"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,
And lessens in the morning ray :
Look, how, by mountain rivulet,

It lingers as it upward creeps,
And clings to fern and copsewood set
Along the green and dewy steeps:
Clings to the fragrant kalmia, clings

To precipices fringed with grass,
Dark maples where the wood-thrush sings,
And bowers of fragrant sassafras.
Yet all in vain-it passes still

From hold to hold, it cannot stay,
And in the very beams that fill

The world with glory, wastes away,
Till, parting from the mountain's brow,

It vanishes from human eye,
And that which sprung of earth is now
A portion of the glorious sky.

THE HUNTER'S VISION.

UPON a rock that, high and sheer,
Rose from the mountain's breast,
A weary hunter of the deer

Had sat him down to rest,
And bared to the soft summer air
His hot red brow and sweaty hair.

All dim in haze the mountains lay,
With dimmer vales between ;
And rivers glimmered on their way,

By forests faintly seen;
While ever rose a murmuring sound,
From brooks below and bees around.

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,
Thou faint with toil and heat,
The pleasant land of rest is spread
Before thy very feet,

And those whom thou wouldst gladly see
Are waiting there to welcome thee."

He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky
Amid the noontide haze,

A shadowy region met his eye,

And grew beneath his gaze,

As if the vapours of the air
Had gathered into shapes so fair.

Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers

Showed bright on rocky bank,

And fountains welled beneath the bowers,
Where deer and pheasant drank.
He saw the glittering streams, he heard
The rustling bough and twittering bird.

And friends-the dead-in boyhood dear,
There lived and walked again,

And there was one who many a year
Within her grave had lain,

A fair young girl, the hamlet's pride
His heart was breaking when she died:

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,
The hunter leaned in act to rise:

Forward he leaned, and headlong down
Plunged from that craggy wall;

He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown,
An instant, in his fall;

A frightful instant-and no more,

The dream and life at once were o'er.

THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS.

I.

HERE we halt our march, and pitch our tent
On the rugged forest ground,

And light our fire with the branches rent
By winds from the beeches round.
Wild storms have torn this ancient wood,

But a wilder is at hand,

With hail of iron and rain of blood,
To sweep and waste the land

II.

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.
The Briton lies by the blue Champlain,

In Ticonderoga's towers,
And ere the sun rise twice again,

The towers and the lake are ours.