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How calm and clear
The silent air!
How smooth and still the glassy ocean!
While stars above
Seem lamps of love,
To light the temple of devotion
BY J. G. BROOKS.
LAND of the brave! where lie inurned
Land of the Muse! within thy bowers
Land of dead heroes! living slaves!
No! coward souls! the light which shone
Where sleeps the spirit, that of old
The bold three hundred-where are they,
Tyrants have trampled on the clay,
Where death has hushed them into rest.
Yet, Ida, yet upon thy hill
A glory shines of ages fled;
And fame her light is pouring still,
Not on the living, but the dead!
But 't is the dim sepulchral light,
Greece! yet awake thee from thy trance
In vain in vain the hero calls-
Lost land! where genius made his reign,
SONG OF THE BEE.
Thy sun hath set-the evening storm
To blast the beauty of thy form,
And freedom never more shall cease
SONG OF THE BEE.
BY O. C. WYMAN.
AWAY, away, to the anxious flower
That droops and pines for its truant bee; With beauty renewed like the morning hour 'T will wait for my coming with anxious glee. Ah little, but little, the rose-spirit dreams
Of the last dear place of her wanderer's restLike the evening dew, in the mountain streams, She would waste should I tell of the tulip's breast. Away, away, for the earliest kiss
Must be mine from the freshest and sweetest rose; Oh! there's nought upon earth like the young bee's bliss.
When the morning rose-leaves over him close. Hid from the beam of his rival-Sun,
Couched in the bosom of beauty's flower, He rests, till its choicest treasures are won, From the scorching ray or the drenching shower
TO A LADY, WITH A WITHERED LEAF.
TO A LADY, WITH A WITHERED LEAF
BY W. G. CROSBY.
WHAT offering can the minstrel bring,
Thou wouldst not prize the glittering gem,
Of lustre brighter far than they
I will not bring the spring-tide flower,
Its memory lives but for an hour
I would not thine should be as brief.
My heart!-but that has long been thine--
A flower that fast is withering.
My song!-'t is but a mournful strain,
E'en echo will not wake again
The music of a strain so sad.
A withered leaf!-nay, scorn it not,