And the waving corn-tops seem to dance
To the rustic's merry lay:

Thou hast strewn the lordly palace

In ruin o'er the ground,

And the dismal screech of the owl is heard

Where the harp was wont to sound ;
But the self-same spot thou coverest
With the dwellings of the poor,
And a thousand happy hearts enjoy
What one usurped before.

"T is true, thy progress layeth
Full many a loved one low,
And for the brave and beautiful

Thou hast caused our tears to flow;
But always, near the couch of Death
Nor thou, nor we can stay,

And the breath of thy departing wing
Dries all our tears away.

THE MYSTERY OF SONG.

WHENCE Come ye, saddening chords?
Thou wailing melody, thou martial strain?
Where is the fountain deep, too deep for words,
Whence gush your ambient waters to the main?

Art thou a prince, O Song?

Like to the wind-god, or the lightning-king? Of wayward gentleness, of fierceness strongAn infant's cry, a seraph's sweeping wing?

Or art thou God's own voice,

Echoing afar through Earth's majestic halls; Now caught in whisperings low, when men rejoice, Now pealed in thunder-bolts and water-falls?

Poor instruments of Earth

Catch the stray voices circling round the spheres,
With scarce an echo of their heavenly birth;
And yet, how sadly sweet to mortal ears!

ANONYMOUS.

Hark! distant swells of song

Steal o'er the moon-lit waters to my ear;
And, as the rippling waves their notes prolong,
They bear unto my spirit hope and fear.

Hope, that, o'er moon-lit seas,

Our inner life may catch sweet lingering strains:
Vague fear, lest soul-heard melodies like these
Die in our hearts while memory yet remains.

Where fly yc, touching chords,

Thus speaking tones of heavenly harmony? Have ye some cloistered home which Earth affords, Or course ye back to far Infinity?

Or haply are ye sent

To sink and dwell in hearts of god-like mould?

To give the bright imagination vent,

To regions vast, of melody untold?

I call-but ye are gone!

A slight vibration moans along the sky,

And seems to whisper, as it circles on,

These saddening words: "Like all things else, we die!"

Yet, stay! Can Beauty die?

Can golden life from Purity be riven?

List! list! the answering strains come floating by:

"The home of all sweet melody is Heaven!"

THE BANNER OF THE CROSS.

In hoc signo vinces.

HIGH above the conquering march,

Where the Roman cohorts stride;

High above triumphal arch,

Under which crowned Caesars ride ;—
Lo! where once Rome's eagle flew,

Cresting standard, spear and boss,
Bathed in Heaven's own morning dew,
Floats the Banner of the Cross!

Mystic sign, but mighty spell,

Now thy blood-red gonfalon,

ANONYMOUS.

ODE TO DUTY.

STERN daughter of the voice of God!

O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod

To check the erring, and reprove; Thou, who art victory and law

When empty terrors overawe;

From vain temptations dost set free;

And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye

Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely

Upon the genial sense of youth:

Glad hearts! without reproach or blot;

Who do thy work and know it not;

Oh! if through confidence misplaced

WORDSWORTH.

They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.

Serene will be our days and bright,

And happy will our nature be,

When love is an unerring light,

And joy its own security.

And they a blissful course may hold

Even now, who, not unwisely bold,

Live in the spirit of this creed;

Yet find thy firm support, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried;

No sport of every random gust,

Yet being to myself a guide,

Too blindly have reposed my trust: And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred

The task, in smoother walks to stray;

But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I

Through no disturbance of my soul,

Or strong compunction in me wrought,

I supplicate for thy control;

But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance-desires:

may.

My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair

As is the smile upon thy face:

Flowers laugh before thee on their beds;

And fragrance in thy footing treads;

Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;

And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

To humbler functions, awful Power!

I call thee: I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour;

Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,

The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;

And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!

I GIVE MY SOLDIER BOY A BLADE.

I GIVE my soldier boy a blade,

In fair Damascus fashioned well;

Who first the glittering falchion swayed,
Who first beneath its fury fell,

I know not, but I hope to know
That for no mean or hireling trade,
To guard no feeling base or low,
I give my soldier boy a blade.

Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid flood
In which its tempering work was done,

As calm, as clear, as cool of mood,
Be thou whene'er it sees the sun;
For country's claim, at honor's call,
For outraged friend, insulted maid,
At mercy's voice to bid it fall,
I give my soldier boy a blade.

MAGINN.