ANDRE.

Alas, and shall she hear it, that bright one
That ever saw him in her dreams, rise up

Like the young eagle to the sun?

15

The morning came,

And he stood up to die; -the beautiful
And brave-the loved one of a sunny home-
To die as felons die ;-yet proudly calm,
With his high brow unmoved. And the full soul
Beamed in his eye unconquered, and his lip
Was motionless, as is the forest leaf

In the calm prelude to the storm. He died;
And the stern warriors, to his country foes,
Wept for his fate. And who, that e'er had hopes,
Weeps not for him, meeting such misery
In glory's path?

THE RAINBOW.

BY CHARLES H. UPTON.

ETHEREAL diadem! whose blended rays
From no meridian splendor won-
Yet burst, full-formed, upon the wondrous gaze,
A frontlet braided by the sun.

Celestial smile! beneath whose beams the dove
Afar the olive branch descried,

And bore the emblem of returning love
Across the water's ebbing tide.

Resplendent arc! whose prism-blended hues
First dwelt above with One alone,—
Till He the holy effluence did diffuse
Around the footstool of His throne.

Sign-manual of God! inscribed on high,
In characters of glowing light—

Where, on the tablet of the vaulted sky,
None but Divinity could write!

WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD.

BY B. B. THATCHER.

Он, lightly, lightly tread
Upon these early ashes, ye that weep

For her that slumbers in the dreamless sleep,

Of this eternal bed!

Hallow her humble tomb

With your kind sorrow, ye that knew her well, And climbed with her youth's brief but brilliant dell, 'Mid sunlight and fair bloom.

Glad voices whispered round

As from the stars,-bewildering harmonies,-
And visions of sweet beauty filled the skies.
And the wide vernal ground

With hopes like blossoms shone :

Oh, vainly these shall glow, and vainly wreathe Verdure for the veiled bosom, that may breathe No joy-no answering tone.

Yet weep not for the dead

That in the glory of green youth do fall,

Ere phrenzied passion or foul sin one thrall
Upon their souls hath spread.

Weep not! They are at rest

From misery, and madness, and all strife,
That makes but night of day, and death of life,
In the grave's peaceful breast.

Nor ever more shall come

To them the breath of envy, nor the rankling eye Shall follow them, where side by side they lieDefenceless, noiseless, dumb.

Aye-though their memory's green,

In the fond heart, where love for them was born, With sorrow's silent dews, each eve, each morn, Be freshly kept, unseen

Yet weep not! They shall soar

As the freed eagle of the skies, that pined,
But pines no more, for his own mountain wind,
And the old ocean-shore.

Rejoice! rejoice! How long

Should the faint spirit wrestle with its clay,

FAREWELL.

Fluttering in vain for the far cloudless day,
And for the angel's song?

19

It mounts! It mounts! Oh, spread The banner of gay victory-and sing For the enfranchised-and bright garlands bringBut weep not for the dead!

FAREWELL.

BY JOHN B. L. SOULE.

"And there were sudden partings such as press
The life from out young hearts." CHILDE HAROLD.

THERE is an hour-an hour of bliss,
A moment rich with happiness,

When cares and sighs depart ;
When they that love, approach to meet
The mutual welcome, and the sweet
Response of heart to heart.