Oh, wedded love! how beautiful,

How pure a thing thou art,
Whose influence e'en in death can rule,
And triumph o'er the heart;

Can cheer life's roughest walk, and shed
A holy light around the dead!

There was a solemn, sacred feeling
Kindled in every breast,

And, softly from the cabin stealing,
They left them to their rest;

The fair, the young, the constant pair,
They left them, with a blessing, there.

And to their boat returning, each
With thoughtful brow, and haste,
And o'ercharged heart, too full for speech,
They left amid that waste

The charnel ship, which, years before,

Had sailed from distant Albion's shore.

They left her in the icebergs, where
Few venture to intrude,

A monument of death and fear,

'Mid Ocean's solitude;

And, grateful for their own release,

Thanked God, and sought their homes in peace.

I

THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM.

slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy, lay,

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind;

But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,

And visions of happiness, danced o'er his mind.

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; While memory stood sidewise, half-covered with flowers, And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.

The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall;
All trembling with transport, le raises the latch,

And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father, bends o'er him with looks of delight,
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear;
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss, unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,

Joy quickens his pulse-all his hardships, seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness, steals through his rest, "O God! thou hast blessed me- I ask for no more."

Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye?
Ah! what is that sound that now 'larums his ear?
'Tis the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky!
'Tis the crashing of thunder, the groan of the sphere!

He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck;
Amazement confronts him with images dire;

Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck,
The masts fly in splinters - the shrouds are on fire!

Like mountains the billows tumultuously swell;

In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,

And the death-angel flaps his darks wings o'er the wave.

O sailor-boy! woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss; Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss?

O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! never again

Shall love, home, or kindred thy wishes repay;
Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay.

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge;

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge.

On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid,
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below.

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll;

Earth, loses thy pattern for ever and aye:

O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul! 4

THE

HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.

HE consul's brow was sad, and the consul's speech was low, And darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe. "Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down;

And if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the

town?"

Then out spoke brave Horatius, the captain of the gate:
"To every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late.
Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play.

"In yon strait path a thousand may well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me?"

Then out spake Spurius Lartius a Ramnian proud was he"Lo! I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with thee."

And out spake strong Herminius- of Titian blood was he"I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee." "Horatius," quoth the consul," as thou sayest, so let it be." And straight against that great array, forth went the dauntless three.

Soon all Etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see
On the earth the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless three.
And from the ghastly entrance, where those bold Romans stood,
The bravest shrank like boys who rouse an old bear in the wood.

But meanwhile axe and lever have manfully been plied, And now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide. "Come back, come back, Horatius!" loud cried the fathers all: "Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! back, ere the ruin fall!"

Back darted Spurius Lartius; Herminius darted back;

And, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the timbers crack;

But when they turned their faces, and on the farther shore
Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once

more.

But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam,

And, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream.
And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome,
As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam.

And, like a horse unbroken, when first he feels the rein,
The furious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny mane,
And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free,

And battlement, and plank, and pier whirled headlong to the

sea.

Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind;

Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind. "Down with him!" cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale

face.

"Now yield thee!" cried Lars Porsena, now yield thee to our grace!"

Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see; Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus nought spake he; But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home,

And he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rome:

"O Tiber! Father Tiber! to whom the Romans pray,

A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this day!" So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side, And, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide.

No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank;

But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, stood gazing where he sank,

And when above the surges they saw his crest appear,

Rome shouted, and e'en Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer.

But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain: And fast his blood was flowing; and he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows: And oft they thought him sinking--but still again he rose.

Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case,
Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing-place:
But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within,
And our good Father Tiber bare bravely up his chin.

"Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; "will not the villain drown? But for his stay, ere close of day we should have sacked the town!" "Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena, "and bring him safe to shore;

For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before."

And now he feels the bottom;

now on dry earth he stands;

Now round him throng the fathers to press his gory hands.
And now, with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the river gate, borne by the joyous crowd.

MR

SPEECH OF PATRICK HENRY.

R. PRESIDENT:- It is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that syren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be