THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. But on the hill the golden-rod, And the aster in the wood, And the yellow sun-flower by the brook In autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, And the brightness of their smile was gone, From upland glade and glen. And now, when comes the calm, mild day, To call the squirrel and the bee When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, And twinkle in the smoky light The waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers Whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood And by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in The fair, meek blossom that grew up In the cold, moist earth we laid her, Like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful, Should perish with the flowers. 147 "PASS ON, RELENTLESS WORLD." BY GEORGE LUNT. SWIFTER and swifter, day by day, And prayers and tears alike have been Thou passest on, and with thee go The loves of youth, the cares of age; Thou passest on, and at thy side, "PASS ON, RELENTLESS WORLD." 149 Thou passest on, with thee the vain, Who sport upon thy flaunting blaze, Pride, framed of dust and folly's train, Who court thy love, and run thy ways: But thou and I,-and be it so, Press onward to eternity; Yet not together let us go To that deep-voiced but shoreless sea. Thou hast thy friends,-I would have mine; I bow not at thy slavish throne; They wake no swelling raptures now, Pass on, relentless world! I grieve The things thou never yet hast given→ Affections fix'd above thy sway, Faith set upon a world to come, 13* OLD IRONSIDES.* BY OLIVER W. HOLMES. Av, tear her tatter'd ensign down! Beneath it rung the battle-shout, And burst the cannon's roar; The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more! Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, O, better that her shatter'd hulk Should sink beneath the wave; Her thunders shook the mighty deep, Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms,― * Written when it was proposed to break up the frigate Constitu tion, as unfit for service. THE PLEASURE BOAT, BY R. H. DANA. COME, hoist the sail, the fast let go! The ripples lightly tap the boat. No danger reach so fair a crew! Fair ladies, fairer than the spray O, might I like those breezes be, And touch that arching brow, I'd toil for ever on the sea Where ye are floating now. The boat goes tilting on the waves; The waves go tilting by ; There dips the duck;-her back she laves; O'er head the sea-gulls fly. Now, like the gulls that dart for prey, The little vessel stoops; Now rising, shoots along her way, Like them, in easy swoops. |