The banquet's gay splendors are gleaming around,

But your hearts have flown back o'er the waves of the Sound;

They have found the brown home where their pulses were born;

They are throbbing their way through the trees and the

corn.

There are roofs you remember,

their glory is filed;

There are mounds in the churchyard,—one sigh for the

dead.

There are wrecks, there are ruins, all scattered around; But Earth has no spot like that corner of ground.

To-night, we harm nothing, we love in the lump;

Here's a bumper to Maine, in the juice of the pump!

Here's to all the good people, wherever they be,
Who have grown in the shade of the liberty-tree;
We all love its leaves, and its blossoms and fruit,
But pray have a care of the fence round its root.

We should like to talk big; it's a kind of a right,

When the tongue has got loose and the waistband grown tight;

But, as pretty Miss Prudence remarked to her beau,

On its own heap of compost, no biddy should crow.

Enough! There are gentlemen waiting to talk,
Whose words are to mine as the flower to the stalk.
Stand by your old mother whatever befall;

God bless all her children! Good night to you all!

ODE FOR WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY.

CELEBRATION OF THE MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION. FEBRUARY 22, 1856.

WELCOME to the day returning,

Dearer still as ages flow,

While the torch of Faith is burning,

Long as Freedom's altars glow!

See the hero whom it gave us

Slumbering on a mother's breast;

For the arm he stretched to save us,
Be its morn forever blest!

Hear the tale of youthful glory,
While of Britain's rescued band

Friend and foe repeat the story,

Spread his fame o'er sea and land,
Where the red cross proudly streaming,
Flaps above the frigate's deck,

Where the golden lilies, gleaming,

Star the watch-towers of Quebec.

Look! The shadow on the dial

Marks the hour of deadlier strife;

Days of terror, years of trial,
Scourge a nation into life.

Lo, the youth, become her leader!

All her baffled tyrants yield;

Through his arm the Lord hath freed her; Crown him on the tented field!

Vain is Empire's mad temptation;
Not for him an earthly crown!
He whose sword hath freed a nation
Strikes the offered sceptre down.
See the throneless Conqueror seated,
Ruler by a people's choice;
See the Patriot's task completed;
Hear the Father's dying voice!

"By the name that you inherit, By the sufferings you recall, Cherish the fraternal spirit ;

Love your country first of all!

Listen not to idle questions

If its bands may be untied;

Doubt the patriot whose suggestions

Strive a nation to divide!"

Father! We, whose ears have tingled

With the discord-notes of shame, —

We, whose sires their blood have mingled

In the battle's thunder-flame,

Gathering, while this holy morning
Lights the land from sea to sea,
Hear thy counsel, heed thy warning;

Trust us, while we honor thee!