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Two children stood at their father's gate, Now these two fair-haired sisters
Two girls with golden hair;

Had a brother out at sea;
And their eyes were bright, and their voices | A little midshipman, aboard

Because the morn was fair. [glad, The gallant “Victory;” For they said,“

We will take that long, And on that self-same morning, long walk

When they stood beside the gate,
To the hawthorn copse to-day;

His ship was wrecked! and on a raft
And gather great bunches of lovely flowers He stood all desolate,
From off the scented May;

With the other sailors round him,
And oh! we shall be so happy there,

Prepared to meet their fate. 'Twill be sorrow to come away!”

Beyond, they saw the cool green landAs the children spoke, a little cloud

The land with her waving trees, Passed slowly across the sky;

And her little brooks, that rise and fall And one looked up in her sister's face

Like butterflies to the breeze: With a tear-drop in her eye.

But above them the burning noontide sun But the other said,

Oh! heed it not; With scorching stillness shone; 'Tis far too fair to rain;

Their throats were parched with bitter That little cloud may search the sky

thirst, For other clouds, in vain."

And they knelt down one by one, And soon the children's voices rose

And prayed to God for a drop of rain In merriment again.

And a gale to waft them on.

But ere the morning hours had waned And then that little cloud was sent,
The sky had changed its hue,

That shower in mercy given!
And that one cloud had chased away And as a bird before the breeze,
The whole great heaven of blue.

Their bark was landward driven. The rain fell down in heavy drops,

And some few mornings after, The wind began to blow,

When the children met once more,
And the children, in their nice warm room, And their brother told the story,
Went fretting to and fro;

They knew it was the hour
For they said, “When we have aught in When they had wished for sunshine,
It always happens so!”
[store, And God had sent the shower!



Oh, weep no more, sweet mother!

Oh, weep no more to-night!
And only watch the sea, mother,

Beneath the morning light.
Then the bright blue sky is joyful,

And the bright blue sky is clear;
And I can see, sweet mother,

To kiss away your tear.
But now the wind goes wailing

O'er the dark and trackless deep;
And I know your grief, sweet mother,

Though I only hear you weep. My father's ship will come, mother,

In safety o'er the main;

When the grapes are dyed with purple

He will be back again.
The vines were but in blossom

When he bade me watch them grow;
And now the large leaves, mother,

Conceal their crimson glow.
He'll bring us shells and sea-weed,

And birds of shining wing;
But what are these, dear mother?--

It is himself he'll bring.
I'll watch with thee, sweet mother,

But the stars fade from my sight;
Come, come and sleep, dear mother--
Oh, weep no more to-night!


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I saw him on the battle-eve,

When like a king he bore him;
Proud hosts in glittering helm and

And prouder chiefs before him:
The warrior and the warrior's deeds,
The morrow and the morrow's meeds-

No daunting thoughts came o'er him:
He looked around him, and his eye
Defiance flashed to earth and sky!
He looked on ocean-its broad breast

Was covered with his fleet;
On earth-and saw from east to west

His bannered millions meet;
While rock and glen, and cave and coast,
Shock with the war-cry of that host,

The thunder of their feet!
He heard the imperial echoes ring-
He heard, and felt himself a king !

I saw him next alone; nor camp

Nor chief his steps attended; Nor banner's blaze, nor courser's tramp

With war-cries proudly blended.
He stood alone, whom Fortune high
So lately seemed to deify;

He who with Heaven contended
Fled, like a fugitive and slave,--
Behind the foe, before the wave!
He stood
-fleet, army,

treasure gone, Alone, and in despair; While wave and wind swept ruthless on,

For they were monarchs there;
And Xerxes in a simple bark,
Where late his thousand ships were

Must all thy fury dare;-
Thy glorious revenge was this,
Thy trophy, deathless Salamis !


THE FUGITIVE SLAVE. He stood, all bleeding on the bank, above | They came with blood-stained lash and the frothing river;

gun; they stood above the flood, He heard the wild waves roaring past, he And shook on high the felon whip, thick saw their white crests quiver;

with its clotted blood; He knew that far o'er that billowy war, But the dauntless slave, 'mid the foaming hands were waiting to deliver.

waye, laughed at their baffled mood. Dark was the might of the ocean flood, and He reached the bank, he sprang to land;thunder-voiced the roar

'twas British soil he trod! With which the broad St. Lawrence leaped The soil where ne'er a bondman's print by the green Canadian shore;

defiles the holy sod; But close behind, the gusty wind the But the eye turns up, like a wild flower's planter's curses bore.

cup, free, glad, and light, to God! The fugitive raised his tearful gaze wild He looked to earth, he looked to heaven, gleaming to the sky :

he laughed in frenzied glee; "O Heaven !” he murmured, “give me He felt the new-sprung power within, be

strength to reach yon shore, or die : stirring boundingly; From whip, from chain, from slavery's stain, And he shouted high, to earth and sky, and bondman's bread, I fly.

“Free!_before Heaven free!” I'm weak with hunger-spent with toil – An Arab steed on a desert plain; a bark on for long hath been my flight;

the blue sea-wave; And cruel eyes have traced my steps, un- An eagle soaring, his tawny wing in the ceasing, day and night :

golden light to lave; Have for me care, whilst thus I dare yon He was nobler than all-he had shivered the battling water's might.”

thrall, and spurned the name of a slave!



ALL honour to the hard-worn hands

That earth-born toil are bearing! And honour to the sturdy bands

That earth's cold crusts are sharing!
By forge and field their arms they wield,

By bench and anvil toiling;
In serried strength, our country's shield,

They keep her flag from soiling.
The good cordwainer sits him down

Upon his throne of leather,
And covets not the tyrant's crown,

Where clustered jewels gather:
High prizes he the soul that's free,

The mind by power unbroken;
To him loud mirth and jocund glee

Are freedom's language spoken.
Ye ho! ye ho!” the seamen shout

From every crested billow;
Ye ho! heigh ho!” each watch about,

Like music, lulls pillow:
And 'midst the storm his heart is warm,

The light of home is burning,
And kindly thoughts like blossoms swarm,

With genial spring returning.

Up from the forge the sparkling blaze

Lights on the smith to glory:
The yeoman stout, with morning's rays,

Shakes down night's tear-drops rosy;
And solid health with solid wealth

Keeps step with footfall steady;
Nor comes old age with creeping stealth,

But finds them ripe and ready.
Oh! all things labour that have birth,

From mote to towering mountain;-
The oak that springs from out the earth,

The water in its fountain :
Each blazing star, that beams afar,

Its motion ceases never;
And myriad worlds of spirits are

To good works bound for ever.

Then honour to the lusty hands

That earth-born toil are bearing!
And honour to the sturdy bands

That earth's cold crusts are sharing!
By forge and field their arms they wield,

By bench and anvil toiling;
In serried strength, our country's shield,
They keep her flag from soiling.


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