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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
And sword and spear
Rest harmless here,
Wake they thy glance of scorn,
Thou of the deep low tone,
For whose rich music gone,
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,
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!
Thy sadly closing story,
Thy short and mournful glory, Thy high and hopeless struggle, brave and brief!
Wo for the bitter stain
Wo for the captive, wo!
For burning pains, and slow,
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 ?
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.