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But call him husband! and I shrink
Ashanied of his caress.
For I am of an age to prize
The being, in whom blend
Of father and of friend;
And shared each care I felt,
As by his side I knelt.
No, mother, thou wilt own
When we have been alone.
No, mother, we must part;
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!
Yet fain would I twine me a wreath for that name
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.
A voice not unworthy a theme so sublime,
Whose memory will glow through the far flight of time!
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 !
WE ARE SEVEN.-Wordsworth.
A simple child, dear brother Jim,
That lightly draws its breath,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage girl,
She was eight years old, she said:
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,
And eat my supper there.
In bed she moaning lay,
And then she went away.
So in the churchyard she was laid,
And all the summer dry,
My brother John and I.
And I could run and slide,
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!"
And said, “ Nay, we are seven.”
A warrior so bold, and a virgin so bright,
Conversed as they sat on the green ;
" 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,
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;
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;