CLARIBEL.

CXXVI. - CLARIBEL.

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I.

HE cold gray day clung shivering to the dreary hills,

TH While o'er the valley still, night's rain-fringed curtain fell;

But waking Blue Eyes smiled, ""T is ever as God wills!
He knoweth best; and be it rain or shine, 't is well.
Praise God," said always little Claribel.

II.

Then sank she on her knees, with eager lifted hands;
Her rosy lips made haste some dear request to tell :
"O Father, smile and save this fairest of all lands,
And make her free, whatever hearts rebel.
Amen! Praise God," said little Claribel.

III.

"And, Father," then arose another pleading prayer,
"O save my brother, 'mid the rain of shot and shell;
Let not the death-bolt, with its horrid streaming hair,
Dash light from those sweet eyes I love so well!
Praise God," said trembling little Claribel.

IV.

'But, Father, grant that when the glorious fight is done, And up the crimson sky the shouts of freemen swell, Grant that there be no nobler victor 'neath the sun,

Than he whose golden hair I love so well.

Amen! Praise God," said little Claribel.

V.

When gray and dreary day shook hands with grayer night,

The heavy air was thrilled with clangor of a bell;

"O shout!" the herald cried, his worn eyes brimmed with light. "'T is victory! O what glorious news to tell! "

"Amen! Praise God!" cried little Claribel.

VI.

'And, herald, tell me, was my brother in the fight,
And in the fiery rain? O, fought he brave and well?"
"Dear child," the herald said, "there was no nobler sight
Than his young form, so grand 'mid shot and shell."
"Amen! Praise God!" sobbed little Claribel.

VII.

"And walks he now in victor's plumes of red,

While trumpets' golden throats his coming steps foretell?"
The herald dropped a tear. "Dear child," he softly said,

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Thy brother evermore with conquerors shall dwell."

"Praise God! He heard my prayer," said Claribel.

VIII.

"With conquerors, wearing crowns, and bearing palms," he said. A snow of sudden fear upon the rose lips fell.

"O sweetest herald, (say my brother lives," she plead.
"Dear child, he walks with angels, who in strength excel;
Praise God, who gave this glory, Claribel."

IX.

The cold gray day died sobbing on the weary hills,
While bitter mourning on the night wind rose and fell;
"O child," the herald said, "'t is as the dear Lord wills,
He knoweth best, and be it life or death, 't is well."
"Amen! Praise God!" wept little Claribel.

M. L. Parmelee.

CXXVII. - MORNING SOUNDS.

I.

UT who the melodies of morn can tell?

BUT

The wild brook, babbling down the mountain's side;

The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell;

The pipe of early shepherd, dim descried
In the lone valley; echoing far and wide
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above;
The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide;
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.

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II.

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark ;

Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings;
The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark!
Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings;
Through rustling corn the hare, astonished springs;
Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour;
The partridge burst on whirring wings;
Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower,
And shrill lark carols from her aërial tower..

M

CXXVIII.

AN APPEAL TO ARMS.

R. PRESIDENT: It is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty?

2. Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.

3. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And, judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the house?

4. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land.

5. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation, the last arguments to which kings resort.

6. I ask gentlemen, sir, wt means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us; they can

be meant for no other.

7. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain.

8. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find, which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament.

9. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope.

10. If we wish to be free; if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been

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so long contending; if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms, and to the God of hosts, is all that is left us.

we

11. They tell us, sir, that we are weak, — unable to cope with so formidable an 'adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house?

12. Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot?

13. Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of Liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us.

14. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God, who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. 15. There is no retreat, but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable, and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come! It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, peace!

but there is no peace. The war is actually begun!

16. The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms? Our brethren are