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Chief! for thy memories now,
While the tall palm against this quiet sky

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Her branches waves,

And the soft river laves Yon green and flower-crowned banks it wanders by,

While in this golden sun
The burnished rifle gleameth with strange light,

And sword and spear

Rest harmless here,
Yet flash with startling radiance on the sight:

Wake they thy glance of scorn,
Thou of the folded arms and aspect stern-

Thou of the deep low tone,

For whose rich music gone,
Kindred and friends alike may vainly yearn?

OSCEOLA.

Wo for the trusting hour! Oh kingly stag! no hand hath brought thee down;

'Twas with a patriot's heart,

Where fear usurped no part,
Thou camest, a noble offering, and alone!

For vain yon army's might, While for thy band the wide plain owned a tret.,

Or the wild vines tangled shoots

On the gnarled oak's mossy roots Their trysting-place might be !

Wo for thy hapless fate!
Wo for thine evil times and lot, brave chief;

Thy sadly closing story,

Thy short and mournful glory, Thy high and hopeless struggle, brave and brief!

Wo for the bitter stain
That from our country's banner may not part:

Wo for the captive, wo!

For burning pains, and slow,
Are his who dieth of the fevered heart.

Oh! in that spirit-land, Where never yet the oppressor's foot hath past,

Chief! by those sparkling streams

Whose beauty mocks our dreams, May that high heart have won its rest at last.

THE CHILD PLAYING WITH A WATCH

BY FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD.

Art thou playing with Time, in thy sweet baby-g'ee ?
Will he pause on his pinions to frolic with thee?
Oh! show him those shadowless, innocent eyes,
T'hat smile of bewildered and beaming surprise ;
Let him look on that cheek where thy rich hair reposes,
Where dimples are playing “ bopeep" with the roses ;
His wrinkled brow press with light kisses and warm,
And clasp his rough neck with thy soft wreathing ar..
Perhaps thy bewitching and infantine sweetness
May win him, for once, to delay in his fleetness;
To pause, ere he rifle, relentless in flight,
A blossom so glowing of bloom and of light.
Then, then would I keep thee, my beautiful child,
With thy blue eyes unshadowed, thy blush undefiled;
With thy innocence only to guard thee from ill,
In life's sunny dawning, a lily-bud still !

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Laugh on! my own Ellen ! that voice, which to me Gives a warning so solemn, makes music for thee; And while I at those sounds feel the idler's annoy, Thou hear'st but the tick of the pretty gold toy ; Thou seest but a smile on the brow of the churl, May his frown never awe thee, my own baby-girl. And oh! may his step as he wanders with thee, Light and soft as thine own little fairy-tread be! While still in all seasons, in storms and fair weather, May Time and my Ellen be playmates together.

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