Thro' centuries enslaved,
They wore its heavy yoke:
No arm for freedom braved,
No warning prophet spoke.
Content to boil their evil day Beneath the tyrant's iron sway. Where is the promised aid
To Jacob's offspring given?
Hath God, the Father,…
I saw a poor man enter where
The worshippers of God were seen.
His garments cheap and worn threadbare.
Yet all was tidy, neat, and clean—
I saw him take a lonely seat,
And worship at the Saviour's feet.
I saw, hard by, a family
Dress'd out in…
I saw the in the cloud, mother,
Thou smilest on me there:
The sunny wreath—thy shroud mother
Thy grave—the spangled air!
Thy wing, all golden seems, mother,
To span the heavens broad,
And urge thy shining course, mother,
Among the isles of…
The following touching and inimitable beautiful lines have been erroneously attributed to John Milton. The New YorkHistorical Magazinefrom which we copy them, accompanies them with the following explanatory remarks as to their origin:"The simple fact…
Full eighteen hundred years or more
I've kept my doors securely tied,
There is no "little angel" strayed.
Nor has been missing all the while.
I did not sleep, as you supposed,
Nor leave the door of Heaven ajar:
Nor has a "little angel"…
DENIES THE SOFT IMPEACHMENTOne of our native poets, tickeled at a little circumstance that happened in his family, in a sentimental fit rushed into print with it, and attempted to father it upon the carelessness of St. Peter but that custodian, it…
No blots on the banner of Light!
No Slaves in the land of the Free!
No Wrong should be rampant where all should be Right,
No sin that is shameful to see!
America,—show the wide world in thy strength
How sternly determined thou art
To cut from…
A sound of tumult troubles all the air,
Like the low thunder of a sultry sky,
Far rolling ere the downright lightning's glare;
The hills blaze red with warning; foes draw nigh.
Treading the dark with challenge and reply.Behold the burdn of the…
Oh, a wonderful stream is the river of Time,
As it runs through the realms of tears,
With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme,And a borad'ning sweep, and a surge sublime,
That bends with the ocean of years.
How the winters are drifting like…
They sleep; athwart my white
Moon-marbled casement, with her solemn mein, Silently watching o'er their rest serene,
Gazeth the star-eyed Night.
My girl, sedate or wild,
By turns as playful as a summer breze, Or grave as Night or star-lit Southern…
