ACTIVITY. OPEN the casement, and up with the sun! Over the hills his chariot is roll'd, Banner'd with glory, and burnish'd with gold Over the hills he comes sublime, Bridegroom of Earth, and brother of Time! Day hath broken, joyous and fair; Lo! the wondering world awakes, With its rosy-tipp'd mountains and gleaming lakes, Who dwelleth between the cherubim! Break away boldly from Sleep's leaden chain; Rather, with vigour and resolute nerve, Up! up! to bless man, and thy Master to serve! Thankful and hopeful, and happy to raise The offering of prayer, and the incense of praise! Gird thee, and do thy watching well, Duty's Christian sentinel! Sloth and slumber never had part In the warrior's will or the patriot's heart; ADVENTURE. How gladly would I wander through some strange and savage land, The lasso at my saddle-bow, the rifle in my hand, A leash of gallant mastiffs bounding by my side, And for a friend to love, the noble horse on which I ride! Alone, alone-yet not alone, for God is with me there; The tender hand of Providence shall guide me every where; Without a guide-yet guided well-young, buoyant, fresh, and free; Or, brushing through the copse, from his leafy home I start Nor stop until my dogs have brought the glorious brute to bay. Or, if the gang of hungry wolves come yelling on my track, And then the hunter's savoury fair at tranquil even-tide- Hist! hist! I heard some prowler snarling in the wood; I seize my knife and trusty gun, and face to face we stood! Hie at him, dogs! one bullet cannot kill a foe so grim; Frantic struggles-welling blood-the strife is almost o'er- Here, lap it hot, my gallant hounds-the blood of foes is sweet! So shall we beard those tyrants in their dens another day; Nor tamely wait, with slavish fear, their coming in the way; And pleasant thoughts of peace and home shall fill our dreams to-night, For, lo! the God of battles has help'd us in the fight! THE SONG OF SIXTEEN. WHO shall guess what I may be? For, bravest and brightest that ever was sung Hope, with her prizes and victories won, All the meadows and hills are green, My heart, my heart within me swells, Rich in the present, though poor in the past, Pleasures are there, like drooping balms; Away with your counsels, and hinder me not- Young, and strong, and sanguine, and free- FORTY. Ан, poor youth! in pitiful truth, Haply, within a few swift years, A mind bowed down with troubles and fears, Haply, to follies an early wreck For the cloud of presumption is now like a speck, And with a whelming, sudden sweep, The storm of temptation roars over the deep; Lower the sail of pride, rash youth— Stand to the lowly tiller of truth; Care and peril in lieu of joy Guilt and dread may be thine, proud boy; Lo, thy mantling chalice of life Is foaming with sorrow, and sickness, and strife. Cheated by pleasure, and sated with pain— -It is well. I discern a tear on thy cheek; For life, good youth, hath never an ill Which hope cannot scatter, and faith cannot kill; And stubborn realities never shall bind The free-spreading wings of a cheerful mind. THE SONG OF SEVENTY. I AM not old-I cannot be old, I am not old; though friends and foes And left me alone to my joys or my woes, I am not old-I cannot be old, Though tottering, wrinkled and gray; Though my eyes are dim, and my marrow is cold, Call me not old to-day. For early memories round me throng, Old times, and manners, and men, I look behind, and am once more young, And my heart can sing, as of yore it sung, I do not see her-the old wife there Shrivelled, and haggard, and gray, But I look on her blooming, and soft, and fair, I do not see you, daughters and sons, But I kiss you now as I kissed you once, |