PART II. POETIC PIECES. "I DON'T CARE." OLD "Don't Care" is a murderer foul, He beareth a halter in his hand, Hanging his victim high in the air, A villain strong, is old "DON'T CARE!" He looks on the babe at its mother's breast, For its young buds wither, and fade, and die, Full many a poisonous weed, And their tendrils coil around the victim's heart,— A rank and loathsome breed: Blighting the spirit young and fair, A villain, in truth, is old "DON'T CARE!" He meeteth bold manhood on his way, He falls a sure and an easy prey To the strength of old "Don't Care:" Then he plants his foot on the victim's breast, And shouteth with demon joy, And treadeth the life from his panting heart, And exulteth to destroy, Crushing bold manhood everywhere; A villain, indeed, is old "DON'T CARE!" THE KAISER. THE Kaiser's hand from all his foes In midnight's hush a tempest broke ;- But with a start, and with a pang, Up from his couch the Kaiser sprang; No! no! But in its deepest deep And there and there! in wrath begin And, therefore, from his palace door -- The Kaiser went in storm and night, Love sought, and sought, but found him not; [W. Howitt. BERNARDINE DU BORN. KING HENRY sat upon his throne, His eye a recreant knight surveyed,- And he that haughty glance returned, And loftily his unchanged brow Gleamed through his crisped hair. "Thou art a traitor to the realm! The bold in speech, the fierce in broil, Thy castles and thy rebel towers And thou beneath the Norman axe "Deign'st thou no word to bar thy doom,- Sir Bernard turned him toward the king, Quick, at that name, a cloud of woe And backward swept the tide of years; Again his first-born moved,- And ever, cherished by his side, With him in knightly tourney rode Then in the mourning father's soul Each trace of ire grew dim, And what his buried idol loved Seemed cleansed of guilt to him ;— And faintly through his tears he spoke, And, for the dear sake of the dead, Go forth, unscathed and free." [Sigourney, THE AMERICAN PATRIOT'S SONG. HARK! hear ye the sounds that the winds on their pinions Exultingly roll from the shore to the sea, With a voice that resounds through her boundless dominions? 'Tis Columbia calls on her sons to be free! Behold on yon summits, where heaven has throned her, And the cataract's thunder and foam at her feet! Yes, despots! too long did your tyranny hold us, In a vassalage vile, ere its weakness was known; Till we learned that the links of the chain that controlled us Were forged by the fears of its captives alone. Go, tame the wild torrent, or stem with a straw [them; The proud surges that sweep o'er the strand that confines But presume not again to give freemen a law, Nor think, with the chains they have broken, to bind them. THE FLIGHT OF XERXES. I SAW him on the battle-eve, [Anonymous. When, like a king, he bore him,— And prouder chiefs before him: |