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Would I, like ye, might seek some kindlier shore,
Where storms of earth and winter come no more,

Where flowers that bloom shall know nor chill nor

death,

Where souls that love shall find no parting breath!

Roll on bright waves, and find a fairer clime

Than that which bounds these shores of sense and

time;

Roll on bright waves, and bear my thoughts away
To that fair land where dwells eternal Day.

TO THE OCEAN.

[Thoughts on Salisbury Beach.]

Majestic Ocean! from Creation's day

Rolls Thy deep anthem on Earth's list'ning shore; Swift rush Thy surges, swiftly glide away; So pass man's generations and are o'er.

Glad as Thy joyous waves they sped along.

As countless as Thy surf's white beads their tears; How few the footsteps of that mighty throng Left on Time's shifting sands adown the years.

Thou speakest of a time we never knew,

Ere man's short vision met Thy boundless gaze; When virgin forests in their beauty grew,

And lit Thy depths but heaven's o'erarching rays.

Unfettered did'st Thou rove from shore to shore,
From solitudes, new solitudes to find;

Earth bent her youthful face Thy mirror o'er,
And sought with girdle green Thy steps to bind.

Still will roll on when we are dust, who gaze,

The deep-toned rhythm of Thy ceaseless hymn ! Still, Thou untamed, Thy snowy crest will raise, From morning's purple light, to evening dim.

Still will Thy waves rush madly on the shore, Wrecking themselves 'gainst rock or shelving beach.

So sends the heart its love forevermore

Far out unto the goal it ne'er may reach.

AMERICAN CHROMOS.

O skilful Art! that tak'st from Nature's hand
Each drooping blossom ere it dies away,
And bids transfixed its fading beauties stand,
Throughout the wintry storm and shortened day.

The modest wild flower near the plashing brook,
The apple blossom scented by the spring,

Fair violets clustering in each shady nook,

The bird's neat nest where leaves and berries cling;

The Plymouth May Flower printed by thine art

Doth seem to send its fragrance round the room, And to our wintry hours and gloom impart A summer joy and delicate perfume.

Where poverty the boon to Taste denies

Of costly paintings and of marbles grand, Thy cheaper Art the needed gift supplies,

Bidding each narrow room in beauty stand!

Work on, O Hand! that bids the humble eye
Revel in sights that erst were all unknown!
Throughout our land send forth a fresh supply

Till every poor man's cot a gem shall own.

Work on, O Skill! while Nature smiles to see
Her blossoms beaming forth in wintry hours,
Work on! and in the path of poverty
Drop everywhere new sights of joy and flowers.

OUR PASTURES.

They stretch beyond the city's ken,
An upland spread of vale and hill,
Far from the haunts of toiling men,
Where all is peaceful, calm and still.

Where waving trees and rustling grass
And limpid waters' soothing flow,
The insects chirping as we pass,

The bird's sweet song, the cattle's low,

Fall soothingly upon the ear

Like songs of rest to weary men ; For Nature's music soft and clear

Doth weary not, though we may hear Her sweet strains o'er and o'er again.

Here Spring the first green carpet weaves In sheltered nook and moistened spot, And raises 'neath the russet leaves

Each tiny flower in dell and grot.

Here Summer spreads her luscious store
To tempt the insect, bird and bee,

And little feet come tripping o'er

The short, green sward on hill and lea.

Here Autumn lights his signal fires

Till swamp and height are all aglow, And when the last warm flush expires, Old Winter drops his fleecy snow

And binds within his sheltering tomb
The beauty which the green fields hold,
The spring's soft foliage, summer's bloom:
So Memory wraps with mystic fold

Within her heart each well-loved scene,

The summer's charms in wintry hours, Youth's fleeting joys, joys that have been, To cheer and bless 'mid failing powers.

WINTER'S COMING.

Old Winter came with pleasant smile
And kissed to sleep those last, few flowers

That with their sunny hues beguile

The absence of the Summer's hours.

And bending softly o'er the earth

He turned to brown her grassy hair, And hushed those rippling thrills of mirth Where brooklets ran o'er rocks so bare;

So bare, save where green mosses rest,
Striving to keep the mem'ry green
Of Summer's beauty, firmly prest

The rocks' ribbed armor close between.

Of Summer's beauty-pictures rise
Of winding lanes and arching trees,
Of singing birds and changing skies,
Of wild flowers dancing in the breeze.

O give us, Winter, for our loss,

The leafy spray, the icy flower;

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