 'Twas the night. before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: 'Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blixen- So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!" CLEMENT C. MOORE. The Star-Spangled Banner. O, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleam Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly stream ing; And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses ? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now shines on the stream. 'T is the star-spangled banner! O, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! And where is that band who so vauntingly swore Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave, From the terror of death and the gloom of the grave. And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's desolation; Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the power that has made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just, And this be our motto, "In God is our trust." And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave FRANCIS SCOTT KEY. Lucy's Flittin'. 'T WAS when the wan leaf frae the birk tree was fa'in', And Martinmas dowie had wound up the year, That Lucy row'd up her wee kist wi' her a' in 't And left her auld maister and neebours sae dear. For Lucy had served in "The Glen" a' the simmer; She cam' there afore the flower bloom'd on the pea; An orphan was she, and they had been gude till her, Sure that was the thing brocht the tear to her ee. She gaed by the stable where Jamie was stannin', The gatherin' tears trickled fast frae his ee. She heard the craw sayin' 't, high on the tree sittin', And robin was chirpin' 't the brown leaves amang. Oh, what is 't that pits my puir heart in a flutter? Then what gars me wish ony better to be? Nae wonder the tear fa's sae fast frae my ee. Wi' the rest o' my claes I hae row'd up the ribbon, The bonnie blue ribbon that Jamie ga'e me; Yestreen, when he ga'e me 't, and saw I was sabbin', I'll never forget the wae blink o' his ee. Though now he said naething but Fare-ye-weel, Lucy! The lamb likes the gowan wi' dew when its droukit; The hare likes the brake, and the braird on the lea; But Lucy likes Jamie;—she turned and she lookit, She thocht the dear place she wad never mair see. Ah, weel may young Jamie gang dowie and cheerless, And weel may he greet on the bank o' the burn; For bonnie sweet Lucy, sae gentle and peerless, Lies cauld in her grave, and will never return. WILLIAM LAIDLAW. A Litany for Doneraile. ALAS! how dismal is my tale!— May fire and brimstone never fail As lightnings flash across the vale, May beef or mutton, lamb or veal, And forward as the creeping snail May sun and moon forever fail |