NEW ENGLAND. Or mark the stranger's jaguar hand Whose soil with noble blood is red, Nor feel resentment, like a brand, Unsheathing from his fiery heart! Oh! greener hills may catch the sun Like life beneath the day-beam's glance, The green luxuriant ivy climb; And far toward the rising sun The palm may shake its leaves on high, 179 180 NEW ENGLAND. Yet unto thee, New England, still Thy wandering sons shall stretch their arms, And thy rude chart of rock and hill Seem dearer than the land of palms; Thy massy oak and mountain pine More welcome than the banyan's shade; A HEALTH. BY E. C. PINKNEY. I FILL this cup to one made up of loveliness alone, Her every tone is music's own, like those of morning birds, And something more than melody dwells ever in her words; The coinage of her heart are they, and from her lips each flows As one may see the burdened bee forth issue from the rose. Affections are as thoughts to her, the measure of her hours; Her feelings have the fragrance and the freshness of young flowers; TO A LADY. BY G. D. PRENTICE. I THINK of thee, when morning springs And when, at noon, the breath of love, And sent in music from the grove, I think of thee-I think of thee. I think of thee, when soft and wide The evening spreads her robes of light, And, like a young and timid bride, Sits blushing in the arms of Night. And when the moon's sweet crescent springs |