TO YOUNG SPIRITS.

BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR.

BRETHREN in thought and years!

Ye on whose brows the morning splendors gleam-
Who look on skies undimmed by cloudy fears,
And changed by sunrise to a golden dream;
Or ye whose lips, in childhood's tender day,
The cup of suffering and of wo have known,
Pause for a moment on your hurrying way!
List to a kindred tone!

Come! ye are young and strong;

Give then your strength to Freedom and to Truth,
Till the great throne of many-visaged Wrong
Trembles beneath the ardent fire of Youth-
Till his large empire, like a mountain old,
Quakes with the heavings of the flame below,
And, sundered, crashing from its long-kept hold,
Falls with one mighty throe!

Oh! 'tis a glorious strife!

Life-long and toilsome must the combat be,
But for the fallen, there is nobler life,

And for the victors, immortality!

He who has battled for his struggling race, Heedless of what the world might name renown Shall from the glory of his lofty place

On kings and thrones look down!

There's many a toil to bear

Scoffing and scorn from many a meaner soul,
Heart-sickening struggles with the phantom Care,
And oft despair to reach the far-off goal.
Ye must in silence and in patience wait.
For the glad ripening of the tardy seed,
While Avarice, 'midst his golden piles elate,
Reviles the noble deed!

Yet bravely bear it all,

So long as Vice, with bloody chariot-wheel,
Drives o'er the groaning world she keeps in thrall,
And man forgets that fellow-man can feel!

The wronged and suffering, from their darkened sphere, Will aid you with their eloquence of prayer,

And hearts, whose wishes reach th' Almighty's ear, Will ask your blessing there!

Not with a warrior tread

Be your proud marching, o'er the waking world-
Not over plains of dying and of dead,

Where the swift death on flaming bolts is hurled!
Speak, in your manhood, words whose potent fire
Lights the dark bosom with a sudden glow;
Bid the crushed spirit from its bonds aspire-
Teach it, itself to know!

Touch with a trusting hand

The chords of feeling in the deadened heart,
And by the lonely and the wretched stand,
Drying their bitter tear-drops as they start.

Oh! by that God whose breath inspires the soul,
That work of mercy will not be in vain,
But every kindness to the suffering, roll
In blessing, back again!

Brothers, let us arouse !

Shall we be bound in earth's benumbing thrall?
Is there not freedom written on our brows?—
Then let us keep it, or in losing, fall!

Say, what is Freedom, but the power to be
Unled by Error from the soul's pure light,
And but to God and Truth to bow the knee
In Hope, forever bright?

Feel we not, deep within,

A spirit mighty, deathless and sublime;
Whose high, pure nature, bids us scorn all sin,
Whose power can yield defiance unto Time?
Are there not longings for a loftier crown
Than e'er was wreathed from Fame's unfading bough,
Which, with its blaze of ever-fresh renown,
Shall gild the faithful brow?

Come, then, ere morn be gone!

Ere the pure blossoms of the spirit fade-
Ere in the wildering crowd, as life rolls on,
The heart from all its better hopes hath strayed!
Shake from the soul each sin-alluring snare
That turns to earthly flame its heaven-born fires,
And men, the glorious path with you to share,
Will leave their low desires!

THE MURDERED CZAR.*

BY W. H. C. HOSMER.

I.

A DARK procession from the tomb
The body of their monarch bore,
With blazing torch and sable plume,
Infolded in a shroud of gore.
From turret and from tower the toll
Of chiming bells rose in the air,
While, muffled in his dusky stole,

The holy priest knelt down in prayer.

II.

A stately figure joined the train,

And slowly walked behind the bier-
Whose haughty spirit strove in vain

To check the unavailing tear.

"Paul caused the corpse of his father, Peter III., to be taken up and brought to the palace, to receive similar honors with that of the Empress, his wife. Prince Baratinsky and Count Alexius Orloff, two of the murderers of the unfortunate Czar, were fixed on to officiate as chief mourners. The imperial crown was placed on the coffin of Peter; and in presence of the assembled court, and amidst sable hangings, lighted tapers, and all the solemnity of wo, the two mourners took their station. Orloff, whose nerves were strong, endured the scene unshaken; but his companion fainted beneath his emotions.”—Mavor.

No golden circlet graced his head,
Nor glittered on his breast the star,
But funeral garb, and lordly tread,
Proclaimed the Mourner and the Czar.

III.

When nearer to the palace proud
The bearers drew in dark array,

The princely weeper said aloud,

To young and old-" Make way! make way!" Like flashing waves before the prow,

Assembling thousands round divide;

And solemnly they. enter now

The lofty dwelling-place of Pride.

IV.

The chandelier and lamp threw light.
On every object in the hall;
And, darker than the wing of night,

Broad hangings rustled on the wall;
While nobles, in superb attire,

And prostrate serf their homage paid, Paul, on the coffin of his sire,

The diadem of Empire laid.

V.

In presence of the courtiers then,
With downcast eye and timid look,
Reluctantly two noblemen

Their station by the coffin took.

A trembling thrilled each iron frame,

And bloodless waxed their "tell-tale" cheeks

Oh, Guilt and Agony and Shame

Are vultures with unsparing beaks!