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THE SETTLER.

His echoing axe the settler swung

Amid the sea-like solitude,

And, rushing, thundering, down were flung

The Titans of the wood;

Loud shrieked the eagle, as he dashed
From out his mossy nest, which crashed
With its supporting bough,

And the first sunlight, leaping, flashed
On the wolf's haunt below.

Rude was the garb, and strong the frame
Of him who plied his ceaseless toil:
To form that garb the wild-wood game
Contributed their spoil;

The soul that warmed that frame disdained
The tinsel, gaud, and glare, that reigned
Where men their crowds collect;
The simple fur, untrimmed, unstained,
This forest-tamer decked.

The paths which wound mid gorgeous trees,

A. B. STREET

The stream whose bright lips kissed their flowers,

The winds that swelled their harmonies

Through those sun-hiding bowers,

The temple vast, the green arcade,

The nestling vale, the grassy glade,

Dark cave, and swampy lair:

These scenes and sounds majestic, made
His world, his pleasures, there.

His roof adorned a pleasant spot,

Mid the black logs green glowed the grain,
And herbs and plants the woods knew not,
Throve in the sun and rain.

The smoke-wreath curling o'er the dell,
The low, the bleat, the tinkling bell,
All made a landscape strange,

Which was the living chronicle

Of deeds that wrought the change.

The violet sprung at spring's first tinge,
The rose of summer spread its glow,

The maize hung out its autumn fringe,
Rude winter brought his snow;
And still the lone one labored there,
His shout and whistle broke the air,
As cheerily he plied

His garden-spade, or drove his share
Along the hillock's side.

He marked the fire-storm's blazing flood
Roaring and crackling on its path,
And scorching earth, and melting wood,
Beneath its greedy wrath;

He marked the rapid whirlwind shoot,
Trampling the pine tree with its foot,
And darkening thick the day

With streaming bough and severed root,
Hurled whizzing on its way.

His gaunt hound yelled, his rifle flashed,
The grim bear hushed his savage growl;
In blood and foam the panther gnashed
His fangs, with dying howl;

The fleet deer ceased its flying bound,
Its snarling wolf-foe bit the ground,
And, with its moaning cry,

The beaver sank beneath the wound
Its pond-built Venice by.

Humble the lot, yet his the race,

When Liberty sent forth her cry,
Who thronged in conflict's deadliest place,
To fight-to bleed-to die!

Who cumbered Bunker's height of red,

By hope through weary years were led,
And witnessed Yorktown's sun
Blaze on a nation's banner spread,

A nation's freedom won.

THE CORAL GROVE.

DEEP in the wave is a coral grove,

Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove;

Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue,
That never are wet with falling dew,

PERCIVAL.

But in bright and changeful beauty shine,
Far down in the green and glassy brine.
The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift,
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow;
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift

Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow;
The water is calm and still below,

For the winds and waves are absent there,

And the sands are bright as the stars that glow
In the motionless fields of upper air:

There, with its waving blade of green,

The sea-flag streams through the silent water,
And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen
To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter:
There, with a light and easy motion,

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear, deep sea;
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean
Are bending like corn on the upland lea:
And life, in rare and beautiful forms,

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,

And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms
Has made the top of the wave his own:
And when the ship from his fury flies,

Where the myriad voices of ocean roar,

When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies,
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore;

Then, far below, in the peaceful sea,

The purple mullet and gold-fish rove,

Where the waters murmur tranquilly,

Through the bending twigs of the coral grove.

APOSTROPHE TO THE SUN.

CENTRE of light and energy! thy way

Is through the unknown void; thou hast thy throne, Morning, and evening, and at noon of day,

Far in the blue, untended and alone:

Ere the first-wakened airs of earth had blown,

On thou didst march, triumphant in thy light;

PERCIVAL.

Then thou didst send thy glance, which still hath flown Wide through the never-ending worlds of night,

And yet thy full orb burns with flash as keen and bright.

We call thee Lord of Day, and thou dost give
To earth the fire that animates her crust,
And wakens all the forms that move and live,
From the fine, viewless mould which lurks in dust,
To him who looks to heaven, and on his bust
Bears stamped the seal of God, who gathers there
Lines of deep thought, high feeling, daring trust
In his own centered powers, who aims to share
In all his soul can frame of wide, and great, and fair.

Thy path is high in heaven; we cannot gaze
On the intense of light that girds thy car;
There is a crown of glory in thy rays,

Which bears thy pure divinity afar,
To mingle with the equal light of star,-
For thou, so vast to us, art in the whole

One of the sparks of night that fire the air,
And, as around thy centre planets roll,

So thou, too, hast thy path around the central soul.

I am no fond idolater to thee,

One of the countless multitude, who burn, As lamps, around the one Eternity,

In whose contending forces systems turn Their circles round that seat of life, the urn Where all must sleep, if matter ever dies:

Sight fails me here, but fancy can discern

With the wide glance of her all-seeing eyes,

Where, in the heart of worlds, the ruling Spirit lies.

"LET THERE BE LIGHT."

MRS. F. H. COOKE

GOD said, "Let there be light!" The glorious word
Thrilled to the bosom of primeval Night,

And hovering choirs of listening angels heard
And echoed back the mandate with delight.
They hailed the boon those simple worls conferred,
"Let there be light!"

Still, though uncounted years have rolled away
Since Earth first revelled in a gift so bright,
Some lingering clouds obstruct the rising day,
The powers of Darkness are not vanquished quite.

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Humanity hath often missed the way; "Let there be light!

Light for the doomed one in his lonely cell,
Waiting Conviction's last, most fearful rite:
Light for the brother-bands that pealed his knell,
Claiming the Avenger's office to requite.
Law-makers! Jurors! Judges! where ye dwell
"Let there be light!"

Light for the poor down-trodden, as they toil
Long hours, with weary limbs and aching sight:
Light for the revellers in the costly spoil

Torn from their brethren. On their foreheads write,
"The Oak shuts not the Daisy from the soil."
"Let there be light!"

Light for the injured, whereso'er they dwell,

And the sweet ties that suffering hearts unite:

Light for the injurers, too, for none may tell

How much their hearts have struggled for the Right. Guilt is mistake. Then bid the chorus swell,

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Let there be light!"

ALL'S FOR THE BEST.

MARTIN F. TUPPER.

ALL'S for the best. Be sanguine and cheerful;
Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise;
Nothing but folly goes faithless and fearful;
Courage for ever is happy and wise;
All for the best—if man would but know it;
Providence wishes us all to be blest;
There is no dream of the pundit or poet;
Heaven is gracious, and--all's for the best.

All's for the best! set this in your standard,
Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love,
Who to the shores of despair may have wandered,
A way-wearied swallow, or heart-stricken dove;
All's for the best!-be man but confiding,

Providence tenderly governs the rest,

And the frail bark of His creature is guiding,
Wisely and warily, all for the best.

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