MARCH 7, 1863.

SEA-KINGS' daughter from over the sea,

Alexandra Saxon and Norman and Dane are we, But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee,

Alexandra! Welcome her, thunders of fort and of fleet! Welcome her, thundering cheer of the street! Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet, Scatter the blossom under her feet! Break, happy land, into earlier flowers ! Make music, o bird, in the new-budded bowers Blazon your mottos of blessing and prayer ! Welcome her, welcome her, all that is ours ! Warble, O bugle, and trumpet, blare ! Flags, flutter out upon turrets and towers ! Flames, on the windy headland flare ! Utter your jubilee, steeple and spire ! Clash, ye bells, in the merry March air ! Flash, yo cities, in rivers of fire ! Rush to the roof, sudden rocket, and higher Melt into the stars for the land's desire ! Roll and rejoice, jubilant voice, Roll as a ground-swell dash'd on the strand, Roar as the sea when he welcomes the land, And welcome her, welcome the land's desire, The sea-kings' daughter as happy as fair, Blissful bride of a blissful heir, Bride of the heir of the kings of the sea O joy to the people, and joy to the throne, Come to us, love us, and make us your own: For Saxon or Dane or Norman we, Teuton or Celt, or whatever we be, We are each all Dane in our welcome of thee,




UPLIFT a thousand voices full and sweet,

In this wide hall with earth's inventions stored, And praise th' invisible universal Lord, Who lets once more in peace the nations meet,

Where Science, Art, and Labor have outpour'd
Their myriad horns of plenty at our feet.
O silent father of our Kings to be
Mourn'd in this golden hour of jubilee,
For this, for all, we weep our thanks to thee !

The world-compelling plan was thine,
And, lo! the long laborious miles
Of Palace; lo! the giant aisles,
Rich in model and design;
Harvest-tool and husbandry,
Loom and wheel and engin'ry,
Secrets of the sullen mine,
Steel and gold, and corn and wine,
Fabric rough, or Fairy fine,
Sunny tokens of the Line,
Polar marvels, and a feast
Of wonder, out of West and East,
And shapes and hues of Part divine !
All of beauty, all of use,
That one fair planet can produce.

Brought from under every star,
Blown from over every main,
And mixt, as life is mixt with pain,

The works of peace with works of war. O ye the wise who think, the wise who reign, From growing commerce loose her latest chain, And let the fair white-winged peacemaker fly To happy havens under all the sky,

And mix the seasons and the golden hours,
Till each man finds his own in all men's good,
And all men work in noble brotherhood,
Breaking their mailed fleets and armed towers,
And ruling by obeying Nature's powers,
And gathering all the fruits of peace and crown'd

with all her flowers.


DEAR, near and true no truer Time himself
Can prove you, tho' he make you evermore
Dearer and nearer, as the rapid of life
Shoots to the fall — take this, and pray that he,
Who wrote it, honoring your sweet faith in him,
May trust himself; and spite of praise and scorn,
As one who feels the immeasurable world,
Attain the wise indifference of the wise;
And after Autumn past — if left to pass
His autumn into seeming-leafless days –
Draw toward the long frost and longest night,
Wearing his wisdom lightly, like the fruit
Which in our winter woodland looks a flower. *



He that only rules by terror

grievous wrong.
Deep as Hell I count his error,

Let him hear my song.
• The fruit of the Spindle-tree (Euonymus Europeus.)

Brave the Captain was: the seamen

Made a gallant crew,
Gallant sons of English freemen,

Sailors bold and true.
But they hated his oppression,

Stern he was and rash;
So for every light transgression

Doom'd them to the lash.
Day by day more harsh and cruel

Seem'd the Captain's mood.
Secret wrath like smother'd fuel

Burnt in each man's blood. Yet he hoped to purchase glory,

Hoped to make the name
Of his vessel great in story,

Wheresoe'er he came.
So they past by capes and islands,

Many a harbor-mouth,
Sailing under palmy highlands

Far within the South.
On a day when they were going

O'er the lone expanse,
In the North, her canvas flowing,

Rose a ship of France.
Then the Captain's color heighten'd

Joyful came his speech :
But a cloudy gladness lighten'd

In the eyes of each. “Chase,” he said: the ship flew forward,

And the wind did blow;
Stately, lightly, went she Norward,

Till she near'd the foe.
Then they look'd at him they hated,

Had what they desired :
Mute with folded arms they waited

Not a gun was fired.
But they heard the foeman's thunder

Roaring out their doom;
All the air was torn in sunder,

Crashing went the boom,
Spars were splinter'd, decks were shatter'd,

Bullets fell like rain ;
Over mast and deck were scatter'd

Blood and brains of men.
Spars were splinter'd; decks were broken :

Every mother's son
Down they dropt — no word was spoken -

Each beside his gun.
On the decks as they were lying,

Were their faces grim.
In their blood, as they lay dying,

Did they smile on him.
Those, in whom he had reliance

For his noble name,
With one smile of still defiance

Sold him unto shame.
Shame and wrath his heart confounded,

Pale he turn'd and red,
Till himself was deadly wounded

Falling on the dead.
Dismal error ! fearful slaughter !

Years have wander'd by,
Side by side beneath the water

Crew and Captain lie;
There the sunlit ocean tosses

O'er them mouldering,
And the lonely seabird crosses

With one waft of the wing.

THREE SONNETS TO A COQUETTE. CARESS'D or chidden by the dainty hand,

And singing airy trifles this or that, Light Hope at Beauty's call would perch and stand,

And run thro' every change of sharp and flat; And Fancy came and at her pillow sat,

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