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"Tell him his old father blessed him as he never did before, — And to carry that old musket". - Hark! a knock is at the door!

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"Till the Union"-See! it opens!-"Father! Father! speak once more!" "Bless you!" gasped the old, gray sergeant, and he lay and said no more!

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Emblem, methought, of the departed soul,

To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given;

And by the breath of mercy made to roll

And like a god who brings the day,
Up mounts the glorious sun.
Soon as his light has warmed the

seas,

From the parting cloud fresh blows the breeze;

And

that is the spirit whose well

known song

Makes the vessel to sail in joy along. O'er wrathful surge, through blackNo fears hath she; her giant form

Majestically calm would go ening storm,

'Mid the deep darkness white as snow!

But gently now the small waves glide

Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side.

So stately her bearing, so proud her

array,

The main she will traverse for ever and aye.

Right onwards to the golden gates of Many ports will exult at the gleam

heaven,

Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies,

And tells to man his glorious destinies.

[From the Isle of Palms.]

THE SHIPWRECK.

BUT list! a low and moaning sound
At distance heard, like a spirit's song,
And now it reigns above, around,
As if it called the ship along.

The moon is sunk; and a clouded
gray
Declares that her course is run,

of her mast;

Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last.

Five hundred souls in one instant of

dread

Are hurried o'er the deck; And fast the miserable ship

Becomes a lifeless wreck.

Her keel hath struck on a hidden

rock,

Her planks are torn asunder, And down come her masts with a reeling shock,

And a hideous crash like thunder. Her sails are draggled in the brine, That gladdened late the skies, And her pennant, that kissed the fair moonshine,

Down many a fathom lies.

Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow As she looked on the father of her

hues

Gleamed softly from below, And flung a warm and sunny flush O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow,

To the coral-rock are hurrying down, To sleep amid colors as bright as their

own.

Oh! many a dream was in the ship
An hour before her death;
And sights of home with sighs dis-
turbed

The sleeper's long-drawn breath. Instead of the murmur of the sea, The sailor heard the humining-tree

Alive through all its leaves, The hum of the spreading sycamore That grows before his cottage door, And the swallow's song in the

eaves.

His arms enclosed a blooming boy, Who listened with tears of sorrow and joy

To the dangers his father had passed;

And his wife-by turns she wept and smiled,

child,

Returned to her heart at last.

He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll

And the rush of waters is in his soul.

Astounded, the reeling deck he paces, 'Mid hurrying forms and ghastly faces;

The whole ship's crew are there!
Wailing around and overhead,
Brave spirits stupefied or dead,
And madness and despair.

Now is the ocean's bosom bare,
Unbroken as the floating air;
The ship hath melted quite away,
Like a struggling dream at break of
day.

No image meets my wandering eye, But the new-risen sun and the sunny sky.

Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapor dull

Bedims the waves so beautiful: While a low and melancholy moan Mourns for the glory that hath flown.

WILLIAM WINTER.

THE WHITE FLAG.

BRING poppies for a weary mind
That saddens in a senseless din,
And let my spirit leave behind

A world of riot and of sin, -
In action's torpor deaf and blind.

Bring poppies-that I may forget! Bring poppies that I may not learn!

But bid the audacious sun to set,

And bid the peaceful starlight burn O'er buried memory and regret. Then will the slumberous grasses grow Above the bed wherein I sleep; While winds I love will softly blow,

And dews I love will softly weep, O'er rest and silence hid below,

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A woman is kneeling beside him;
A fair young head is prest,
In the first wild passion of sorrow,
Against his aged breast.

And far from over the distance
The faltering echoes come,
Of the flying blast of trumpet
And the rattling roll of drum.

Then the grandsire speaks, in a whis

per,

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"The end no man can see;

But we give him to his country,

Because those eyes of gentle mirth
Must some time cease my heart to

thrill,

Because the sweetest voice on earth
Sooner or later must be still,
Because its idol is unsure,

Shall my strong love the less endure?

Ah, no! let lovers breathe their sighs,

And roses bloom, and music sound, And passion burst on lips and eyes, And pleasure's merry world go round:

And we give our prayers to Let golden sunshine flood the sky,

Thee."

The violets star the meadows,

The rosebuds fringe the door, And over the grassy orchard

The pink-white blossoms pour.

But the grandsire's chair is empty,
The cottage is dark and still,
There's a nameless grave in the bat-
tle-field,

And a new one under the hill.

And a pallid, tearless woman

By the cold hearth sits alone; And the old clock in the corner Ticks on with a steady drone.

THE QUESTION.
BECAUSE love's sigh is but a sigh,
Doth it the less love's heart dis-
close ?

Because the rose must fade and die,
Is it the less the lovely rose ?
Because black night must shroud the
day,

Shall the brave sun no more be gay?

Because chill autumn frights the birds,

Shall we distrust that spring will come ?

Because sweet words are only words,

Shall love forevermore be dumb? Because our bliss is fleeting bliss, Shall we who love forbear to kiss?

And let me love, or let me die!

WITHEREd roses.

NoT made by worth, nor marred by flaw,

Not won by good, nor lost by ill,
Love is its own and only law,

And lives and dies by its own will.
It was our fate, and not our sin,
That we should love, and love should
win.

Not bound by oath, nor stayed by
prayer,

Nor held by thirst of strong desire, Love lives like fragrance in the air.

And dies as breaking waves expire. 'Twas death, not falsehood, bade us part,

The death of love that broke my heart.

Not kind, as dreaming poets think,
Nor merciful, as sages say
Love heeds not where its victims
sink,

When once its passion ebbs away.
'Twas nature-it was not disdain
That made thee careless of my pain.

Not thralled by law, nor ruled by
right,

Love keeps no audit with the skies;
Its star, that once is quenched in
night,
Has set- - and never more will rise.
My soul is lost, by thee forgot;
And there's no heaven where thou

art not.

But happy he, though scathed and lone,

Who sees afar love's fading wingsWhose seared and blighted heart has known

The splendid agony it brings!
No life that is, no life to be
Can ever take the Past from me!

Red roses bloom for other livesYour withered leaves alone are mine;

Yet, not for all that Time survives Would I your heavenly gift resign

Now cold and dead, once warm and true,

The love that lived and died in you.

THE GOLDEN SILENCE.

WHAT though I sing no other song? What though I speak no other word?

Is

silence shame ? Is patience
wrong?

At least one song of mine was heard:

One echo from the mountain air,
One ocean murmur, glad and free
One sign that nothing grand or fair,
In all this world was lost to me.

I will not wake the sleeping lyre;
I will not strain the chords of
thought:

The sweetest fruit of all desire

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woe

His frenzied spirit wandered wild, Till kind disaster laid him low,

And love reclaimed its wayward child.

Through many a year his fame has grown,

Like midnight, vast; like starlight, sweet,

Till now his genius fills a throne, And homage makes his realm complete.

Comes its own way, and comes un- One meed of justice, long delayed. sought. One crowning grace his virtues crave!

Though all the bards of earth were Ah, take, thou great and injured

dead,

And all their music passed away, What nature wishes should be said She'll find the rightful voice to say!

Her heart is in the shimmering leaf,

The drifting cloud, the lonely sky, And all we know of bliss or grief

She speaks, in forms that cannot

die.

shade,

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