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Home to rest ! Close the eye and calm the breast; Stillness through the streets is stealing, And the watchman's horn is pealing, And the night calls softly, “Haste !
Home to rest !”
My mother sighed, the stream of pain
Flowed fast and chilly o'er her brow; My father prayed, nor prayed in vain ;
Sweet Mercy, cast a glance below. 'My husband dear," the sufferer cried,
“My pains are o'er, behold your son." “Thank Heaven, sweet partner,” he replied ;
“The poor boy's labor's then begun.” Alas! the hapless life she gave
By fate was doomed to cost her own ; For soon she found an early grave,
Nor stayed her partner long alone.
A stranger wild beneath the sun,
man's labor 's never done. No parent's hand, with pious care,
My childhood's devious steps to guide ; Or bid my venturous youth beware
The griefs that smote on every side.
Sweetly sleep! Eden's breezes round ye sweep. O'er the peace-forsaken lover Let the darling image hover, As he lies in transport deep.
So, good night!
KÖRNER. Translation of
CHARLES T. BROOKS.
Thy sa bene bewo, Jani Pastor,
, float en dune bud terven To all these hentug wlas Fue Bi Hackrewing port on Crimerow diwas And Gace love us as we love thee, Thice holy Flower
Then hail the banner of the fee,
POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM.
BREATHES THERE THE MAN -
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
found ?" Art thou a man? - a patriot? — look around ; 0, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, That land thy country, and that spot thy home I
BREATIES there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land ! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As lio.ne his footsteps he hath turned
Fron wandering on a foreign strand ! If such there breathe, go, mark him well ; For liim no minstrel raptures swell; High though his tiiles, proul his name, Bowdless his wealth as wish can claim, Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly lying, shall go down To the vile (ust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsimg.
Man, through all ages of revolving time, Unchanging man, in every varying clime, Deems his own lanıl of every land the pride, Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; His home the spot of carth supremely blest, A dcarer, sweeter spot than all the rest.
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blessed ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
There is a land, of every land the pride,
THE DEATH OF LEONIDAS. But down swept all his power, with chariot and
with charge ; It was the wild midnight, - a storm was on the Down poured the arrows' shower, till sank the sky;
Spartan targe. The lightning gave its light, and the thunder Thus fought the Greek of old ! thus will he fight echoed by.
again! The torrent swept the glen, the ocean lashed the Shall not the selfsame mould bring forth the selfshore;
same men ? Then rose the Spartan men, to make their bed in