When

The

But call him husband! and I shrink

Ashanied of his caress.

For I am of an age to prize

The being, in whom blend
The love and the solicitude

Of father and of friend;
My father planned my boyish sports,

And shared each care I felt,
And taught my infant lips to pray,

As by his side I knelt.
Yet deem not mine an impious grief;

No, mother, thou wilt own
With cheerfulness I spoke of him

When we have been alone.
But bring no other father here-

No, mother, we must part;
The feeling that I'm fatherless

Weighs heavy on my heart."

41. LAMENT FOR LA FAYETTE.—Anonymous. All lonely and cold in the sepulchre slambers

The giant of freedom-the chosen of fame!
Too high is the theme for my harp's lowly numbers ;

Yet fain would I twine me a wreath for that name
Which proudly shines forth on the tablet of glory-

Unsullied by faction—untarnished by guile: The loftliest theme for the bard's raptured story

The name by which freemen met death with a smile.
Then arise, ye proud bards! give our hearts' mighty sadness

A voice not unworthy a theme so sublime,
For him, the bright daystar of freedom and gladness,

Whose memory will glow through the far flight of time!
He is gone, and for ever!—the pride of our nation,

That bright sun of freedom in glory hath set: The heroes who bled for our country's salvation,

Now joy in thy presence, Oh, brave La Fayette! Thou camest to our shore when the daystar of freedom

Was proudly dispelling dark tyranny's night: When millions awoke to the rank she decreed them,

And the millions of despots were scattered in flight:

When the star-spangled banner waves sheen in the morning,

The heart of the freeman will bound at thy name; Thou champion of freedom! fell tyranny scorning

One world was too small for the blaze of thy fame!

Bright, bright is the path thou hast left of thy glory,

Amid the world's darkness, which ne'er shall decline, For the light of thy fame on the ages before thee,

With splendor unsullied, for ever will shine : When freedom's bright fabric lay blackened in ruin,

While bloodthirsty tyrants usurped the dread sway, At the roots of the proud tree of liberty hewing

All hopes for the land of thy love died away.

Thou art gone thy pure soul on its voyage hath started;

From its ashes the phenix of freedom hath flown To join the bright phalanx of heroes departed,

Who dwell in the light of a fame like thine own: Farewell, thou last star of that bright constellation

Of heroes—whose glory can never depart— Thy fame hath no limit of kindred or nation

Thy name is enshrined in each patriot's heart.

With Washington's blended, for ever thy glory

Shall form the proud theme of our bard's burning lays, While the banner of freedom shall proudly wave o'er thee,

Though mighty departed !-thou light of our days : Be still! my wild harp--all in

nt himHis praise must be sung by some loftier lyre : Let the soul-raptured bard use the gift heaven hath lent him,

And weave for our hero a requiem of fire !

ain we

42.

WE ARE SEVEN.-Wordsworth.

A simple child, dear brother Jim,

That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,

What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage girl,

She was eight years old, she said:
Her hair was thick with many a curl

That clustered round her head.

“ Sisters and brothers, little maid,

How many may you be ?" « • How many ? seven in all," she said,

And wondering looked at me.

“ And where are they, I pray you tell ?"

She answered, “ Seven are we, And two of us at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea :

“ Their graves are green, they may be seen,”

The little maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from mother's door,

And they are side by side.

My stockings there I often knit,

My kerchief there I hem, And there upon the ground I sit

I sit and sing to them.

And often after sunset, sir,

When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,

And eat my supper there.
The first that died was little Jane;

In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain,

And then she went away.

So in the churchyard she was laid,

And all the summer dry,
Together round her grave we played,

My brother John and I.
And when the ground was white with snow,

And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,

And he lies by her side.”

“How many are you then,” said I,

“If they two are in heaven ?" The little maiden did reply,

" Oh master! we are seven."

“But they are dead; those two are dead;

Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will,

And said, “ Nay, we are seven.”

A warrior so bold, and a virgin so bright,

Conversed as they sat on the green ;
They gazed on each other with tender delight,
Alonzo the brave was the name of the knight,
The maid—was the fair Imogene.

" And ah!" said the youth, "since to-morrow I go

To fight in a far-distant land, Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow, Some other will court you, and you will bestow On a wealthier suitor your

“Oh, hush these suspicions !” fair Imogene said,

“ So hurtful to love and to me; For if you be living, or if you be dead, I swear by the virgin that none in your stead

Shall husband of Imogene be.

And if e'er for another my heart should decide,

Forgetting Alonzo the brave,
God grant that, to punish my falsehood and pride,
Thy ghost at my marriage may sit by my side,
May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride,

And bear me away to the grave."

To Palestine hastened the warrior so bold,

His love she lamented him sore ; But scarce had a twelvemonth elapsed, when behold! A baron all covered with jewels and gold,

Arrived at fair Imogene's door.

His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain,

Soon made her untrue to her vows;
He dazzled her eyes, he bewildered her brain,
He caught her affections, so light and so vain,

And carried her home as his spouse.

And now had the marriage been blest by the priest,

The revelry now was begun, The tables they groaned with the weight of the feast, Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased,

When the bell of the castle tolled-one!

'Twas then, with amazement, fair Imogene found

A stranger was placed by her side ; His air was terrific, he uttered no sound, He spoke not, he moved not, he looked not around,

But earnestly gazed on the bride.

His visor was closed, and gigantic his height,

His armor was sable to view; All laughter and pleasure was hushed at his sight, The dogs, as they eyed him, drew back with affright,

And the lights in the chamber burnt blue.

His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay,

The guests sat in silence and fear;