There still remains to the admiring view,

The
pure expanse of Heaven's unclouded blue.
Oh thou! for whom the powers on high provide,
A blessed treasure, in that lovely bride,
'Tis thine to nourish, shelter, and protect,
Let love be mingled with a sweet respect,
Nor let a careless word, or blameful deed,
Invade her peace, or make that fond heart bleed,
So Hymen's torch shall burn with constant light,
Supremely mild, and beautifully bright.

Though strong the tie that binds thee to thy home, A stronger still, may summon thee to roam, To leave the chosen partner of thy days, And that loved spot, where blest affection's rays. Shed a mild light upon the household hearth, Relieve its woe, and sanctify its mirth.

The troubled land is filled with war's alarms,
And the loud cry resounds to arms! to arms!
Though nuptial love leaves not his noble breast,
The love of country calls him from his rest,
He flies to where that country's flag is borne,
Where rolls the drum, and sounds the echoing horn,
Where rally stern-browed men a dauntles band,
The brave defenders of their father-land,

And as the trumpet's onset note rings out,
And eager thousands raise the battle shout,
He with a solemn vow his falchion draws,
Nerved by the hope that gilds his glorious cause.

While rages now the hot and earnest strife,
How lives the lovely, and the lonely wife?
Does she in weakness to regret give way,
And mourn with tears the well-remembered day,
When that domestic bond was rent in twain,
Which ne'er on earth might be re-knit again?
See where the lattice in the evening hour,
Opened to catch the south wind's balmy power,
Allows that breeze to fan the clustering locks
Which half conceal a face, whose beauty mocks
The limner's pencil, and the poet's pen;
There bends a form, beneath th' all seeing ken

Of th' eternal Father;-there lowly kneels
That guileless wife-there each desire reveals,
And with a touching earnestness implores,
That he, whom her fond heart almost adores,
May all unvisited by war's fierce harms,
Safely return to her expectant arms.

"But still" (she prays) "whate'er his fate may be Let nothing wean me, oh! my God from thee! Let nothing weaken that true faith I owe

To thee, who ev'ry blessing did'st bestow,

And if thy will no other fate allows,

And Death's fell shaft must reach my warrior spouse, As brave and good men perish, may he fall,

And patriot tears, bedew his honored pall,

To his last hours may peaceful thoughts be given,
And Freedom's martyr find a home in Heaven!"
Fond, virtuous Wife! the love that bears thee up,
To taste unquestioned any bitter cup

Thy Maker's wisdom may prepare for thee,
And bow in meekness to the just decree,
That love shall shelter thee, whate'er betide,

A guardian angel ever at thy side;

And though black clouds should gather o'er life's sea,
While rage the wild-winds of adversity,

Though terrors come with each advancing wave,
The love of God remains, to shield and save.

Time still rolls on :-the direful voice of war,
Is hushed to silence, and is heard no more,
The hum of labor greets each coming day,
And household joy resumes her former sway,
He who the humble suppliant ever hears,

Answers that fond Wife's meek but earnest prayers,
And safely passed through scenes of strife and pain,
The war-worn husband finds his home again.

Domestic Love endears his rural rest,

And sons and daughters rise, and call him blest;
Old
age at last comes on with gentle pace,

And touches manhood with a reverend grace;
His children's children climb his trembling knee,
And make their grandsire share their playful glee;

Or else implore the good old man to tell,
The oft-told tale, they love to hear so well,
How Independence was maintained, and bought,
How foes retreated, and how freemen fought,
How noble men, in days long past and gone,
Their rights supported, and their glory won,
And still remained, despite the tyrant's rod,
True to themselves, their country, and their God.

At last his shortened breath, and weakened frame,
The coming of the final hour proclaim,
Love ministers beside his dying bed,
With tender care supports his aged head,
With reverence listens unto each request,

Soothes every pang, and watches o'er his rest;
Love stoops to catch the last, the solemn sigh
That speaks his entrance on eternity;

Love keeps her vigils by his sacred tomb,

And plants fresh flowers around that narrow home.

Thus in our childhood's hour Love watches near,
And still attends us through each passing year,
Comes to our side when first we draw our breath,
Gives joy to Life, and takes the sting from Death.

Though yet Love reigns not with undoubted sway,
And lawless Passion still will have her day,
Though Heaven's best gifts are blent with earth's alloy,
And all-imperfect is each human joy,

A time in God's just providence draws near,
When Love in perfect aspect shall appear.

Sages of old with Inspiration's eye,
Have scanned the regions of futurity;
And through the thickness of its curtained gloom,
Beheld the glories of an age to come;

When by the forest's lord the lamb shall lay,

And guileless babes unharmed with serpent's play,
When Sin shall conquered lie with Pain and Strife,
And Holiness walk hand in hand with Life.

Come blessed hour! when war and woe shall cease,
And the Sun's rays illume a world at peace,
When earth below, like yon blue heaven above,

Shall rest in Joy, in Innocence, and Love!

ROMANCE OF AMERICAN HISTORY.-NO. II.

"So the Gen'ral's off without never a thankee," said a voice in not the best humoured tones in the world. André turned round and beheld Smithson.

"Ha! boatswain," said he quickly, "you are in good time. Loose not a moment in conveying me on board the Vulture."

"There are two parties to that bargain," said the man in an indifferent manner, proceeding to place his oars in bickets on the portico.

"What, fellow."

"Fellow not me," said the boatswain doggedly; "I am at no man's beck and bidding. I have my reasons for serving the General, but am not every man's servant you may depend. If you want to get back to your ship you have arms, and can pull an oar I reckon, as well's another body."

Annoyed and irritated at the unexpected position assumed by his guide, André paced the ground a few seconds, reflecting upon his situation and deliberating on the course he should pursue; then turning to the man who was removing his thick over coat with great deliberation, he said in a tone of mild entreaty :

"Smithson, my good fellow, take this gold and conduct me to your boat."

"Mr. John Anderson, what Jack Smithson wont do for favor he wont do for gold. Besides I have been up all night and I want sleep. The Vulture lays full two leagues below, and it would be broad day before I could reach her. No, no, nothing less than the General's orders will make me put oar in row-lock this night."

"Fatal negligence on the part of Arnold not to leave instructions to this effect," said André bitterly. Turning full upon the man he suddenly drew a pistol and levelled it at his breast-saying in a stern voice, "swear to guide me to your boat or you are a dead man."

"Is this your game, ha!" said Smithson with a laugh, quickly seizing the muzzle of the pistol in his gigantic grasp and turning it upward "now Mr. Anderson if you are wise you'd best put up that play-thing, for I am not a going to be frightened at such things

as them. Good night." Thus speaking, he released his hold of the pistol and entered the dwelling.

Mortified at his want of success, indignant at the supposed carelessness of Arnold, and not a little alarmed at the danger of being discovered within the American lines, the young man stood still for a moment with indecision. Then approaching a light Smithson had placed in a window, he unfolded Arnold's passport, which he had not yet examined, to see to what extent it could protect him. To his surprise and infinite relief, he saw that there were two passports, one authorising him to return to New York by land, the other by water, with duplicates for Smithson, who was directed to see Mr. John Anderson safe beyond the American lines.

With a face, from which all traces of anxiety had disappeared, he entered the room and placed the passports in Smithson's hands. The man read them twice over with the most annoying deliberation, and without speaking placed his own passport in his pocket, and returned the others, resumed his dreadnaught and flapped hat, walked out of the house, and gazed steadily at the eastern skies for a few seconds, when he spoke:

"Mr. Anderson, it will be day-break in twenty minutes. It is no use trying to get back to the Vulture, for it's flood tide and blowing a dead head wind. The best oarsman on the Hudson, could'nt pull to her before ten o'clock, and during that time, there's no knowing what might happen to us. I would'nt like to trust myself in a boat, for there are boat-rower's along shore that little care for passports. We must ride to King's ferry just above here, and cross to Verplanck's Point, and so go down on the west side if you want to get to New York."

After putting a few questions to him, André was satisfied that the danger by land was less than by the river, and that there remained no alternative but to take the land route.

Hitherto he had worn his uniform concealed, even from Smithson, beneath his great coat; but he saw the danger of travelling in this manner, and the necessity of appearing simply as a plain citizen. To effect this change, it became necessary to make a confidant, in some sort, of his guide.

66

Smithson," he said, as the other was busily saddling a second horse, "if you have a worn coat I should like to exchange mine for it, as I fear the one I wear may subject me to suspicions." As he spoke he approached the light in the window, and threw open his

surtout.

The eyes of the man opened with surprise as they fell on the dazzling uniform of a British officer of high rank.

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'By the twelve apostles!" he said advancing, "this is a discovery. A British officer in the-"

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Hush, my dear fellow," said André, affecting the voice and