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"EARTH'S CHILDREN CLEAVE TO EARTH."
EARTH'S children cleave to Earth-her frail
Decaying children dread decay.
Yon wreath of mist that leaves the vale,
It lingers as it upward creeps,
To precipices fringed with grass,
From hold to hold, it cannot stay,
The world with glory, wastes away,
It vanishes from human eye,
THE HUNTER'S VISION.
UPON a rock that, high and sheer,
Had sat him down to rest,
All dim in haze the mountains lay,
By forests faintly seen;
He listened, till he seemed to hear
A strain, so soft and low, That whether in the mind or ear
The listener scarce might know. With such a tone, so sweet and mild, The watching mother lulls her child.
"Thou weary huntsman," thus it said,
And those whom thou wouldst gladly see
He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky
A shadowy region met his eye,
And grew beneath his gaze,
As if the vapours of the air
Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers
Showed bright on rocky bank,
And fountains welled beneath the bowers,
And friends-the dead-in boyhood dear,
And there was one who many a year
A fair young girl, the hamlet's pride
Bounding, as was her wont, she came
Right towards his resting-place, And stretched her hand and called his name
With that sweet smiling face.
Forward with fixed and eager eyes,
Forward he leaned, and headlong down
He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown,
A frightful instant-and no more,
The dream and life at once were o'er.
THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS.
HERE we halt our march, and pitch our tent
And light our fire with the branches rent
But a wilder is at hand,
With hail of iron and rain of blood,
How the dark wood rings with voices shrill, That startle the sleeping bird;
To-morrow eve must the voice be still,
And the step must fall unheard.
In Ticonderoga's towers,
The towers and the lake are ours.