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How proudly up the hall they march,
Beneath its decorated arch!--
Shoulder to shoulder on they come,
While quicker rolls the rattlling drum! -
Whoever saw a nobler band ?-
The soldiers of their native land!-
And though no foeman's summons rude
Hath called them now to fields of blood,
To basten, as their father's erst
Upon the invading Britons burst,

And though in only sportive part,
To hail a Brother's nuptial day,–

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!

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Trophies to fame and memory dear :
Lo! from yon wall a Guido sbines,-
These are his own immortal lines.
Look on that face !--never was given
To earth a brow more lit from heaven !-
So high, so calm, so pure and sweet,
We almost worship at her feet, -
Hailing, with deep devotion's breath,
The Virgin Mother of our Faith!
But turn from this : yon sculptured form
Appears with life instinct and warm !-
Ah, 'tis a model of that Dream,-
The Warrior-Poets sweetest theme, -
Who well its peerless grace portrayed
“The sun in human limbs arrayed!"
And many a bust you here may see
Of names embalmed in history;
Behold this brow: how meekly grand !-
He was the Father of this Land !
And oh, till fades time's latest sun,
Shall live the name of WASHINGTON !
And when the last faint star of Eve
Shall o'er our Country's relics grieve,
Some lingering bard beneath its rays,
Shall still his matchless merit praise !*

Such decorations meet the eye,
Where'er it turns entranced around;
But oh, a double witchery,
The senses, hold in thraldom bound :
For lofty mirrors, ranged between,
Reduplicate the lovely scene!-
Mirrors as bright as that which won
The gaze of Liriope's son,-
The world's most famed and beauteous one,--
Showing his features all so fair
Until, fond youth, he perished there !--
Or clear as that calm crystal wave,

Which our first Mother's heart beguiled,
As back her charms it sweetly gave,

While, o'er her shoulder, Angels smiled !--
And ever since that witching time,-
So, cynic bards have told in rhyme,--
Her daughters all have loved to look
On parlor-glass, or mirroring brook,
And, like their Mother, blessed the view
And thought that they saw Angels too!
These lofty mirrors range the halls,
And hide the Cabin's narrow walls,
So that its bounds no more appear

The limits of an earthly scene,
But some gay tent spread in the air,
For fairies bright to revel in!

Such is the scene : but who are these
That hold their festive revelries?--
Behold, slow winding through the room,
To merry fife and sterer drum,
What crowds in gay procession come!
First, gorgeous banners meet the sight,
Half-flashing in the softened light !
Now gallant soldiers make their way;
A goodly and a brave array !
What losty plumes nod on the eye !-

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,
Beneath the portals of the room!

Glows not the air with added light ?-
Do not the mirrors brighter blaze ?-

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!-
Sweet Alabama's daughter's, bland
And fair, as the fair clime that gave them birth!

Our Southern women !-You may talk

or Saxon beauties by the score,
Their sculptured forms, their queenly walk,

'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,-
You'll own that though divine they be,
Our Southern women beat them all!

Now winding on, the maidens come,

To music's most ecstatic measure;
Sweet flowers upon their foreheads bloom,

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,
I see a laurelled bard arise !
'Tis he, whose songs,


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 your flowers, blushing flowers,

Strew them at their feet,
Strew your flowers, in rosy showers,
Offerings bright and sweet!

Wave your banners, gorgeous banners,

Wave them in their pride,
The bride now comes, the beauteous bride,
With the bridegroom at her side!

Last eve beheld their nuptials sweet,

Last eve they formed the tie divine,
And now with smiling friends they meet,
In festive mood round pleasure's shrine !

Then strew your flowers, your banners wave,

And bail them as they come,
Oh, may their skies be ever bright

And joy around them bloom.


Through the portals now they enter,

Love's selected, favored pair;
In the bride all beauties centre,

Fairest of the many fair!
O'er her brow what blushes speeding,

Whisper more than words can tell,
Of the truth and joy exceeding,

That in her lovely bosom dwell!
A young and fair and sinless creature,

Whose life has been all tinct with love,
Peerless in form, radiant in feature,--

Fair as Dian's snowy dove!
Ever mid bright flowers straying,

Has her pathway hither been,
Blossoms and birds around her playing,-

Angel-guarded from all sin !--
Now in all her youthful dreaming,–

Like a young moon in the sky,
On love's heaven softly beaming,

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,
That thus this beauteous bride bas won ?-
See him proudly by her standing,
Form erect, and brow commanding.
Oh, what hope, what peerless bliss!
What dreams of heaven, now are his !
Many a wreath has crowned his brow,
A dearer one is on it now!-
For what is wealth, or what is fame,
Or what Ambition's laurelled name,-
Although their songs may fire the breast,
With a dreaming and unrest,
That will not,-cannot, be supprest!
Without Love, man's earliest thrall, -
The Eve that never knew a fall!-
The Nymph that dwells from courts apart,
Yet soothes the Numa of the heart!
That love is his: and proudly now
Its radiance decks his manly brow.
It well befits him too, for he
Has won the trophy worthily!
Oh, if the precious boon of woman's love,

The star for which we yearn through lise,

Another scene-Broad halls are shining,

Filled with fashion's sparkling throng ;
Bridal garlands they are twining

For a favored son of song!
And beside him, leaning, trembling,
In her grace a fawn resembling,

Is the gentle one that long
Hath held his heart in homage bound!
Now his wishes she has crowned,
And the sweetest boon of heaven,
To Erin's Patriot-Minstrel, given!

*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
Over memory's wizard glass !
Now, mid Scotia's hills and dells,
Burns with HIGHLAND MARY dwells !
Now, 'neath Gallia's sunset glow,
JULIA wanders with RoussEAU !
Lo! along the banks of Tweed,
Rove a happy pair indeed!
Shall her worth be e'er forgot,
The lovely bride of WALTER Scott?
Darker visions gloom along,
But they shall not shade our song.
These are pictures of that bliss
Which brightens life's dull wilderness :
Oh, long may such glad visions beam
Dver earth's perturbed stream,
As the silver stars that light
The darkness of a winter's night!

But we've wandered from our theme away ;

Let us seek the scene again,
Where the gathered Brave and Beauteous pay

Honors to the bridal twain.
Now the merry tamborine,
Now the giddy violin,
Now the trump and drum are blent
With many a festive instrument !
And, in crowds that gaily glance,
Onward speeds the circling dance !

See with gay and graceful charm
Beauty leans on Valor's arm,
Listening to the whispered words
That thrill her spirit's music chords !
Oh, her heart is like a harp

Where the hand of love might play!
Were it ever thus in tune,

It would pour sweet songs alway!
Now as circling round they go,
Floating on with music's flow,
On her fond, uplifted face,
Glows not the famed Madonna's grace?
And the youth beside her moving,
Whither are his visions roving ? -
He is gazing in her eyes,

Far down in their fountains deep,-
Blue and bright as Autumn skies,-

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!

The dance goes on: to merry measure,
Light hearts speed the hours of pleasure,
Oh, how many shapes are here,
That shine in beauty's lostiest sphere !-
And what charms of form and mien
Shed their witchery o'er the scene!-
Never have mine eyes beheld
A scene of bliss that, this, excelled !

I do remember me that once,

In Venice on a night in June,
I mingled in the whirling dance

Within a proudly-decked saloon.

Its sculptured walls were famed in story;

Around me wandered forms as bright
As Raphael's pencil wed to glory,

Embodiments of rosy light!
The scene was witchery !--and yet

My heart, in sadness, turned away;
It could not, in that trance, forget

Bright forms beyond the western sea!
Those forms are wandering round me now,

Are mingling in a sweeter dance ;
Kindness is writ on every brow;
Ah, is not this a deeper trance!

But soft!-amid the sparkling train,
Where youth and grace and beauty reign,
Who is she that meets the sight,
Like a “ Phantom of Delight ?"
Though the forms around are fair,
None with her can half compare ;
The highest planet in the sky,
The lodestar of each wondering eye.

Sweet lady fair!-I need not tell
Thy gentle name: I own thy spell !
Throughout that glad and festal day,
Vorive homage did I pay.
I stood beside thee in the dance ;
I watched thy blue-eye's ev'ry glance ;
I saw thy form glide graceful on,
As o'er the wave, Cayster's swan;
I listened to thy playful words,
Sweet as the music of young birds ;
And, as I gazed, I felt my heart,
That long in joy had known no part,

Around whose feelings time had thrown
A coldness like the winter stone, -
Melt into bliss beneath thy smile,
And gush with joy and love the while,–
As from the rock the fountains broke
Beneath the words the Prophet spoke! -
And when the giddy dance was done,

We wandered on the Steamer's deck,
And there, beneath the setting sun,

While glowed the west with sheets of flanze,

And from the shore the soft wind came,
Lifting the curls upon thy neck,
I strove in vain my love to speak !-
Ah, little deem'dst thou at that hour,
What feelings in my breast had power! -
Could I have coined them into song,
Some strain, like this, had swept along:

Thou art a star, lady, thou art a star!
Gleaming in beauty and light from afar!
Heaven's own lustre shines in thy face,
And shrines thee in purity, virtue and grace :

And many a heart, and many a knee,

Lady, are bowing unto thee !
They throb, they beat, they sigh, they yearn,
For one glance of those eyes on them to lurn!

Those eyes,—those eyes,-those starry eyes!

Cynosures worshipped by weak and wise!
As Chaldean shepherds worshipped, of old,
The stars they deemed Gods, and died to behold!
Though many they are, who thus bend at tby feet,
And would win thee, thou star, from thy blest reires !

Yet none of them love thee half so true,
As the humble bard who now singeth for you!

Tben deign, ob deign, on my path to shine,
Bright star of my worship!-blest, pure and divine!

Thou art a rose, lady, thou art a rose !
Fragrant and lovely as any that grows !-
Though many a rival is round thee seen,
None, there are none, like the garden's queen!

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!
Then deign, oh deign, to stred, o'er his woes,
Thy light, music, and fragrance,-slar, lute, and rose.

Our gallant Steamer now had reached

The limits of her western way,
And proudly paused awhile to view

The glorious scene that round us lay!
Stained by the colors of the sunset sky,
A road of gold, the river rippled by ;
Far as the eye could reach, it gleamed away,
Beneath the flashes of the dying day;
While, in the distance, like some Indian's boat,
Dim hurrying shadows o'er the surface float;
Until, far reaching neath the sunset's pyre,
The flashing waters seem to melt in fire!

Oh, what a bright emblazonry,
That evening, robed the Western sky!-
Though ever in our gorgeous clime,
It is a most impassioned time,
And nobler pageants meet the eye,
Than ever blazed in Italy,
Flinging Apollo's parting rays
Above his earlier dwelling-place,
As though the God still loved to view
The shrines which once, his worship knew !-
Or ever flashed o'er Sunias' steep,
Turning to gold the Ægean deep,--
As on that eve, when through her isles
Ulysses fled Calypso's wiles,-
And sky and wave and island bower
Partook the passion of the hour!-
Yet never was a lovelier even
To raptured eyes, in beauty, given,

Beneath our soft, our Southern heaven!
Where, proudly down, his journey done,
Had sunk in pomp, the imperial sun,
An armament of clouds was seen,
With every gorgeous color, sheen;
And now, above his kindling rays,
Their bóst is all one mighty blaze,
And, like a city wrapt in fire,
With wreathes of flame round every spire,
It glows before the gazer's eye,-
The blaziny Moscow of the sky!

How lovely too, the scene around !-
'Tis rich traditionary ground.
Yon beetling cliff, so rugged, steep,
The Natives called THE LOVERS' LEAP.
So high its top you scarcely now
Can mark the Cedars on its brow;
And the small streams, that, from it, come,
Are inidway lost in rain and foam !
And yet in olden times,-they say,-
A chieftain, from his foes, one day,
In triumph bore his bride away:
A hundred warriors quick pursued, -
A hundred warriors bent on blood !
They track him through the devious wood.
At every turn they hem his path,
Shouting with dread, relentless, wrath! -
On! fearless Rover of the wild, --
On! with thy soeman's Treasured child.
Though ever swiftest in the chase,
'Tis now a fiercer, deadlier race.
On! with thy bride, nor pause for breath,
Thy only chance, escape, or death!
At length, in safety, with his bride,
He gains the river's anxious side ;
But what a deadlier doom is this !-
They stand upon the precipice!
Upon its dizzy verge they stand,
Their coming soes on every band !
One moment now they pause lo hear,-
The vengeful warhoop echoes near!
There's no escape !-Shall that fair child,
By heariless fury be defiled ?
Shall that young warrior, for her sake,
Die by the faggot and the stake?-
There's no escape! Yes, heavens!-they leap
From off the summit of the steep!

Pale gazer on yon lofty cliff,
Tell me the fate of that bold chief!
Think you, that leap, he could survive,
And with the waves successful strive ?--
Ah, yes in safety o'er the tide,
He proudly bore his hard-won bride !--
And long his deeds shall live in fame,
For TUSCALOOSA was that warrior's name!

But now the scen

cenes around grow dimmer:
The cliff and sunset fade away:
Sost through the skies the cold stars glimmer:

The young moon sheds ber twilight ray.
Up with the steam !--our gallant vessel

Too long bath lingered on her way,-
Yet, ere we leave, one parting volley

The soldiers to their memories pay, -
Whose names have shed a halo round the scene,
The chief of this broad realm, and his wild forest-queen!

Hark, from the cliff, what echoes thunder!
The opposing banks reply in wonder:

Vol. VII-87

The wild deer startled from his sleep,
Dashes along the lofty sleep:
The eagle screaming soars around,
Scared by the rude, unwelcome sound.
Such sounds those hills have never heard, --
By such their quietude been stirred,

-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!
All sorrows of the heart to lighten,-

Thy glorious waters sparkle long !
And oh, should wrinkled care o'ertake me,

My purse give out,--my lady love,-
As women will!--coldly forsake me,--

No flowers around, no star above;
Oh, then, my friend, --if I may ask it,

For doubtful tis if one remain,--
Send me in love-a half-a-basket

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, --
The brightest and best, on the age-faded eye!

Farewell! to the Bride !--who, in life's rosy hour,

Hath launched her frail shallop upon the broad sea; With innocence, beauty and love for ber dower

And visions as brilliant as dream poesy!
May prospering breezes, aye, fill her fair sails,
And no shadows her blue sky ever o'erwhelm,

But brightly her boat

O'er the deep waters float,
With Hope at the prow, and Love at the helm!

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,
The memory live of the Nuptial FETE!


In mirth, we said, flew on the hours,--
In mirth and song in Beauty's bowers,-
If bowers the dreaming Muse may call
That Steamer's decorated hall!
But ah, the bard cannot rehearse
Those mysteries in his fading verse :
How many hearts, that night, were won,
Or, sadder fate, were “quite undone !"
These sacred incidents, alone
To such as felt them, can he known!
The whispered speech, the smothered sigh,
The tear-gem in the drooping eye,
The blushes o'er the bended neck,
The vows upon the strolling deck,
The frowns upon the Moon, whose light,
By lovers loved, was all too bright
For some that strolled that sestal night,
Must all in secret live or die,
Unechoed by our minstrelsy!
Suffice it now in song to tell.--
The last notes of the sinking shell,--
That “all went merry as a married belle !"
And when at length our gallant barque

Had gained her anchorage in the port,
And, slowly strolling through the dark,

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

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