By the tombs of your sires and brothers,
The host which the traitors have slain,
By the tears of your sisters and mothers,
In secret concealing their pain;
The grief which the heroine smothers
Consuming the heart and the brain;
By the sigh of the penniless widow,
By the sob of our orphans' despair,
Where they sit in their sorrowful shadow,
Kneel, kneel, every freeman, and swear!
Swear!

And hark! the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
"Swear! Oh, swear!"

On mounds which are wet with the weeping
Where a nation has bowed to the sod,
Where the noblest of martyrs are sleeping,
Let the wind bear your vengeance abroad,
And your firm oaths be held in the keeping
Of your patriot hearts, and your God;
Over Ellsworth, for whom the first tear rose,
While to Baker and Lyon you look,
By Winthrop, a star among heroes,

By the blood of our murdered McCook,
Swear!

And hark! the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
"Swear! Oh, swear!"

THE MAIN TRUCK, OR A LEAP FOR LIFE.-COLTON.

Old Ironsides at anchor lay,

In the harbor of Mahon;

A dead calm rested on the bay,-
The waves to sleep had gone;
When little Hal, the Captain's son
A lad both brave and good,

In sport, up shroud and rigging ran,
And on the main truck stood!

A shudder shot through every vein,-
All eyes were turned on high!
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain,
Between the sea and sky;

No hold had he above, below;

Alone he stood in air:

To that far height none dared to go,—
No aid could reach him there.

We gazed, but not a man could speak,—
With horror all aghast,-

In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,
We watched the quivering mast.
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,
And of a lurid hue;-

As riveted unto the spot,

Stood officers and crew.

The father came on deck:-he gasped,
"Oh, God; thy will be done!"
Then suddenly a rifle grasped,
And aimed it at his son.

"Jump, far out, boy, into the wave!
Jump, or I fire," he said;

"That only chance your life can save;
Jump, jump, boy!" He obeyed.

He sunk,-he rose, he lived, he moved,―
And for the ship struck out.

On board we hailed the lad beloved,

With many a manly shout.

His father drew, in silent joy,

Those wet arms round his neck,

And folded to his heart his boy,-
Then fainted on the deck.

DRIVING HOME THE COWS.-KATE P. OSGOOD.

Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass,
He turned them into the river-lane;
One after another he let them pass,
Then fastened the meadow bars again.

Under the willows and over the hill,
He patiently followed their sober pace;
The merry whistle for once was still,
And something shadowed the sunny face.

Only a boy! and his father had said

He never could let his youngest go:

Two already were lying dead

Under the feet of the trampling foe.

But after the evening work was done,

And the frogs were loud in the meadow swamp,

Over his shoulder he slung his gun,

And stealthily followed the foot-path damp,

Across the clover and through the wheat,
With resolute heart and purpose grim,
Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet,
And the blind bats flitting startled him.

Thrice since then had the lanes been white,
And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom;
And now, when the cows came back at night,
The feeble father drove them home.

For news had come to the lonely farm

That three were lying where two had lain; And the old man's tremulous palsied arm Could never lean on a son's again.

The summer day grew cool and late;

He went for the cows when the work was done; But down the lane, as he opened the gate, He saw them coming, one by one,

Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess,

Shaking their horns in the evening wind,
Cropping the buttercups out of the grass-
But who was it following close behind?
Loosely swung in the idle air

The empty sleeve of army blue;
And worn and pale, from the crisping hair,
Looked out a face that the father knew;-
For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn,
And yield their dead unto life again;
And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn
In golden glory at last may wane.

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes;

For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb,

And under the silent evening skies

Together they followed the cattle home.

THE CONFESSION.

There's somewhat on my breast, father,
There's somewhat on my breast!
The live-long day I sigh, father,
At night I cannot rest;
I cannot take my rest, father,
Though I would fain do so,
A weary weight oppresseth me,-
The weary weight of woe!

"Tis not the lack of gold, father,
Nor lack of worldly gear;

My lands are broad and fair to see,
My friends are kind and dear;
My kin are leal and true, father,
They mourn to see my grief,
But, oh! 'tis not a kinsman's hand
Can give my heart relief!

"Tis not that Janet's false, father,
"Tis not that she's unkind;
Though busy flatterers swarm around,
I know her constant mind.
"Tis not the coldness of her heart
That chills my laboring breast,—
It's that confounded cucumber
!ate and can't digest!

DAMON AND PYTHIAS; OR, TRUE FRIENDSHIP. WILLIAM PETER.

Here, guards!" pa.e with fear, Dionysius cries,

"Here, guards, yon intruder arrest!

་

'Tis Damon-but ha' speak, what means this disguise? And the dagger which gleams in thy vest?"

""Twas to free," says the youth, "this dear land from its chains!" "Free the land! wretched fool, thou shalt die for thy pains."

“I am ready to die-1 ask not to live.

Yet three days of respite, perhaps thou mayst give,

For to-morrow, my sister will wed,

And 'twould damp all her joy, were her brother nor there Then let me, I pray, to her nuptials repair,

While a friend remains here in my stead."

With a sneer on his brow, and a curse in his breast,

"Thou shalt have," cries the tyrant, "shalt have thy request To thy sister repair, and her nuptials attend,

Enjoy thy three days, but-mark well what I say
Return on the third; if, beyond that fixed day,
There be but one hour's, but one moment's delay
That delay shall be death to thy friend!"

Then to Pythias he went, and he told him his case,
That true friend answered not, but, with instant embrace
Consenting, rushed forth to be bound in his room:

And now, as if winged with new life from above.

To his sister he flew, did his errand of love,

And, ere a third morning had brightened the grove
Was returning with joy to his doom.

But the heavens interpose,

Stern the tempest arose.

And when the poor pilgrim arrived at the shore,
Swollen to torrents, the rills

Rushed in foam from the hills,

And crash went the bridge in the whirlpool's wild roar.

Wildly gazing, despairing, half frenzied he stood;
Dark, dark were the skies, and dark was the flood,
And still darker his lorn heart's emotion;

And he shouted for aid, but no aid was at hand,
No boat ventured forth from the surf-ridden strand,

And the waves sprang, like woods, o'er the lessening land,
And the stream was becoming an ocean.

Now with knees low to earth, and with hands to the skies, "Still the storm, God of might, God of mercy!" he cries'Oh, hush with Thy breath this loud sea;

The hours hurry by,-the sun glows on high;

And should he go down, and I reach not yon town,
My friend he must perish for me!"

Yet the wrath of the torrent still went on increasing,
And waves upon waves still dissolved without ceasing,
And hour after hour hurried on;

Then by anguish impelled, hope and fear alike o'er,
He, reckless, rushed into the waters deep roar;
Rose-sunk struggled on-till, at length the wished shore,―
Thanks to Heaven's outstretched hand- it is won!

But new perils await him; scarce 'scaped from the flood
And intent on redeeming each moment's delay,

As onward he sped, lo! from out a dark wood,

A band of fierce robbers encompassed his way. "What would ye ?" he cried, "save my life, I have nought; Nay, that is the king's."--Then swift having caught

A club from the nearest, and swinging it round

With might more than man's, he laid three on the ground, While the rest hurried off in dismay.

But the noon's scorching flame

Soon shoots through his frame,

And he turns, faint and way-worn, to Heaven with a sighFrom the flood and the foe,

Thou'st redeemed me, and oh!

Thus, by thirst overcome, must I effortless lie,

And leave him, the beloved of my bosom to die?"

Scarce uttered the word,

When startled he heard

Purling sounds, sweet as silver's, fall fresh on his ear;
And lo! a small rill

Trickled down from the hill!

He heard, and he saw, and, with joy drawing near,
Laved his limbs, slaked his thirst, and renewed his career.

E*