Yon green and flower-crowned banks it wanders by, While in this golden sun The burnished rifle gleameth with strange light, 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- For whose rich music gone, Kindred and friends alike may vainly yearn? 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 tree, 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 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: 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, 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? To pause, ere he rifle, relentless in flight, A blossom so glowing of bloom and of light. 94 THE CHILD PLAYING WITH A WATCH. 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. |