Song.

WHEN the warrior returns, from the battle afar,
To the home and the country he nobly defended,
O! warm be the welcome to gladden his ear,

And loud be the joy that his perils are ended;
In the full tide of song let his fame roll along,
To the feast-flowing board let us gratefully throng,
Where, mixed with the olive, the laurel shall wave,
And form a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.

Columbians! a band of your brothers behold,

Who claim the reward of your hearts' warm emo

tion,

When your cause, when your honor, urged onward

the bold,

In vain frowned the desert, in vain raged the ocean:

To a far distant shore, to the battle's wild roar, They rushed, your fair fame and your rights to

secure :

Then, mixed with the olive, the laurel shall wave, And form a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.

In the conflict resistless, each toil they endured, 'Till their foes fled dismayed from the war's des

olation ;

And pale beamed the Crescent, its splendor obscured

By the light of the Star Spangled flag of our

nation.

Where each radiant star gleamed a meteor of war, And the turbaned heads bowed to its terrible

glare,

Now, mixed with the olive, the laurel shall wave, And form a bright wreath for the brows of the

brave.

Our fathers, who stand on the summit of fame,

Shall exultingly hear of their sons the proud story: How their young bosoms glow'd with the patriot flame, How they fought, how they fell, in the blaze of

their glory,

How triumphant they rode o'er the wondering flood, And stained the blue waters with infidel blood

d;

How, mixed with the olive, the laurel did wave,

And formed a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.

Then welcome the warrior returned from afar

To the home and the country he nobly defended; Let the thanks due to valor now gladden his ear,

And loud be the joy that his perils are ended. In the full tide of song let his fame roll along, To the feast-flowing board let us gratefully throng, Where, mixed with the olive, the laurel shall wave, And form a bright wreath for the brows of the brave.

To My Sister.

I THINK of thee-I feel the glow
Of that warm thought-yet well I know
No verse a brother's love may show,

My sister!

But ill should I deserve the name

Or warmth divine, that poets claim,

If I for thee no lay could frame,

My sister!

I think of thee-of those bright hours
Rich in life's first and fairest flowers,

When childhood's gay delights were ours,

My sister!

Those sunny paths were all our own,

And thou and I were there alone,

Each to the other only known,

My sister!

In every joy and every care,

We two, and we alone, were there,

The brightness and the gloom to share,

My sister!

As changing seasons o'er us flew,

No changes in our love we knew,

And there our hearts together grew,

My sister!

And then there came that dreaded day

When I with thee no more must stay,

But to the far school haste away,

My sister!