Then wake, and tell thy soldier true
Thy love, once won, is won forever;
Our days of youthful bliss review-
Our plighted faith again renew-

We meet, O joy! no more to sever.

TO A WATERFOWL.

WILLIAM C. BRYANT.

WHITHER, midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky

Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink

Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?

There is a Power whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,-
The desert and illimitable air,-

Lone wandering, but not lost.

Not to ambition yielding false-hearted,

Were the true patriots tempted by the spoil :

North, South, and West, in phalanx staunch, unbroken, Spurned their false friends and hissed them from the scil.

Then rally, &c.

When crashing broadsides o'er the waves were booming, When haughty fleets our commerce would dismay, What did our fathers when the lords of ocean

Bade them surrender to their sovereign sway?

Not basely yielding to the lofty summons
Did the bold seamen from the struggle flee;
But to the rent mast nailed the insulted standard,
And round it rallying, set the ocean free.
Then rally, &c.

Firm linked and true in every coming danger,
War, civil broil, or treason's dreader pest,
Still like our fathers will we cling to union-
Hold but to that, and Heaven will do the rest!-

Year after year along our dazzling banner

New stars uprising, swell the clustered flame: Nations benighted hail the constellationBeacon of Freedom on the heights of Fame! Then rally, &c

ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.

MRS. WILLARD.

ROCKED in the cradle of the deep,
I lay me down in peace to sleep;
Secure I rest upon the wave,

For thou, oh! Lord, hast power to save.
I know thou wilt not slight my call,
For thou dost mark the sparrow's fall!
And calm and peaceful is my sleep,
Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

And such the trust that still were mine,
Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine,
Or though the tempest's fiery breath
Roused me from sleep to wreck and death!
In ocean cave still safe with Thee,

The germ of immortality;

And calm and peaceful is my sleep,

Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

THE LAST LEAF.

BY O. W. HOLMES.

I SAW him once before

As he passed by the door,

And again

The pavement stones resound

As he totters o'er the ground

With his cane.

They say that in his prime,

Ere the pruning knife of Time

Cut him down,

Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.

But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets

So forlorn;

And he shakes his feeble head,

That it seems as if he said

"They are gone."

The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has pressed

In their bloom,

And the names he loved to hear

Have been carved for many a year On the tomb.

But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches-and all that,

Are so queer!

And if I should live to be

The last leaf upon the tree

In the spring

Let them smile as I do now

At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.