Part 4 (1/2)

Heavy and stern are the bolts which burn In the right hand of Jehovah; To smite the strong red arm of wrong, And dash his temples over; Then on amain to rend the chain, Ere bursts the vallied thunder; Right onward speed till the slave is freed-- His manacles torn asunder.

E.D.H.

THE QUADROON MAIDEN.

Words by Longfellow. Theme from the Indian Maid.

[Music]

The Slaver in the broad lagoon, Lay moored with idle sail; He waited for the rising moon, And for the evening gale.

The Planter under his roof of thatch, Smoked thoughtfully and slow; The Slaver's thumb was on the latch, He seemed in haste to go.

He said, ”My s.h.i.+p at anchor rides In yonder broad lagoon; I only wait the evening tides, And the rising of the moon.”

Before them, with her face upraised, In timid att.i.tude, Like one half curious, half amazed, A Quadroon maiden stood.

And on her lips there played a smile As holy, meek, and faint, As lights, in some cathedral aisle, The features of a saint.

”The soil is barren, the farm is old,”

The thoughtful Planter said, Then looked upon the Slaver's gold, And then upon the maid.

His heart within him was at strife, With such accursed gains; For he knew whose pa.s.sions gave her life, Whose blood ran in her veins.

But the voice of nature was too weak: He took the glittering gold!

Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek, Her hands as icy cold.

The Slaver led her from the door, He led her by the hand, To be his slave and paramour In a far and distant land.

Domestic Bliss.

BY REV. JAMES GREGG.

Domestic bliss; thou fairest flower That erst in Eden grew, Dear relic of the happy bower, Our first grand parents knew!

We hail thee in the rugged soil Of this waste wilderness, To cheer our way and cheat our toil, With gleams of happiness.

In thy mild light we travel on, And smile at toil and pain; And think no more of Eden gone, For Eden won again.

Such, Emily, the bliss, the joy By Heaven bestowed on you; A husband kind, a lovely boy, A father fond and true.

Religion adds her cheering beams, And sanctifies these ties; And sheds o'er all the brighter gleams, She borrows from the skies.

But ah! reflect; are _all_ thus blest?

Hath home such charms for _all_?