ODE TO A MOUNTAIN OAK. Proud mountain giant, whose majestic face, Or bent thy ruffled brow, to let the gale Thou hast a sage and reverend look; As if life's struggle, through its varied stages, Thou hast no voice to tell what thou hast seen, And canst but point thy scars, and shake thy head, poets of his class in a quality essential to an acted play,-spirit. His language also rises often to the highest point of energy, pathos, and beauty."-H. T. TUCKERMAN. Mr. Boker's Ballad of Sir John Franklin is a beautiful production,-a happy imitation of the ancient ballad,-but too long for insertion here. It reminds ine, however, of the graceful "Ballad of the Tempest," by JAMES T. FIELDS. Mr. Fields was born at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in 1820, and is a partner of the well-known publishing-house of Ticknor & Fields, Boston,-a house that never published an inferior book, nor any book in an inferior manner. Mr. Fields has won considerable reputation as a poet, by the volume of his poetical productions published in 1849, and by two volumes privately printed for friends in 1854 and 1858. BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST. We were crowded in the cabin, To be shatter'd in the blast, For the stoutest held his breath, And the breakers talk'd with Death. As thus we sat in darkness, Each one busy in his prayers,- Just the same as on the land?" *Their recent "Household Edition of the Waverley Novels"-the best published in this country-is highly creditable to their judgment and taste. Type of long-suffering power! Thou'dst still my tongue, and send my spirit far, For thou hast waged with Time unceasing war, I see thee springing, in the vernal time, Oh, thou wert happy then! On Summer's heat thy tinkling leaflets fed, Thy dry and tatter'd leaves fell dead; Thou drop'dst them one by one,- Next Winter seized thee in his iron grasp, And shook thy bruised and straining form; Or lock'd thee in his icicles' cold clasp, And piled upon thy head the shorn cloud's snowy fleece Wert thou not joyful, in this bitter storm, That the green honors, which erst deck'd thy head, Sage Autumn's slow decay, had mildly shed? Else, with their weight, they'd given thy ills increase, And dragg'd thee helpless from thy uptorn bed. Year after year, in kind or adverse fate, Thy branches stretch'd, and thy young twigs put forth, Summer spread forth thy towering form, On went'st thou sturdily, Shaking thy green flags in triumph and jubilee! From thy secure and sheltering branch The wild bird pours her glad and fearless lay, That, with the sunbeams, falls upon the vale, 'Neath those broad boughs the youth has told love's tale Thou stretchest thy long arms above the earth,— Type of majestic, self-sustaining Power! Elate in sunshine, firm when tempests lower, May thy calm strength my wavering spirit fill! Thou proud and steadfast tree, To bear unmurmuring what stern Time may send; Though wrath and storm shake me, Type of unbending Will! Strong in the tempest's hour, Bright when the storm is still; Rising from every contest with an unbroken heart, Strengthen'd by every struggle, emblem of might thou art! Sign of what man can compass, spite of an adverse state, Still, from the rocky summit, teach us to war with Fate! TO ENGLAND. I. Lear and Cordelia! 'twas an ancient tale Before thy Shakspeare gave it deathless fame: When the rude Cossack with an outstretch'd hand II. 1852. Stand, thou great bulwark of man's liberty! Hold your proud peril! Freemen undefiled, Through force or fraud, look westward to your child! III. At length the tempest from the North has burst, Harmonious peace, so long and fondly nursed By watchful nations. Tyranny accursed 1853. Has broken bounds,-the wolf makes towards the fold. Into degrading slavery! The worst Dealt on a shield that oft has felt the weight For God has squander'd all his precious store That slaves can bring you to their own base state. IV. 1854. Far from the Baltic to the Euxine's strand, The blood that fell between us, in the fight, SARA JANE LIPPINCOTT. THIS gifted writer, who has won such an enviable reputation around the hearthstones of this country, under the name of "Grace Greenwood," was born in Pompey, Onondaga County, New York. Her maiden name was Sara Jane Clarke, which was changed by her marriage with Mr. Leander K. Lippincott, of Philadelphia, in October, 1853; but the appellation by which she will be best known in American literature will be that under which she made her first appearance as an author,-" Grace Greenwood." While she was a school-girl, her parents removed to Rochester, where she enjoyed the excellent educational advantages of that place. In 1843, she removed with her parents to New Brighton, Pennsylvania, where she resided until her marriage. Soon after her removal thither, she appeared as an authoress, under the signature of "Grace Greenwood," in the columns of the "New York Mirror," then under the editorial care of George P. Morris and N. P. Willis. Among her poetical pieces which attracted most admiration were Ariadne, The Horseback Ride, and Pygmalion. These were succeeded by various prose compositions, some of which appeared in "The National Era," published in Washington. In connection with her other literary labors, she was the editor of "The Lady's Book" for a year. Her first volume, entitled Greenwood Leaves, was published in 1850. In 1851, she published a volume of Poems, and an admirable juvenile story-book, called History of my Pets. A second series of Greenwood Leaves was issued the following year; and also another juvenile work, called Recollections of my Childhood. In the spring of 1852, she visited Europe, and spent fifteen months in England and on the Continent. Soon after her return, she published a record of her travels, entitled Haps and Mishaps of a Tour in Europe. In October, 1853, she entered upon the editorship of "The Little Pilgrim," a monthly magazine for children, published in Philadelphia by Mr. Leander K. Lippincott, to whom about this time she was married. In the fall of 1855, she published Merrie England, the first of a series of books of foreign travel for children. In the spring of 1856, a volume, entitled A Forest Tragedy, and other Tales, appeared; and in the fall of 1857, Stories and Legends of History and Travel, being the second of the series mentioned above. It will thus be seen that Mrs. Lippincott's life is any thing but an idle one; and we rejoice that she is thus keeping her talent bright by use, charming all her readers, both old and young, by her fine thoughts, expressed in a style of great ease, simplicity, and beauty. THE HORSEBACK RIDE. When troubled in spirit, when weary of life, When I faint 'neath its burdens, and shrink from its strife, And its fairest scene seems but a desolate waste, 1 See some account of this in a note on page 427. |