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Oh, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
On Greenland's rocks, o'er rude Kamschatka's plains, In pale Siberia's desolate domains ; Where the wild hunter takes his lonely way, Tracks through tempestuous snows his savage prey, The reindeer's spoil, the ermine's treasures shares, And feasts his famine on the fat of bears : Or wrestling with the might of raging seas, Where round the pole the eternal billows freeze, Plucks from their jaws the stricken whale, in vain Plunging down headlong through the whirling main; His wastes of ice are lovelier in his eye Than all the flowery vales beneath the sky; And dearer far than Cæsar's palace-dome, His cavern shelter, and his cottage-home. O'er China's garden-fields, and peopled floods ; In California's pathless world of woods; Round Andes' heights, where winter, from his throne, Looks down in scorn upon the summer gone ; By the gay borders of Bermuda's isles, Where spring with everlasting verdure smiles ; On pure Madeira's vine-robed hills of health, In Java's swamp of pestilence and wealth; Where Babel stood, where wolves and jackals drink ; 'Midst weeping willows, on Euphrates' brink ; On Carmel's crest; by Jordan's reverend stream, Where Canaan's glories vanish like a dream; Where Greece, a spectre, haunts her heroes' graves, And Rome's vast ruins darken Tiber's waves; Where broken-hearted Switzerland bewails Her subject mountains, and dishonored vales ; Where Albion's rocks exult amidst the sea, Around the beauteous isle of liberty; -Man, through all ages of revolving time, Unchanging man, in every varying clime, Deems his own land of every land the pride, Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ;
His home the spot of earth supremely blest,
RESPONSIBILITY OF AMERICAN CITIZENS.
[The following extract is taken from an Oration delivered by Judge Story Sept. 18, 1828, on the occasion of the commemoration of the first settlement of Salem, Massachusetts.]
WE stand the latest, and, if we fail, probable the last, experiment of self-government by the people. We have begun it under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been · checked by the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfeebled by the vices or luxuries of the old world. Such as we are, we have been from the beginning-simple, hardy, intelligent, accustomed to self-government and self-respect. The Atlantic rolls between us and any formidable foe.
Within our territory, stretching through many degrees of latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many products, and many means of independence. The government is mild. The press is free. Religion is free. Knowledge reaches, or may reach, every home. What fairer prospect of success could be presented ? What means more adequate to accomplish the sublime end? What more is necessary, than for the people to preserve what they themselves have created ?
Can it be that America, under such circumstances can betray herself? that she is to be added to the catalogue of republics the inscription upon whose ruins is, “ They were, but they are not?” Forbid it, my countrymen ! forbid it, Heaven !
I call upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors,
RESPONSIBILITY OF AMERICAN CITIZENS.
by the dear ashes which repose in this precious soil, by all you are and all you hope to be,-resist every project of disunion, resist every encroachment upon your liberties, resist every attempt to fetter your consciences, or smother your public schools, or extinguish your system of public instruction.
I call upon you, mothers, by that which never fails in woman—the love of your offspring; teach them, as they climb your knees, or lean on your bosoms, the blessings of liberty. Swear them at the altar, as with their baptismal vows, to be true to their country, and never to forget or forsake her,
I call upon you, young men, to remember whose sons you are, whose inheritance you possess. Lífe can never be too short, which brings nothing but disgrace and oppression. Death never comes too soon, if necessary in defence of the liberties of your country.
I call upon you, old men, for your counsels, and your prayers,
benedictions. May not your gray hairs go down in sorrow to the grave with the recollection that you have lived in vain! May not your last sun sink in the west upon a nation of slaves !
The time of our departure is at hand, to make way for our children upon the theatre of life. May God speed them and theirs ! May he who, at the distance of another century, shall stand here to celebrate this day, still look round upon a free, happy, and virtuous people! May he have reason to exult as we do! May he, with all the enthusiasm of truth, as well as of poetry, exclaim that here is still his country.
“ Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;
THE SMACK IN SCHOOL.
W. P. PALMER.
A DISTRICT school, not far away 'Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day, Was humming with its wonted noise Of threescore mingled girls and boysSome few upon their tasks intent, But more on furtive mischief bent; The while the master's downward look Was fastened on a copy-bookWhen suddenly behind his back, Rose, loud and clear, a rousing smack, As 'twere a battery of bliss Let off in one tremendous kiss ! " What's that?” the startled master cries ; “ That thir,” a little imp replies, “ Wath William Willith, if you pleatheI thaw him kith Thuthannah Peathe!” With frown to make a statue thrill, The master thundered “ Hither, Will! ” Like wretch o'ertaken in his track, With stolen chattels on his back, Will hung his head in fear and shame, And to the awful presence cameA great, green, bashful simpleton, The butt of all good-natured funWith smile suppressed, and birch upraised, The threat'ner faltered—“ I'm amazed That you, my biggest pupil, should Be guilty of an act so rude ! Before the whole set school to bootWhat evil genius put you to't?” " Twas she, herself, sir,” sobbed the lad, " I didn't mean to be so bad But when Susannah shook her curls, And whispered I was 'fear'd of girls,
LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD,
And dassn't kiss a baby's doll,
LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.
SARAH T. BOLTON.
What, was it a dream ? am I all alone
In the dreary night and the drizzling rain ? Hist!-ah, it was only the river's moan;
They have left me behind, with the mangled slain.
Yes, now I remember it all too well!
We met, from the battling ranks apart; Together our weapons flashed and fell,
And mine was sheathed in his quivering heart.
In the cypress gloom, where the deed was done,
It was all too dark to see his face ;
And he holds me still in a cold embrace.
He spoke but once, and I could not hear
The words he said, for the cannon's roar; But my heart grew cold with a deadly fear,
O God! I had heard that voice before !
Had heard it before at our mother's knee,
When we lisped the words of our evening prayer ! My brother! would I had died for thee,
This burden is more than my soul can bear!
I pressed my lips to his death-cold cheek,
And begged him to show me, by word or sign, That he knew and forgave me: he could not speak,
But he nestled his poor cold face to mine.