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I heard a requiem sung-
A prayer to Heaven said
A sigh breathed forth-perchance a tear
Moistened the pall above my bier-
But soon they left the dead :

And soon forgot,

For there came not
One friendly footstep back to eheer the lonely spot.

The years, which once seemed fleet,
How slowly they passed by!
The winter's storm did hoarsely rave
Long, long, ere round my gloomy grave
The summer breeze did sigh :

But the doleful knell

Would often tell That another shade had fed in death's dark land to dwell.

Oh, thrice, thrice happy soul !
Like mine it was not doomed
To pass ten thousand years away-
Undying Spirit chained to clay,
Immortal Thought entombed!

Can Hell bestow

A fiercer woe Than this, through countless years to die and still to know?

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Now centuries had past ;
The funeral knell was o'er,
The sons forgot where their fathers lay
For I heard the plough-share grate its way
Where the grave-stone stood before ;

And the reapers tread

Above my head,
And sing their merry songs among the silent dead.

And there a forest sprang
From the ground where we reclined.
The lofty boughs spread high in Heaven-
For I heard them groan by the tempest driven,-
The roots our dust entwined :

But a fire at last

O'er the forest passed And each firm root decayed beneath the withering blast.

And there, deep, still, alone,
In a barren waste I lay,
Hushed was the

song

of the cheerful bird,
And nought of human sound I heard,
All, all, had passed away-

And the years stole by

So silently,
I thought that Nature slept in mortal lethargy.

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Hark! thunder wakes the world,
It rives the trembling sod!
The burning Universe doth tell
This is the voice of the Archangel,
This is the Trump of God!

Aye, He hath spoke

The trance is broke“ Ye Living.Dead arise !” Shuddering with fear, I woke.

THE ANNIVERSARY OF AMERICAN

INDEPENDENCE.

BY THE HON. JONATHAN RUSSELL.

It is a magnificent spectacle to behold a great people annually crowding their temples to consecrate the anniversary of their sovereignty. On this occasion the heart of every true American beats high with a just and noble pride. He still hears the illustrious Fathers of his Country, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the World for the rectitude of their conduct, declare that the United States "are, and of right ought to be, Free and Independent.” The black catalogue of injury, abuse, contempt, and crime, which exhausted forbearance and drove us to resistance, rushes on his mind. He passes in review those great men who then burst upon the world, and who, endowed with every virtue and every talent which could fit them for the arduous task in which they engaged, appeared to be expressly commissioned by Heaven to rule the storm of revolution. It was then, indeed, that human nature, which for eighteen centuries had appeared nearly to have lost those qualities which alone ennoble it, emerged at once from its degradation, and recovered the lustre with which it shone in the happiest days of antiquity.

On the islands of the Adriatic, the mountains of Biscay, and the rocks of Uri, the spirit of Liberty had indeed successively sought a refuge ; but driven at last from all that could delight her on earth, she had already flapped her wings on the glaciers of Switzerland, and was taking her flight towards Heaven. The American people rose--they burst their fetters—they hurled them at their oppressors they shouted they were FREE. The sound broke across the Atlantic-it shook the fog-wrapt island of Britain, and re-echoed along the Alps. The ascending spirit heard it-she recognized in it the voice of her elect, and holding her course westward, she rejoicing saw her incense rise from a thousand altars. Her presence assured our triumph. Painful, however, was the struggle, and terrible the conflict which obtained that triumph-our harbors filled with hostile fleets—our fields ravaged-our cities wrapt in flames—a numerous veteran and unprincipled enemy let loose upon us—our army thinned by battles, wasted by sickness, disgusted by treachery and desertion—a prey to every species of privation, and reduced to the last misery next despair. Even then, however, this little army shewed themselves worthy the holy cause for which they contended. Driven from Long-Island—from the heights of Harlemfrom White Plains-pursued from post to post even to beyond the Delaware—they would often turn upon their insulting foe—and mingling their blood with the melting lava of the cannon's mouth, foretel them of Trenton, Germantown, and Monmouth.

But it was not in the ardent conflicts of the field' only, that our countrymen fell ; it was not the ordinary chances of war alone, which they had to encounter. Happy, indeed, thrice happy, were WARREN, MONTGOMERY and MERCER; happy those other gallant spirits who fell with glory in the heat of battle, distinguished by their country, and covered with her applause. Every soul, sensible to honor, envies rather than compassionates their fate. It was in the dungeons of our inhuman invaders ; it was in their loathsome and pestiferous prison-ships, that the wretchedness of our countrymen still makes the

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