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It watches the bed of the brave who have bled,
And shall guard this ice-bound shore, Till the waves of the bay, where the May-Flower lay,
Shall foam and freeze no more.
ROMAN CATHOLIC CHANT.
BY J. A. HILLHOUSE.
O, HOLY VIRGIN, call thy child;
Her spirit longs to be with thee;
Whose faithless day-star dawned for me.
From tears released to speedy rest,
From youthful dreams which all beguiled,
O, holy Virgin, call thy child.
Joy from my darkling soul is filed,
And haggard phantoms haunt me wild ;
0, holy Virgin, call thy child.
YOUR HEART IS A MUSIC-BOX, DEAREST!
BY MRS. OSGOOD.
Your heart is a music-box, dearest !
With exquisite tunes at command,
If tried by a delicate hand;
At a single rude touch it would break.
Its fairy-like whispers to wake!
That I fancy all others above-
“I love !"
BY NATHAN C. BROOKS.
THROUGH the gazer's breast is stealing
A pure rapture sweet and wild;
Fair as snowflakes undefiled,
Speaks a woman with the feeling
And the lightness of a child.
With thy locks like sunlight streaming,
Thou art beauty's self, fair one; With thy cheek in beauty beaming,
From high thoughts and feelings won; And thy lustrous eye outgleaming
A bright sabre in the sun.
As the bird in tropic bowers
Ever waves its sportive wing, Mid the bright and balmy flowers,
Without voice of sorrowing ; So mid joy and smiles, thy hours
Flit, thou light and fairy thing.
May no cloud of earthly sorrow,
Shade thy brow or dim with tears Thy bright eye ; but may each morrow
Shed a rainbow o'er life's fears, And a milder radiance borrow From the gentle flight of years.
BY MRS. GILMAN.
NEW ENGLAND, New England, my home o'er the sea!
New England, New England, my home o'er the sea!
Thy breezes are healthful, and clear are thy rills, And the harvest waves proudly and rich on thy hills. Thy maidens are fair, and thy yeoman are strong, And thy rivers run blithely thy valleys among.
New England, New England, my home o'er the sea! The wanderer's heart turns in fondness to thee.
There's home in New England, where dear ones of mine
New England, New England, my home o'er the sea !
WHO HAS ROBBED THE OCEAN CAVE.
BY JOHN SHAW.
Who has robbed the ocean cave,
To tinge thy lips with coral hue?
Who, from yonder orient sky,
Thousand charms, thy form to deck,
From sea, and earth, and air are torn;
Guard thy bosom from the day,
But one charm remains behind,
Which mute earth can ne'er impart;
Fairest! wouldst thou perfect be,