THE ENGLISH BOY.

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How bravely and how solemnly

They stand, 'midst oak and yew!
Whence Cressy's yeomen haply framed
The bow, in battle true.

And round their walls the good swords hang
Whose faith knew no alloy,

And shields of knighthood, pure from stain-
Gaze on, my English boy!

Gaze where the hamlet's ivied church
Gleams by the antique elm,

Or where the minster lifts the cross
High through the air's blue realm.

Martyrs have shower'd their free heart's blood
That England's prayer might rise,

From those grey fanes of thoughtful years,
Unfetter'd, to the skies.

Along their aisles, beneath their trees,
This earth's most glorious dust,

Once fired with valour, wisdom, song,

Is laid in holy trust.

Gaze on-gaze farther, farther yet-
My gallant English boy!

Yon blue sea bears thy country's flag,
The billows' pride and joy!

Those waves in many a fight have closed

Above her faithful dead;

That red-cross flag victoriously
Hath floated o'er their bed.

They perish'd-this green turf to keep

By hostile tread unstain'd;

These knightly halls inviolate,

Those churches unprofaned.

And, high and clear, their memory's light
Along our shore is set,

And many an answering beacon-fire

Shall there be kindled yet!

Lift up thy heart, my English boy!
And pray, like them to stand,
Should God so summon thee, to guard
The altars of the land.

MRS. HEMANS.

Thou whose locks outshine the sun,
Golden tresses wreathed in one,
As the braided streamlets run!

Standing, with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet!

Gazing, with a timid glance,
On the brooklet's swift advance,
On the river's broad expanse!

Deep and still, that gliding stream
Beautiful to thee must seem,
As the river of a dream.

Then why pause with indecision,
When bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to fields Elysian?

Seest thou shadows sailing by,
As the dove, with startled eye,
Sees the falcon's shadow fly?

Hearest thou voices on the shore, That our ears perceive no more, Deafened by the cataract's roar?

MAIDENHOOD.

O thou child of many prayers!

Life hath quicksands,-Life hath snares!
Care and age come unawares!

Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,

May glides onward into June.

Childhood is the bough, where slumbered
Birds and blossoms many-numbered ;-
Age, that bough with snows encumbered.

Gather, then, each flower that grows,
When the young heart overflows,
To embalm that tent of snows.

Bear a lily in thy hand;

Gates of brass cannot withstand
One touch of that magic wand.

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth.

Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal

Into wounds, that cannot heal,

Even as sleep our eyes doth seal;

And that smile, like sunshine, dart
Into many a sunless heart,

For a smile of God thou art.

LONGFELLOW.

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