1774.

THE streets are thronged with trampling feet,
The northern hill is ridged with graves,
But night and morn the drum is beat

To frighten down the "rebel knaves."
The stones of King Street still are red,
And yet the bloody red-coats come :
I hear their pacing sentry's tread,

The click of steel, the tap of drum,
And over all the open green,

Where grazed of late the harmless kine, The cannon's deepening ruts are seen, The war-horse stamps, the bayonets shine. The clouds are dark with crimson rain Above the murderous hirelings' den,

And soon their whistling showers shall stain The pipe-clayed belts of Gage's men.

186....

AROUND the green, in morning light,
The spired and palaced summits blaze,
And, sunlike, from her Beacon-height

The dome-crowned city spreads her rays;

They span the waves, they belt the plains,
They skirt the roads with bands of white,
Till with a flash of gilded panes

Yon farthest hill-side bounds the sight.
Peace, Freedom, Wealth! no fairer view,
Though with the wild-bird's restless wings
We sailed beneath the noontide's blue

Or chased the moonlight's endless rings! Here, fitly raised by grateful hands

His holiest memory to recall,

The Hero's, Patriot's image stands ;

He led our sires who won them all!

November 14, 1859.

LATTER-DAY WARNINGS.

WHEN legislators keep the law,

When banks dispense with bolts and locks, When berries — whortle, rasp, and straw

Grow bigger downwards through the box,

When he that selleth house or land

Shows leak in roof or flaw in right, When haberdashers choose the stand

When preachers tell us all they think,

And party leaders all they mean, When what we pay for, that we drink,

From real grape and coffee-bean,

When lawyers take what they would give, And doctors give what they would take, When city fathers eat to live,

Save when they fast for conscience' sake,

When one that hath a horse on sale

Shall bring his merit to the proof,

Without a lie for every nail

When in the usual place for rips

Our gloves are stitched with special care, And guarded well the whalebone tips

Where first umbrellas need repair,

When Cuba's weeds have quite forgot power of suction to resist,

The

And claret-bottles harbor not

Such dimples as would hold your fist,

When publishers no longer steal,

And pay for what they stole before,

When the first locomotive's wheel

Rolls through the Hoosac tunnel's bore ; —

Till then let Cumming blaze away,
And Miller's saints blow up the globe;
But when you see that blessed day,

Then order your ascension robe!