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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.
They left their orphan here below,

A stranger wild beneath the sun,
This lesson sad to learn from woe,

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.

Sweetly sleep!

So, good night!
Slumber on till morning light;
Slumber till another morrow
Brings its stores of joy and sorrow;
Fearless, in the Father's sight,
Slumber on. Good night.

KÖRNER. Translation of



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Khale ever

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,
The stany flower of Liberty!
Mom Wendell Homes

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In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of love and graces lie;
Arowd her knees domestic duties meet,
And firesidle pleasures gambol at her feet.
“Where shall that land, that spot of earth be

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 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.





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,
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside,
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons imparadise the night;
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth :
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Vor breathes the spirit of a purer air.
In every clime, the magnet of his soul,
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ;
For in this land of Heaven's peculiar race,
The heritage of nature's noblest grace,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
A clearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
While in his softened looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend.
Here woman reigns; the mother, (laughter, wife,
Strow with fresh flowers the narrow way of life :

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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


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