His rest for aye in the warrior-grave-
His heart in the tomb of the Grecian brave;
His marble head

Enthroned on high, to be

Like the best of her ancient dead,

A sculptured thought of liberty—
A boding forth of Poesy

To wake the youthful ages hence,--
The gifted of Omnipotence.

ODE TO PEACE.

Up with thy banners! Out with all thy strength
Rock-hearted country of the brave and wise!
Huge fortress of the North! unfurl at length
All thy sharp streamers o'er the flashing skies!

Thou that of old, if but a shadow fell-
The shadow only of a coming foe,
Athwart thy bulwarks-heard the stormy swell
Of countless armies gathering below

Thy deep foundations; all thy ancient woods
Upwaking with a heavy solemn roar,
Thy rocks, thy rivers and thy solitudes,

And the great sea that broke upon thy shore,

Out-thundering to the nations! with the noise
Of strange artillery in the earth and sky,
Chariots and horsemen, such as God employs,
When he would startle to new energy

The o'ertired Universe. Up with thee now!
Child of the North-New England-Up and heave
Thy sumptuous drapery to the wind! Thy brow
Begirt with adamant, lay bare; and leave

The lurid panoply of death; and go

Forth like the mightiest and the best of them
Who, if they move to grapple with a foe,
Put on a snowy robe-a diadem

Of triple stars. Up with thee, in thy grave
And awful beauty! Let the nations hear

The language of endurance from the brave;
The song of peace from such as know not fear.

Shall War prevail for ever? Must we be
For ever and for ever bound to wage,
Like the devouring creatures of the sea,
Unceasing battle for our heritage?

Are we to sleep in armor? To lie down
With lighted thunderbolts, year after year,
Lest they who saw their monarch vail his crown
At our approach of old, may venture near?

What though a fourth of thy brave empire now
Is put upon the casting of a die?

The land our fathers bled for-that which Thou
Regardest as a portion of the sky→

And justly too. What though thy outstretch'd hands
Are vast and powerful? Thy rocky earth,
Rough though it be, more precious than the lands
That burn with gold and gems? Of greater worth

To thy stout people, Country of the free!

Than if thy waters rang o'er beds of pearls, Flashing and sounding with the great high sea,Or when their wrath was up-in drifts and whirls

Threw diamonds-rubies-lumps of light ashore;
The wealth of India, or the glorious coil
Of shipwreck'd empires freighted with the store
Of gone-by ages-founder'd with their spoil.

From the four quarters of our strength, are we
To keep for ever thundering, night and day?
Will nothing do but warfare? Must we be
Arm'd to the teeth for ever?

arm'd to slay?

Are the proud creatures of our soil-our youth,
Our fruitage and our hope-are they to go
Not reasoning as they ought with words of truth,
Along the way of life, but arın'd as though

The brave and beauteous earth whereon they tread, Were fashion'd by the Builder of the Skies,

Not for his living Image, but the dead-
A place for slaughter and for sacrifice;

The Golgotha of nations. Must they be
Bred up to butchery from their earliest breath?
Made to believe that they are serving thee,
Our Father! when they sweep a storm of death,

O'er portions of thy goodliest heritage,
Tearing a path to empire—laying bare
The Vineyards of the world, age after age,

Or clamoring with ten thousand trumpets where

The shadowy monsters of the Great Deep dwell,
With star-drift-fire-and shapes magnificent,
Creatures that watch thy roaring citadel-

The broad black sea-the sun-dropp'd firmament.

Father of men! Jehovah! What are they,
The rulers of the earth, that they should dare,
To set aside thy law-to bid man slay

Where thou, their God, hast told him to forbear?

New England, rouse thee from thy heavy sleep! Storehouse of nations-Lighted of the skyGreat northern hive-Long cherish'd of the deepMother of States! To thee we turn our eye!

Up with thy heart in prayer, and cry aloud
Peace to the Nations; to our Borders peace!
Why roll your banners like a thunder-cloud,

O'er sky and earth for ever? Let war cease!

Let our brave Country lift her arms and swear
By Him that dwelleth in eternity,

That henceforth and for ever she will wear

About her warrior brow, the flowering olive-tree!

JOSEPH HAZARD,

Or New York, wrote a volume of poems, published in 1814.

THE FASHIONABLE RAKE.

Now far advanced had pass'd the second day,
And fainter shone the sun's declining ray,
When Austin's walk approach'd a gloomy pile.
Large was the structure and of antique style-
Two oaks before the white impalement grew,
Which far around a circling umbrage threw
Poultry at nightly lodging here would stay,
And work was done beneath their boughs by day.
Beneath one's shade a draw-knife's horse was stood,
And many a tool was made of useful wood;
Here many a youngster whistled in his cheer,
For oft was rake, hoe, scythe, new-handled here-
Its fellow oak unto the sight display'd
Full many a piece of season'd wood uplaid,
For cart, helve, sled, reserved in squared style,
And future use, arose the goodly pile.
An oval pond spread near the white impale,
Its muddled surface to the curling gale;
'Twas here the gander march'd in noisy pride,
And led his mate and young ones to the tide,
The clamorous geese oft sail'd the troubled pool,
And tribes of goslings here repair'd to cool-
Here duck and drake with all their numerous throng,
Quack'd in right gleeful cheer, and swam along.

To the large edifice young Lovegrace drew,
Which he some wealthy farmer's mansion knew.
An arch'd large porch projecting rose before,
Secured by outer and with inner door,
Above two rows of light in order show,
Which round the entrance feeble day-light throw;
On either side led up the front of stone,

Two wild grape vines long since transplanted grown.

*

*

*

The town Arcadia situate near the waves, Whose yellow sands a stream of commerce laves,

Presented to the pleased spectator's view,
United, rural scene and city too.

On a large square its architecture stood,

While down each side roll'd a broad silver flood;
Ships ofall sizes here safe in harbor lay,
And parti-color'd pendants deck the bay.
The streets were broad and even length'ning drawn,
And in its centre smiled a spacious lawn.
Chinese precinct'ring work enclosed its ground,
And trees of pride of India bloom'd around,
Two outward rows at equal distance grew,
Form'd shade and walk of use and beauty too.
Their flowers a native extra worth assume,
And pride themselves in long continued bloom;
These too again in inner walks are seen
With balm of Gilead interplaced between.
Through the whole lawn now pride of India shows,
And here an aromatic balm of Gilead grows.
The fence was lined throughout its ample square,
And different shrubbery different colors wear.
Here stands the laurel crown'd in generous bloom,
Here breathes the honeysuckle's sweet perfume.
The pale white rose attracts the passing eye,
And here the damask scented richer dye,
The inner walks with tints continued glow,
As some decline new opening beauties flow.
* * * Around the lawn are seen,
Four summer houses which adorn the green,
Whose opening diamond work invites the air,
And vine of grapes and jessamines livery wear,
Luxuriant branches o'er their archings run,
And loveliest verdure shades the unwelcome sun.

NATHANIEL H. CARTER

WAS formerly one of the professors at Dartmouth College, and is now the editor of the New York Statesman. He is extensively known as the author of two volumes of Travels in Europe, published in 1827. His poetry consists of short pieces, chiefly occasional.