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THE TEARS I SHED.

99

Night.
MYSTERIOUS Night, when our first parent knew

Thee, from report divine, and heard thy name,

Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,
This glorious canopy of light and blue ?
Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew

Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,

Hesperus with the host of heaven came, And lo! Creation widened on Man's view. Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed

Within thy beams, O Sunl or who could find, While flower, and leaf, and insect stood revealed,

That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind! Why do we then shun death with anxious strife? If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life?

JOSEPI BLANCO WHITE.

The Tears I Shed.

THE tears I shed must ever fall:

I mourn not for an absent swain;
For thoughts may past delights recall,

And parted lovers meet again.
I weep not for the silent dead;

Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er;
And those they loved their steps shall tread,

And death shall join to part no more.
Though boundless oceans roll between,

If certain that his heart is near,
A conscious transport glads each scene,

Soft is the sigh; and sweet the tear.
E’en when by death's cold hand removed,

We mourn the tenant of the tomb,
To think that elen in death he loved,

Can gild the horrors of the gloom.

But bitter, bitter are the tears

Of her who slighted love bewails;
No hope her dreary prospect cheers,

No pleasing melancholy hails.
Hers are the pangs of wounded pride,

Of blasted hope, of wither'd joy;
The flatt'ring veil is rent aside,

The flame of love burns to destroy.

In vain does memory renew

The hours once tinged in transport's dye; The sad reverse soon starts to view,

And turns the past to agony. E'en time itself despairs to cure

Those pangs to ev'ry feeling due: Ungenerous youth! thy boast how poor,

To win a heart—and break it too!

[No cold approach, no alter'd mien,

Just what would make suspicion start; No pause the dire extremes between,

He made me blest—and broke my heart.] From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn;

Neglected and neglecting all; Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn; The tears I shed must ever fall.

HELEN CRANSTOUN STEWART.

To an Indian Gold Coin.

Slave of the dark and dirty mine,

What vanity has brought thee here? How can I love to see thee shine

So bright, whom I have bought so dear?

The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear For twilight converse, arm in arm;

The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear When mirth and music wont to charm.

TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN.

101

By Cherical's dark wandering streams,

Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild, Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams

Of Teviot loved while still a child,

Of castled rocks stupendous piled By Esk or Eden's classic wave,

Where loves of youth and friendship smiled, Uncursed by thee, vile yellow slave!

Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade!

The perished bliss of youth's first prime, That once so bright on fancy played,

Revives no more in after-time.

Far from my sacred natal clime, I haste to an untimely grave;

The daring thoughts that soared sublime Are sunk in ocean's southern wave.

Slave of the mine, thy yellow light

Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear. A gentle vision comes by night

My lonely widowed heart to cheer:

Her eyes are dim with many a tear, That once were guiding stars to mine:

Her fond heart throbs with many a fear! I cannot bear to see thee shine.

For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave,

I left a heart that loved me true! I crossed the tedious ocean-wave,

To roam in climes unkind and new.

The cold wind of the stranger blew Chill on my withered heart; the grave

Dark and untimely met my view, And all for thee, vile yellow slave!

Hal com'st thou now so late to mock

A wanderer's banished heart forlorn,

Now that his frame the lightning shock

Of sun-rays tipped with death has borne ?

From love, from friendship, country, torn,
To memory's fond regrets the prey,

Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn!
Go mix thee with thy kindred clay!

JOAN LEYDEN.

a Visit from St. Nicholas.

'T was the night before Christinas, when all through the

house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter nap, —
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
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.
The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
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-
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!
Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all ! "
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.

103

So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys—and St. Nicholas too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes how they twinkle ! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump-a right jolly old elf; And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, 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.

ܙܙ

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-

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