THE MINSTREL'S RETURN. BY JOHN H. HEWITT. THE minstrel's returned from the war, He sings in the bower of his fair. I kneel to the power of thy charms! The minstrel his suit warmly pressed, She blushed, sighed, and hung down her head; I bend to the magic of beauty; But fame called the youth to the field, But soon he laid low with the dead: 'I die while my country defending, With heart to my lady love true." "Oh! death!" then she sighed, "I am thine; I tear off the roses of beauty; For the grave of my hero is mine, He died true to love and to duty." THE PILGRIM FATHERS. BY JOHN S. PIERPONT. THE pilgrim fathers-where are they? Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day, The mists, that wrapped the pilgrim's sleep, And his rocks yet keep their watch by the deep, To stay its waves of pride. But the snow-white sail, that he gave to the gale, The pilgrim exile-sainted name !- Rejoiced, when he came, in the morning's flame And the moon's cold light, as it lay that night Still lies where he laid his houseless head ;- The pilgrim fathers are at rest: When Summer's throned on high, And the world's warm breast is in verdure dressed, Go, stand on the hill where they lie. The earliest ray of the golden day On that hallowed spot is cast; And the evening sun, as he leaves the world, Looks kindly on that spot last. The pilgrim spirit has not fled : It walks in noon's broad light; And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, And shall guard this ice-bound shore, Till the waves of the bay, where the May-Flower lay, Shall foam and freeze no more. ROMAN CATHOLIC CHANT. BY J. A. HILLHOUSE. O, HOLY VIRGIN, call thy child; From tears released to speedy rest, From youthful dreams which all beguiled, O, holy Virgin, call thy child. Joy from my darkling soul is fled, And haggard phantoms haunt me wild; YOUR HEART IS A MUSIC-BOX, DEAREST! BY MRS. OSGOOD. YOUR heart is a music-box, dearest ! But its workmanship, love, is so fine, You learned it of Cupid one day It begins with and ends with "I love!" It begins with and ends with "I love!" A PORTRAIT. BY NATHAN C. BROOKS. THROUGH the gazer's breast is stealing |