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How proudly up the hall they march,
And though in only sportive part,
A Brother dear to every heart, Their lengthning lines they now display, Yet who can look on their array, Nor feel his pulses quicker play, Nor feel his country's rights alway, Shall safe from foreign rapine stay, While shielded by her forest men, Each one a Soldier-Citizen! And now within the hall they stand, Their lines arrayed on either hand; Silent is music's swelling sound; Not stiller stand the statues round!
Trophies to fame and memory dear :
Which our first Mother's heart beguiled,
While, o'er her shoulder, Angels smiled !--
The limits of an earthly scene,
How brightly gleams the musketry!-* It may be well enough to remark that the festivities here recorded, took place on the birth-day of the Father of his Country.
But lo! what brilliant visions come,
Glows not the air with added light ?-
Is't not some magic wins the sight?-Have kindlier planets lent their rays ?-Look where they come !-ah no, 'tis real No vision from the realm ideal ! These are the maidens of our land,
Oh lovelier creatures never shone on earth!-
or Saxon beauties by the score,
'Their charms renowned on every shore ; Of famed Italia's glowing daughters,
Voluptuous as their country's fruits, Their eyes as soft as shadowed waters,
Their songs as sweet as Angels' flutes ; Of Grecian Maidens fair as those
By old Anacreon's numbers sung; Of Haram beauties that repose
Like pearls in some dark casket flang: Yet, if you once will gaze with me,
Your bosom tuned for beauty's call,-
To music's most ecstatic measure;
Their soft eyes beam with pleasure! As brightly down the hall they move, Breathes round an atmosphere of love; Each soldier doffs his martial plume, And Valor honors Beauty's bloom! On still they come, and still they glance Like trooping angels in a prophet's trance! But hark, a softer strain is heard ! Is that the warbling of a bird?A sweeter voice was ne'er by music stirred
The leaf brought hy the ark-returning dove,
The rainbow o'er a world of strife,Fitly belongs to any, 'tis to such, As feel most deep the magic of her touch,'Tis to those souls, where Genius-spark of heavenShines with the glory of its native levin!
And such the bridegroom: though the leaves
Or youth have scarcely lost their dew, Yet that pure light, which fame achicves,
Is brightening now their fading hue : For he in learning's paths hath trode, Hath plucked the flowers along her rond, Hath twined her garlands round his name, And proudly won a poet's fame!-And she now blushing by his side, Is,-sweetest name on Earth!-a Poel's Bride!
Oh, had the bard, who faintly sings
These gladsome nuptials now, But half the music on his strings,
But half the wild poetic glow, That unto Sylvan's muse belonys,
He'd wake a glad, melliferous strain,The sweetest of our Southern songs,
In honor of the wedded twain !-For oh, when Beanty, Genius weds, The fairest flowers should deck their heads, The brightest buds of song should twine A garland for the bridal shrine, And music pour its sweetest tide, In tribute to a Poet's Bride!
A Poet's Bride!-what visions come,
Like bright birds soaring, at the word, What pictures light my lonely room,
From the long past, hy memory stirred !-They come, they come, and now they pass, Like shadows over old Agrippa's glass !
Lo! standing 'neath Italian skies,
songs above, Have hymned the gentle powers of love. Beside him leans a youthful form With all love's sweet perfections warm ! Around his neck her bright arms wreathing, What whispers in his ear are breathing! She smiles, and, kindling at the smile, He wakes his minstrelsy the while ! Oh, all his songs are dear to fame, And LAURA lives with Petrarch's name !*
Strew them at their feet,
Wave them in their pride,
Last eve they formed the tie divine,
And bail them as they come,
And joy around them bloom.
Through the portals now they enter,
Love's selected, favored pair;
Fairest of the many fair!
Whisper more than words can tell,
That in her lovely bosom dwell!
Whose life has been all tinct with love,
Fair as Dian's snowy dove!
Has her pathway hither been,
Angel-guarded from all sin !--
Like a young moon in the sky,
Hath she pledged her faith for aye! Oh, this world has many pleasures,
Kindly showered from above, But of all its Eden treasures,
None so sweet as plighted love!
And who is he, the favored one,
The star for which we yearn through lise,
Another scene-Broad halls are shining,
Filled with fashion's sparkling throng ;
For a favored son of song!
Is the gentle one that long
*In this, as in two of the succeeding instances, so much regard is not had to those who were united in the holy
estate of matrimony,' as to those who were indissolubly associated in poetic interest,—who were wedded in soul and feeling, as in fame.
But the visions quicker pass
Let us seek the scene again,
Honors to the bridal twain.
See with gay and graceful charm
Where the hand of love might play!
It would pour sweet songs alway!
Far down in their fountains deep,-
Where the nestling Cupids sleep! Ah, bold gazer, heed thee well!-That is woman's chiefest spell ! Heed !--or she will bind thy heart, As Cleopatra, by her art, The Roman chief, though stern and brave, Brought to her feet, a very slave!On with the dance,-nor gaze too long, That strain is Hope's delusive song!
In Venice on a night in June,
Within a proudly-decked saloon.
Its sculptured walls were famed in story;
Around me wandered forms as bright
Embodiments of rosy light!
My heart, in sadness, turned away;
Bright forms beyond the western sea!
Are mingling in a sweeter dance ;
We wandered on the Steamer's deck,
While glowed the west with sheets of flanze,
And from the shore the soft wind came,
And many a heart, and many a knee,
Lady, are bowing unto thee !
Those eyes,—those eyes,-those starry eyes!
Cynosures worshipped by weak and wise!
Yet none of them love thee half so true,
Tben deign, ob deign, on my path to shine,
Thou art a rose, lady, thou art a rose !
The lily is fair, but her cheek is pale,
And she looks the maid of some loveborn tale ; The violet's sweet, and the marigold, By none but the rose can thy lips be told !
Those lips,-those lips,-those rosy lips !
Flowers, where the honey-bee faints as he sips ! Ah, how many a lover would die if he might But press, for one second, those lips of light ! Or hear them in kindness fragrantly breathe The thoughts which he prays, may cluster beneath!
Oh, yes such there are, but nove love so true
As the humble bard who now singeth for you! Then deign, oh deign on my path to beam, Sweet rose of my heart !-hope's embryon dream! Thou art a lute, lady, thou art a lute! Whose strain of melody never is mute! Never, ob never did minstrel repeat His song of love in music more sweet,
Nor angel breathe his favorite hymn,
With sweeter tones 'mid the seraphim, Than those that enrapturing float 'round thy way, When thy heart and voice unite in some lay!
That voice,-that voice,-that lute-like voice !
Whose gentlest thrill makes the hearer rejoice! How many have hung entranced to hear Its swan-like mellifluence sall on the ear! And how many, now bowing around thee, deem That thou art all music, -Saint Cecilia's dream !
Though many there be, none love thee so true
As the humble bard who now singeth for you!
The limits of her western way,
The glorious scene that round us lay!
Oh, what a bright emblazonry,
Beneath our soft, our Southern heaven!
Pale gazer on yon lofty cliff,
cenes around grow dimmer:
The young moon sheds ber twilight ray.
Too long bath lingered on her way,-
The soldiers to their memories pay, -
Hark, from the cliff, what echoes thunder!
The wild deer startled from his sleep,
-Since famed De Soto, that wild Spanish rover, With his fierce band, this gentle stream crossed over!
Now, up the stream, our graceful steamer
Speeds like a breathing thing along, Wbile, in her cabin, many a dreamer
Listens to Beauty's witching song! In festive mirth, dance on the hours,
All hearts are wreathed with hope and bliss ; And some,-the sterner sex,-in showers,
Partook the goblet's beaded kiss! Ab, bright CHAMPAGNE !--the golden nectar,
The elixir fit for realms divine! Not Hebé, in her dalliance, decked her
Goblets, with brighter waves than thine! "Tis said, -and I believe the story,
That Bacchus, when he rose from earth, Left, as memento of his glory,
Thy recipe, --sweet source of mirth! Ah. long may thy glad vintage brighten,
Impulse of pleasure and of song!
Thy glorious waters sparkle long !
My purse give out,--my lady love,-
No flowers around, no star above;
For doubtful tis if one remain,--
Of Lillery's best star-champagne !
1. Farewell! 10 the Barque, that has borne us to-day,
In gladness over the rolling wave; Oh, long, on the stream, may her bright pepnons play,
Endeared to the hearts of the Fair and Brave! And back when we turn from the shadows of time, To gaze on the stars that brightened youth's sky,
The hours we past,
In her bosom, will last, --
Hath launched her frail shallop upon the broad sea; With innocence, beauty and love for ber dower
And visions as brilliant as dream poesy!
But brightly her boat
O'er the deep waters float,
3. Farewell to the Bridegroom !--the honored, the blest.
His sky is now lit by life's loveliest star! Oh, long be his heart with such pleasures possessid,
And never be shadowed by sorrow or care!His harp that, in sweetness, oft trembled with song, Oh, soon gush its fount with a lovelier strain;
And ever its strings,
As the dying swan sings,Pour the gladdest of music while lise shall remain!
4. Farewell unto all, who have wandered to-day!
The brave and the lorely, the dull and the glad, The hearts that were swimming with visions all gay,–
The heads that were swimming with that they had had! To each and to all, a happy good-night!-The hour is growing, for song, rather late:
But, now as we part,
Oh, long, in each heart,
In mirth, we said, flew on the hours,--
Had gained her anchorage in the port,
The scattered wanderers home resort, All hearts were brimmed with happiness, In memory of the recent bliss, And all with feeling's deepest swell, Breathed forth, -or should have breathed, this fond
ON NEWSPAPERS. “Est natura hominun novitatis avida. "—Plany. As a distinguishing trait between the present age and past years, we can find none more marked, than the increased number of newspapers. We bare so many now, and they have become such an accustomed and daily comfort and convenience, that considering their absence in former times, we almost wonder how they continued to do without them : or at least, it appears strange that they did not come into general use at an earlier period. There are few individuals now-a-days, who can resist the fascinations of this sort of reading, however averse they may be to reading in general. And newspapers, on this account, serve a useful purpose ; for they lead persons to read, who pethaps, but for them, would never do so at all : mast of us have, in the circle of our acquaintance, many of such a class. A taste for reading may thus be oftentimes created. To serve such a purpose 28