We are all here!

Even they-the dead-though dead, so dear
Fond Memory, to her duty true,

Brings back their faded forms to view.
How life-like, through the mist of years,
Each well-remembered face appears!
We see them, as in times long past,
From each to each kind looks are cast;
We hear their words, their smiles behold,
They're round us, as they were of old,-
We are all here.

We are all here!
Father, Mother,

Sister, Brother,

You that I love with love so dear,
This may not long of us be said;
Soon must we join the gathered dead;
And by the hearth we now sit round
Some other circle will be found.
Oh! then, that wisdom may we know,
Which yields a life of peace below;
So, in the world to follow this,
May each repeat, in words of bliss,
We're all-all here!

EXERCISE X.

PASSING AWAY.

I ASKED the stars, in the pomp of night,
Gilding its blackness with crowns of light,
Bright with beauty, and girt with power,
Whether eternity were not their dower;
And dirge-like music stole from their spheres,
Bearing this message to mortal ears:

"We have no light that hath not been given;
We have no strength but shall soon be riven;
We have no power wherein man may trust;
Like him, are we things of time and dust;
And the legend we blazon with beam and ray,
And the song of our silence is 'Passing away.

"We shall fade in our beauty, the fair and bright,
Like lamps that have served for a festal night;
We shall fall from our spheres, the old and strong,
Like rose-leaves swept by the breeze along;
The worshipped as gods in the olden day,
We shall be like a vain dream-Passing away."

From the stars of heaven, and the flowers of earth,
From the pageant of power, and the voice of mirth,
From the mists of morn on the mountain's brow,
From childhood's song, and affection's vow,-
From all, save that o'er which soul bears sway,
Breathes but one record-" Passing away."

"Passing away," sing the breeze and rill,
As they sweep on their course by vale and hill;-
Through the varying scenes of each earthly clime,
"T is the lesson of nature, the voice of time;
And man, at last, like his fathers gray,
Writes in his own dust-" Passing away."

EXERCISE XI.

NEW ENGLAND.

LAND of the forest and the rock,

Of dark blue lake and mighty river,
Of mountains reared aloft to mock
The storm's career, the lightning's shock,
My own green land forever!

Land of the beautiful and brave,

The freeman's home, the martyr's grave,
The nursery of giant men,

Whose deeds have linked with every glen
And every hill, and every stream,
The romance of some warrior dream!

Oh! never may a son of thine,
Where'er his wandering steps incline,
Forget the sky which bent above
His childhood like a dream of love,
The stream beneath the green hill flowing,
The broad-armed trees above it growing,
The clear breeze through the foliage blowing!

Or hear, unmoved, the taunt of scorn Breathed o'er the brave New England born! Or mark the stranger's jaguar hand

Disturb the ashes of thy dead,— The buried glory of a land

Whose soil with noble blood is red, And sanctified in every part,

Nor feel resentment, like a brand,
Unsheathing from his fiery heart!
Oh! greener hills may catch the sun
Beneath the glorious heaven of France;
And streams, rejoicing as they run

Like life beneath the day-beam's glance,
May wander where the orange bough
With golden fruit is bending low;
And there may bend a brighter sky
O'er green and classic Italy,
And pillared fane and ancient grave
Bear record of another time,

And over shaft and architrave

The green luxuriant ivy climb;
And far towards the rising sun

The palm may shake its leaves on high,
Where flowers are opening, one by one,
Like stars upon the twilight sky;
And breezes soft as sighs of love
Above the broad banana stray,

And through the Brahmin's sacred grove
A thousand bright-hued pinions play!
Yet unto thee, New England, still

Thy wandering sons shall stretch their arme, And thy rude chart of rock and hill

Seem dearer than the land of palms;

Thy massy oak and mountain pine

More welcome than the banyan's shade;

And every free, blue stream of thine
Seem richer than the golden bed
Of oriental waves, which glow
And sparkle with the wealth below!
11

EXERCISE XII.

TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN.

[The writer of he following lines left the endearments of home, and lost his health, in the pursuit of wealth.]

SLAVE of the dark and dirty mine!

What vanity has brought thee here?
How can I love to see thee shine

So bright, whom I have bought so dear?
The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear
For twilight converse, arm in arm;

The jackal's shriek bursts on my ear,
When mirth and music wont to charm.
By Cherical's dark wandering streams,
Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild,
Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams,
Of Teviot loved while still a child;
Of castled rocks, stupendous piled,
By Esk or Eden's classic wave;

Where loves of youth and friendship smiled.
Uncursed by thee, vile yellow slave!

Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade!
The perished bliss of youth's first prime,
That once so bright on fancy played,
Revives no more in after time.

Far from my sacred natal clime,
I haste to an untimely grave;

The daring thoughts, that soared sublime
Are sunk in ocean's southern wave.

Slave of the mine! thy yellow light
Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear ;-

A gentle vision comes by night,
My lonely widowed heart to cheer;
Her eyes are dim with many a tear,
That once were guiding-stars to mine;
Her fond heart throbs with many a fear
I cannot bear to see thee shine.

For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave!
I left a heart that loved me true;

I crossed the tedious ocean-wave,
To roam in climes unkind and new.

The cold wind of the stranger blew
Chill on my withered heart: the grave,
Dark and untimely, met my view;
And all for thee, vile yellow slave!

Ha! comest thou now so late to mock
A wanderer's banished heart forlorn;
Now that his frame the lightning shock
Of sun-rays tipt with death has borne ?
From love, from friendship, country, torn,
To memory's fond regrets the prey,
Vile slave! thy yellow dross I scorn;
Go mix thee with thy kindred clay!

EXERCISE XIII.

INDIAN NAMES.

"Ho can the Red Men' be forgotten, when so many of our states, territo ries, bays, lakes and rivers, are indelibly stamped by names of their giving?"

YE say they all have passed away,
That noble race and brave;

That their light canoes have vanished

From off the crested wave;

That, 'mid the forests where they roamed,

There rings no hunter's shout;

But their name is on your waters,

Ye may not wash it out.

'Tis where Ontario's billow

Like ocean's surge is curled;

Where strong Niagara's thunders wake

The echo of the world;

Where red Missouri bringeth

Rich tributes from the west,

And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps
On green Virginia's breast.