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Yes, by our own unstoried stream

The pink-white apple-blossoms burst That saw the young Euphrates gleam,

That Gihon's circling waters nursed.

For us the ambrosial pear displays

The wealth its arching branches hold, Bathed by a hundred summery days

In floods of mingling fire and gold.

And here, where beauty's cheek of flame

With morning's earliest beam is fed, The sunset-painted peach may claim

To rival its celestial red.

- What though in some unmoistened vale

The summer leaf grow brown and sere, Say, shall our star of promise fail

That circles half the rolling sphere,

From beaches salt with bitter spray,

O’er prairies green with softest rain, And ridges bright with evening's ray,

To rocks that shade the stormless main ? If by our slender-threaded streams

The blade and leaf and blossom die,
If, drained by noontide's parching beams,

The milky veins of Nature dry,

See, with her swelling bosom bare,

Yon wild-eyed Sister in the West, The ring of Empire round her hair,

The Indian's wampum on her breast !

We saw the August sun descend,

Day after day, with blood-red stain, And the blue mountains dimly blend

With smoke-wreaths from the burning plain ;

Beneath the hot Sirocco's wings

We sat and told the withering hours, Till Heaven unsealed its hoarded springs,

And bade them leap in flashing showers.

Yet in our Ishmael's thirst we knew

The mercy of the Sovereign hand Would pour the fountain's quickening dew

To feed some harvest of the land.

No flaming swords of wrath surround

Our second Garden of the Blest; It spreads beyond its rocky bound,

It climbs Nevada’s glittering crest.

God keep the tempter from its gate !

God shield the children, lest they fall From their stern fathers’ free estate,

Till Ocean is its only wall !


A TRIPLE health to Friendship, Science, Art,
From heads and hands that own a common heart!
Each in its turn the others' willing slave, —
Each in its season strong to heal and save.

Friendship’s blind service, in the hour of need, Wipes the pale face — and lets the victim bleed. Science must stop to reason and explain ;ART claps his finger on the streaming vein.

But Art's brief memory fails the hand at last; Then SCIENCE lifts the flambeau of the past. When both their equal impotence deplore, — When Learning sighs, and Skill can do no more, The tear of FRIENDSHIP pours its heavenly balm, And soothes the pang no anodyne may calm !

May 1st, 1855.



NEW YORK, DEC. 22, 1855.

New England, we love thee; no time can erase
From the hearts of thy children the smile on thy face.
'T is the mother's fond look of affection and pride,
As she gives her fair son to the arms of his bride.

His bride may be fresher in beauty's young flower ;
She may blaze in the jewels she brings with her dower.
But passion must chill in Time's pitiless blast;
The one that first loved us will love to the last.

You have left the dear land of the lake and the hill,
But its winds and its waters will talk with you still.
“ Forget not,” they whisper, “your love is our debt,"
And echo breathes softly, “ We never forget.”

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