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A TRUE BALLAD.

A GLORIOUS land is this of ours,

A land of liberty! Through all the wide earth's bounds you 'll find

None else so truly free!

Go north or south, or east or west,

Wherever you may roam, There's not a land like this of ours,

The stranger's refuge home!

And yet methinks it were but well,

The tale might not be told,
That where our banner proudliest floats,

Are human sinews sold.

And when we boast that o'er our soil

No tyrants footstep treads, 'T were well if we could hide the blood,

The red scourge daily sheds. Yet still is ours a glorious land !

Our shouts rise wild and highI would such tales as I have heard,

Might give them not the lie. It was a mournful mother, sat

Within the prison walls ; And bitterly adown her cheek

The scalding tear-drop falls.
She sat within the prison walls,

Amidst her infants three;
The bars were strong, the bolts well drawn,

She might not hope to flee.
And still the tears fell down her cheek,

And when a footstep came,
A shudder of convulsive fear

Went o'er her quivering frame.

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It was not for the dungeon's chill,

Nor for the gloom it wore,
Nor that the pangs of conscious guilt

Her frighted bosom tore.

For though in prison cell she lay,

In freedom's happy clime,
Her hand was innocent of wrong,

They charged her not with crime;

Twas that she wore a dusky brow,

She lay within that hold,
Until her human limbs and heart

Were chaffer'd off for gold.

Sold with her babes—all, one by one,

Forever torn apart-
And not one faint hope left to cling

Around her broken heart.

Yet still is ours a glorious land !

Raise pæans loud and high,
To that which fills all patriot breasts,

Our country's liberty.

Her husband was a freeman good,

He lived in Maryland ;
Where now in bootless grief he wept

His broken marriage band.

He loved her when they both were young

And though she was a slave,
He wedded her, and with his hand,

Changeless affection gave.

And when their prattling infants smiled,

Upon his cottage floor,
For them and her, with cheerful heart,

His daily toil he bore.

But woe for him, and woe for her!

Her children all were slaves ; Less grief their parents' hearts had borne, To weep above their

graves. For still as one by one they grew

To childhood's franksome years, They one by one were torn away

To bondage and to tears.Torn far away to distant scenes,

Like green leaves from their stem ; And never to their horne, bereaved,

Came tidings more of them.
Now all were wrench'd apart—there was

No deeper grief to bear;
And they might calmly sit them down

In agonized despair.
For though our land is proudly free,

All other lands above,
There's none may dare to knit again,

Those sacred cords of love.

THY THUNDER PEALETH O'ER US.
Thy thunder pealeth o'er us,

God of the earth and sky!
And o'er the gloomy heavens

The clouds roll dark and high.
But 'tis not by thine anger,

Those flashing bolts are hurld,
To desolate and humble

A proud and guilty world.
Though awful in its grandeur

The storm o'ermounts the sky,
It bears from thee a blessing,

Beneath its scowling eye.

Behind its steps more radiantly

The deep blue heavens will shine, And the glad earth, rejoicing,

Pour forth her corn and wine.

But oh, there lieth brooding,

A cloud more dark and dread,
Above our guilty nation,

In fearful portent spread!

Though broad our frightful borders

All smilingly expand,
The curse of blood is on us,

And on our pleasant land.

For we have sinn'd before thee,

And caused dark floods to roll,
Of tyranny and anguish,

Across our brother's soul.

But let not yet thine anger

Consume our blood-stain'd sod; Extend a little longer

Thy mercy, oh our God!

And touch our flinty bosoms

With thy dissolving grace,
That we may hate our vileness,
And

weep before thy face.

ALINE

How very beautiful The creatures of this earth can sometimes be! Aline was one of such ; the summer rose Hath not a petal fairer than her cheek, Nor hath the light of the out-breaking sun More radiant gladness than her beaming smile. Her heart was full of gushing happiness.

In after years

The common air—the unfolding of a flower
The voice of streams—the music of a bird
Was joy to her; and her glad spirit breathed
Its light o'er all around : Yet her soft eye
Was readier than a child's to fill with tears
For human sorrow; and her heart pour'd out
Its large affections over all that lived.
There was no selfishness in its young pulse ;
Its thoughts were full of God, and all He made
To breathe upon the earth shared in her love,
And the upswelling of her sympathies.

Again,
I look'd

upon

Aline. Her face was lovely yet, but wore not all The bloom of its young freshness; and the light, That made its glance a gladness, was not there. A childish group was round, filling the room With their sweet laughter; and a bright-eyed girl, Who look'd Aline restored to youth again, Held to his mother's cheek the baby lips Of a young brother, crowing in his joy, As she laugh'd back to him.

Aline went forth Amidst her servants; and her voice arose Shrilly and harsh, and they shrunk back in dread From her stern eye. The keen and cruel scourge Was busy at her bidding; and the limbs Of woman bled before her, and the shriek Of childhood rose unheeded.

Then came one, Whose traffic was in human forms; whose wealth Was gather'd from the blood of breaking hearts, And the stern rending of the holiest ties That bless man's nature. For a price of gold, Her husband sold to him the only son Of a fond mother's love, and from the arms Of conjugal affection, a sad wife, With all her weeping babes—and she stood byThat once compassionate girl—without a tear ; Seeing their misery, yet speaking not One word to save them. She who once,

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