Content I live, this is my stay ;

I seek no more than may suffice; I presse to beare no haughtie sway;

Look what I lack my mind supplies.
Loe! thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.
I see how plentie surfets oft,

And hastie clymbers soonest fall:
I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all:
These get with toile, and keep with feare:
Such cares my mind could never beare.
No princely pompe, nor welthie store.
No force to winne the victorie,

No wylie wit to salve a sore,

No shape to winne a lover's eye;
To none of these I yeeld as thrall,
For why, my mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave,
I little have, yet seek no more;

They are but poore, though much they have;
And I am rich with little store;

They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's losse,

I grudge not at another's gaine; No worldly wave my mind can tosse, I brooke that is another's bane.

I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend,

I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly blisse;

I weigh not Croesus' welth a straw; For care, I care not what it is;

I fear not fortune's fatall law. My mind is such as may not move For beautie bright or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;

I wander not to seek for more;

I like the plaine, I climb no hill;

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaine To get what must be lost againe.

I kisse not where I wish to kill;

I feigne not love where most I hate;

I breake no sleep to winne my will;
I wayte not at the mighties gate;
Scorne no poore, I feare no rich,
I feel no want, nor have too much.

The court, ne cart, I like, ne loathe;

Extreames are counted worst of all:
The golden meane betwixt them both

Doth surest sit, and fears no fall:
This is my choyce, for why, I finde
No wealth is like a quiet minde.
My wealth is health and perfect ease,

My conscience clere my chiefe defence: I never seek by brybes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence; Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all did so as well as 1.

MARLOW.

HAT constitutes a state?

Not high-rais'd battlement and

labored mound,

Thick wall or moated gate;

Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crown'd:

Not bays and broad-arm'd ports,

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride: Not starr'd and spangled courts,

Where low-bred baseness wafts perfume to pride:

No-men, high-minded men,

With powers as far above dull brutes endu'd, In forest, brake, or den,

As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude: Men, who their duties know.

But know their rights: and, knowing, dare maintain,

Prevent the long-aim'd blow,

And crush the tyrant, while they rend the chain.

These constitute a state:

And sovereign law, that state's collected wil', O'er thrones and globes elate,

Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill.
JONES.

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON.

HEN love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair
And fetter'd to her eye,
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses crown'd,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,
Fishes that tipple in the deep

Know no such liberty,
When, linnet-like, confined, I
With shriller note shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,

And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an heritage:
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

RICHARD LOVELACE.

CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON IMMORTALITY.

T must be so.-Plato, thou reasonest well Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,

This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread, and inward norror, Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us, 'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man.

Eternity!-thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes and changes must we

pass!

The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us,—
And that there is, all Nature cries aloud
Through all her works,-He must delight in
virtue :

And that which He delights in must be happy.
But when? or where? This world was made for

Cæsar.

I'm weary of conjectures,-this must end 'em.
Thus am I doubly armed. My death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to my end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years,
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amid the war of elements,
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
ADDISON.

AMERICA.

HE Muse, disgusted at an age and clime
Barren of every glorious theme,

In distant lands now waits a better time,
Producing subjects worthy fame.

In happy climes, where from the genial sun,
And virgin earth, such scenes ensue,
The force of art by nature seems outdone,
And fancied beauties by the true :

In happy climes, the seat of innocence,

Where Nature guides, and Virtue rules,Where men shall not impose, for truth and sense The pedantry of courts and schools; There shall be sung another golden age, The rise of empire and of arts, The good and great inspiring epic rage,

The wisest heads and noblest hearts. Not such as Europe breeds in her decay,—

Such as she bred when fresh and young, When heavenly flame did animate her clay,— By future poets shall be sung. Westward the course of empire takes it way, The first four acts already past,

A fifth shall close the drama with the day; Time's noblest offspring is the last. BERKELEY.

HOME, SWEET HOME.

ID pleasures and palaces though we

may roam,

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with
elsewhere.

Home! home! sweet home!
There's no place like home!

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain :
Oh, give me my lowly thatch'd cottage again;
The birds singing gayly that came at my call:
Give me these, and the peace of mind, dearer
than all.

Home! sweet! sweet home!
There's no place like home!

J. H. PAYNE.

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.

OW dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,

When fond recollection presents them to view! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild wood,

And every loved spot which my infancy knew; The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it,

The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,

And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well.

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-cover'd bucket which hung in the well. That moss-cover'd vessel I hail as a treasure; For often, at noon, when return'd from the field,

I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing!

And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell; Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the

well;

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-cover'd bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,

As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips! Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,

Though fill'd with the nectar that Jupiter sips. And now, far removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,

And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well;

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-cover'd bucket which hangs in the
well.
S. WOODWORTH.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.

O

H, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

What so proudly we hail'd, at the twilight's last gleaming?

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming;

And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there:

Oh, say, does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On that shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,

Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,

What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,

As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,

In full glory reflected now shines in the stream: 'Tis the Star-Spangled Banner; oh, long may it

wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! And where are the foes who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war, and the battle's confusion, A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps'

pollution;

No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave;

And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph doth

wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! Oh, thus be it ever, when freedom shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!

Blest with victory and peace, may the heavenrescued land

Praise the Power that hath made and preserved

us a nation!

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just And this be our motto, "In God is our trust;" And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall

wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! F. S. KEY.

HAIL, COLUMBIA.

AIL, Columbia! happy land!

Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band! Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause. And when the storm of war was gone, Enjoy'd the peace your valor won.

Let independence be our boast,

Ever mindful what it cost;
Ever grateful for the prize;
Let its altar reach the skies.
Firm-united-let us be,
Rallying round our liberty;
As a band of brothers join'd,
Peace and safety we shall find.

Immortal patriots! rise once more;
Defend your rights, defend your shore;
Let no rude foe, with impious hand,
Let no rude foe, with impious hand,
Invade the shrine where sacred lies
Of toil and blood the well-earned prize.
While offering peace sincere and just,
In Heaven we place a manly trust,
That truth and justice will prevail,
And every scheme of bondage fail,
Firm-united, etc.

Sound, sound the trump of Fame !
Let WASHINGTON'S great name

Ring through the world with loud applause,
Ring through the world with loud applause:
Let every clime to Freedom dear
Listen with a joyful ear.

With equal skill and godlike power,
He governs in the fearful hour

Of horrid war; or guides with ease,
The happier times of honest peace.
Firm-united, etc.

Behold the chief who now commands,
Once more to serve his country stands,-
The rock on which the storm will beat,
The rock on which the storm will beat;
But, arm'd in virtue firm and true,
His hopes are fix'd on Heaven and you.
When Hope was sinking in dismay,
And glooms obscured Columbia's day
His steady mind, from changes free,
Resolved on death or liberty.
Firm-united, etc.

JOSEPH HOPKINSON.

OLD GRIMES.

LD GRIMES is dead-that good old

man

We ne'er shall see him more:He used to wear a long, black coat

All button'd down before.

His heart was open as the day,
His feelings all were true;-
His hair was some inclined to gray,
He wore it in a queue.

Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burn'd ;-
The large, round head upon his cane
From ivory was turn'd.

Kind words he ever had for all;

He knew no base design :-
His eyes were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.

He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true:-
His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.

Unharm'd, the sin which earth pollutes

He pass'd securely o'er,— And never wore a pair of boots For thirty years or more.

--

But good old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown:-
He wore a double-breasted vest,
The stripes ran up and down.
He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert:-
He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.

His neighbors he did not abuse,
Was sociable and gay :-

He wore large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.

His knowledge, hid from public gaze,
He did not bring to view,-
Nor make a noise, town-meeting days,
As many people do.

His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances,-
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.

Thus undisturb'd by anxious cares,

His peaceful moments ran ;And everybody said he was

A fine old gentleman.

A. G. GREENE.

ABOU BEN ADHEM.

BOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe in-
crease!)

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And, to the presence in the room, he said,
"What writest thou?" The vision raised its
head,

And, with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the
Lord!

"And is mine one'" asked Abou.—“ Nay, not so,"

Replied the angel. Abou spake more low,
But cheerly still; and said—“I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."
The angel wrote and vanished. The next night
It came again, with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blest

And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!

Then let the world combine,---
O'er the main our naval line
Like the milky-way shall shine
Bright in fame!

Though ages long have pass'd
Since our fathers left their home,
Their pilot in the blast,

O'er untravell'd seas to roam,

Yet lives the blood of England in our veins !
And shall we not proclaim

That blood of honest fame
Which no tyranny can tame
By its chains?

While the language free and bold
Which the Bard of Avon sung,

In which our Milton told

How the vault or heaven rung When Satan, blasted, fell with his host;While this with reverence meet, Ten thousand echoes greet, From rock to rock repeat

Round our coast;

While the manners, while the arts, That mould a nation's soul,

Still cling around our hearts,

Between let ocean roll,

Our joint communion breaking with the Sun: Yet still from either beach

The voice of blood shall reach,

More audible than speech,

"We are One."

WASHINGTON ALLSTON.

EPITHALAMIUM.

SAW two clouds at morning,
Tinged with the rising sun;

And in the dawn they floated on,

And mingled into one:

I thought that morning cloud was blest, It moved so sweetly to the west.

I saw two summer currents,

Flow smoothly to their meeting,

And join their course, with silent force,

In peace each other greeting:

claim.

While dimpling eddies play'd between.