PSALM OF MARRIAGE.-Phebe Cary.
TELL me not in idle jingle,
Marriage is an empty dream!"
For the girl is dead that's single,
And girls are not what they seem,
Life is real! Life is earnest !
Single blessedness a fib!
"Man thou art, to man returnest!"
Has been spoken of the rib.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act that each to-morrow
Finds us nearer marriage day.
Life is long, and youth is fleeting,
And our hearts, though light and gay,
Still like pleasant drums are beating
Wedding marches all the way.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb driven cattle!
Be a heroine-a wife !-
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant,
Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act-act to the living Present!
Heart within and hope ahead!
Lives of married folks remind us
We can live our lives as well,
And, departing, leave behind us
Such examples as shall "tell."
Such example that another,
Wasting time in idle sport,
A forlorn, unmarried brother,
Seeing, shall take heart and court.
HETTY MCEWEN-Lucy Hamilton Hooper.
AN INCIDENT OF THE OCCUPATION OF NASHVILLE.
O HETTY MCEWEN! Hetty McEwen!
What were the angry rebels doing,
That autumn day, in Nashville town?
They looked aloft with oath and frown,
And saw the Stars and Stripes wave high
Against the blue of the sunny sky;
Deep was the oath, and dark the frown,
And loud the shout of "Tear it down!"
For over Nashville, far and wide,
Rebel banners the breeze defied,
Staining heaven with crimson bars;
Only the one old "Stripes and Stars"
Waved, where autumn leaves were strewing,
Round the home of Hetty McEwen.
Hetty McEwen watched that day
Where her son on his death-bed lay;
She heard the hoarse and angry cry-
The blood of" "76" rose high.
Out-flashed her eye, her cheek grew warm,
Uprose her aged stately form;
From her window, with steadfast brow,
She looked upon the crowd below.
Eyes all aflame with angry file
Flashed on her in defiant ire,
And once more rose the angry call,
"Tear down that flag, or the house shall fall!"
Never a single inch quailed she,
Her answer rang out firm and free:
"Under the roof where that flag flies,
Now my son on his death-bed lies;
Born where that banner floated high,
'Neath its folds he shall surely die.
Not for threats nor yet for suing
Shall it fall," said Hetty McEwen.
The loyal heart and steadfast hand
Claimed respect from the traitor band;
The fiercest rebel quailed that day
Before that woman stern and gray.
They went in silence, one by one-
Left her there with her dying son,
And left the old flag floating free
O'er the bravest heart in Tennessee,
To wave in loyal splendor there
Upon that treason-tainted air,
Until the rebel rule was o'er
And Nashville town was ours once more.
Came the day when Fort Donelson
Fell, and the rebel reign was done;
And into Nashville, Buell, then,
Marched with a hundred thousand men,
With waving flags and rolling drums
Past the heroine's house he comes;
He checked his steed and bared his head,
"Soldiers! salute that flag," he said;
"And cheer, boys, cheer !-give three times three For the bravest woman in Tennessee!
You wear the Square, but do you have
That thing the square denotes ?
Is there within your inmost soul,
That principle which should control
All deeds, and words, and thoughts?
The square of virtue-is it there,
O you that wear the Mason's Square?
You wear the Compass; do you keep
Within that circle due,
That's circumscribed by law divine,
Excluding hatred, envy, sin,
Including all that's true?
The Compass-does it trace that curve
Inside of which, no passions swerve?
You wear the TYPE OF DEITY,
Ah! brother have a care;
He whose all-seeing eye surveys
Your inmost thoughts with open gaze,
He knows what thoughts are there!
Or, send no light, irreverent word,
From sinful man to sinless God.
You wear the Trowel; do you have
That mortar old and pure,
Made on the recipe of God,
Recorded in His ancient word,
Indissoluble, sure?
And do you spread with master's care,
The precious mixture here and there ?
You wear the Cross; it signifies
The burdens Jesus bore-
Who staggering fell, and bleeding rose,
And bore up Calvary the woes
Of all who'd gone before;
The Cross! oh let it say "forgive,
Father, forgive, to all that live !"
My brothers, if you will display
These emblems of our Art,
Let the great moral that they teach,
Be engraven, each for each,
Upon your honest heart!
So they will tell to God and man,
Our ancient, holy, perfect plan.
THE BRIDES OF ENDERBY; OR, THE HIGH TIDE. (1571)—Jean Ingelow.
The old mayor climbed the belfry tower,
The ringers rang by two, by three;
"Pull, if ye never pulled before ;
Good ringers, pull your best,” quoth he.
"Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells!
Ply all your changes all your swells,
Play uppe 'The Brides of Enderby.'"
Men say it was a stolen tyde
The Lord that sent it, He knows all;
But in myne cars doth still abide
The message that the bells let fall:
And there was naught of strange, beside
The flight of mews and peewits pied
By millions crouched on the old sea-wall.
I sat and spun within the doore,
My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; The level sun, like ruddy ore,
Lay sinking in the barren skies, And dark against day's golden death She moved where Lindis wandereth, My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth.
"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling
Ere the early dews were falling,
Farre away I heard her song.
"Cusha! Čusha !" all along;
Where the reedy Lindis floweth,
Floweth, floweth,
From the meads where melick groweth
Faintly came her milking song—
"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha !" calling,
"For the dews will soone be falling;
Leave your meadow grasses mellow,
Mellow, mellow;
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow;
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot,
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow,
Hollow, hollow;
Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow,
From the clovers lift your head;
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot,
Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow,
Jetty, to the milking shed."
If it be long, ay, long ago,
When I beginne to think howe long,
Againe I hear the Lindis flow,
Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong;
And all the aire, it seemeth mee,
Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee),
That ring the tune of Enderby.
Alle fresh the level pasture lay,
And not a shadowe mote be seene,
Save where full fyve good miles away
The steeple towered from out the greene
And lo! the great bell farre and wide
Was heard in all the country side
That Saturday at eventide.
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