then be lost like ye?
'Tis ours, the burning heart, the boiling brain,
Which yield the vapor life.—But, then, ye fall in rain!

Ye fall in rain; ye change, but are not lost;
    Ye reach the ocean, and the mighty sea
Absorbs you in her bosom with the host
    Who have attested their eternity.
    And, if this world we quicken, so shall we,
When this dim, fluttering earthly scene is through,
    Commingle with the heroic and the free,
The pure, the good, the beautiful, the true,
Whose influence earth surrounds, and sheds its freshening dew.

*****

I oped the door, supposing still 'twas night,
    But what a morn!—I seemed to half intrude
In sacred fane upon a holy rite;
    A purpled crimson peached the east, and strewed
    The whole horizon round with amethyst-hued,
Blue-bending tints. And as I forward rode,
    And in my hallowed east such vision viewed,
I thought of one o'er whom this glory glowed,
Who, like Aurora, soon would leave her soft abode.

IN MAY.

Now is the time when swallows twitter round,
    And robin redbreasts carol in the trees,
When the grass grows very green on lower ground,
    And opening buds embalm the buxom breeze,
    When orchards murmur with the half-blind bees,
Freed till th' uncellared hives again be full,
    The time when old men smile and maidens please,
Loose-zoned in summer dresses light and cool,
And laughing urchins shirk the lessons of the school.

Perchance it is the hour when dawn unveils
    The visage of the day; when o'er the bar
The radiant morning rides with saffron sails,
    Streamers of light on each resplendent spar,
    Fraught with rich gifts. Now, sunk, each faded star.
The Sun, the Sun,—the glorious Lord of Day!
    Behold, he comes! before his orbèd car,
Caparisoned with gold, in dazzling play,
Impatient dance his steeds to pace the purple way.

Or, is it in the cool and tranquil eve,
    When shadows lengthen and the shades increase,
When in the west celestial wonders weave
    Gorgeous Nirvanas of absorbent peace,—
    Transparency's impenetrable fleece,
Clouds of all colors floating every wise,
    On which the Sun looks up before he cease,
As some old man a moment ere he dies
Beholds with bliss serene the beauties of the skies.

THE BATTLE OF CHATEAUGUAY.

There is a valley where the wheat fields wave
    In autumn like a gold ymolten sea;
There is a river whose cool waters lave
    Sweet-scented gardens, groves, and rolling lea,
    And homes of people worthy to be free;
There is a name whose sound is like a song
    On lips of its own maidens—Chateauguay;
Yet mighty as the combat of the strong,
And glorious as the march of Freedom over Wrong.

And here they fought; and each encountered ten,
    With war-steed and artillery arrayed;
But righteous was their cause, and they were men,—
    Dark plumes of Iroquois, and Scotia's plaid,
    But most, the brothers of the arm which made
Napoleon terrible with triumphing.
    Between the foe and heaven they knelt and prayed,
Then, rising, heard their leader's summons ring—
"Such is our duty to our God—now for our King!"

Again they knelt; but now 'twas not to pray;
    A murd'rous volley crashes from their line;
But tenfold thunder mocks their mimic fray;
    From furious gun and flashing carabine,
    Like roaring