"The spirit of Beauty unfurls her light,
And wheels her course in joyous flight;
I know her track through the balmy air,
By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there;
She leaves the tops of the mountains green,
And gems the valley with crystal sheen.
At noon, she hies to a cool retreat,

Where bowering elms over waters meet," &c. &c.

'Tis morning's prime. "Athwart the Trees
A brassy lustre shines; where matin beads,
Like drops of light, have diamonded the boughs;
And here and there some crisped and glossy stream,
Lit by a peeping ray, laughs through the leaves."

DAWES.

MONTGOMERY.

And now 'tis noon. "The Trees stand still
Amid the air, and at their matted trunks
The ploughman lies, his head upon his palms,
While 'tween the spangled leaves the sheen of heaven
Gleams on him beauteously."

Ibid.

I have very many more, but my extracts have already been copious, and I must take my leave.

Newburyport.

To E. A. R.

I KNEW a being like to thee,
A lip as pure and undefiled,
An eye as blue, and clear and mild,
A breast like snow-foam on the sea,
When summer breezes revel there;

With tresses like a shower of light,
Around a neck which angels might
Mistake for one of their's-so fair.

Her smile to me was like the sun's
Unto the raven clouds, that sleep
Between the blue sky and the deep,
And as the crimson radiance runs
Along their misty bosoms, while
They linger in the morning ray,
And blush, and burn, and melt away,
So changed my spirit to her smile.

She was most like the budding rose
In innocence and gentleness,
And every morning sun, to bless
Me, who adored her, did disclose

New shapes of loveliness-unfurl
A fresher leaf from beauty's fold,
Or revel with his rays of gold,
In some more fair and shining curl.

Her spirit had a diamond truth,

As clear, and bright, and free of sin,
As full of beauty apt to win;
And she led on my early youth,
And fashioned me till I should seem
Like some one she had seen in sleep,
For whom her love was pure and deep-
And I was like her blessed dream!

But soon her light of life was dim,

And not from grief-and not from age;
Grief wrote upon her being's page
A slow and saddening funeral hymn ;
And like a billow on the main,

Or like the sun, in crimson drest,
Far in the melancholy west,

Sank she from life to death again.

And then from joy and hope I fled,
As gloomy as an evening cloud
Upon the silent mountains bowed,
And knew no light-for she was dead;
And though the stars from evening's shrine
Have thrown their cold rays on my heart,
They could not bid those feelings start
Which, when the sun was up, were mine.

I often dream how blest I were

If she had lingered with me still,
To cheer me when my heart is ill,
To share my joy, and soothe my care;
But there the marble stone is set,

And when I wake it greets my eye,
And where I go I find it nigh-
A grave-stone in the night-dews wet.

Thou 'mindst me of that absent girl-
And something like her's is thy mood,
So equable, and mild and good,
And heedless of life's dazzling whirl;
And there is something in thy smile
That 'minds me of a happier day,
And leads my weary soul away,
And all my sorrow doth beguile.

J. O. R.

BUNKER HILL MONUMENT.*

THE Monument! The Monument! How has the mountain labored with the Monument-and what a result! Our southern countrymen have not suffered even the gallant foreigners who fell for them, to lie in their graves of blood without honor, while, for more than fifty years, the bones of Warren and his comrades have lain upon Charlestown hills like the bones of culprits. Tell it not in Gath, lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice. They who beat the reveillé of the Revolution-a roll that will stir brave hearts for ages; they who lifted the first flag, and welcomed the day-break of liberty with the first battle-guns-a roar whose echo will go over land and sea, until all nations in all time shall hear their bones lay upon Charlestown heights like the bones of felons. How, indeed, have the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! And how are they fallen-the living far more than the dead! But it will be told. It will be told for the shame of the proud city and the proud state of the North-yea, for the shame of the Pilgrim land, where, of all lands, so many of us reverently thank God, like the Senator of Maine, that we were born. Some day or other it must be a cruel reproach to us. And it is one of those reproaches we shall bear least patiently. It is not our father's fault, but our own. They cannot taunt them. That ground has been tried. Bravely have we beaten off all the assailants of New England honor, with an incantation of the names of northern heroes and northern battle-fields. Most valorously have we lain among the graves of the patriots, and made missiles of their mouldering bones. But the next charge will be-that, descended of such men as we have proved them, we cannot estimate their worth or our own honor. We suffer their uncommemorated dust to be trampled on by the common herd. We suffer holy and high places, sprinkled but half a century ago with the blood of sacrifice, to be over-grown, like the ruins of Ilium.

But it is not only as New Englanders that we should fear reproach. We must expect it and meet it abroad, as well as at home-at a distance which renders sectional divisions a

* This subject has been one that we have hitherto preferred to let alone-not for want of respect for our estimable neighbor, Mrs. Hale, but because we rather think it a piece of amiable Quixotism. A very pleasant friend has chosen to write upon it, however, and we have no objection to giving him the room.

ED.

matter of no note or distinction. In a word, the reproach must be national. They who fill the squares of their cities with monuments, and their very temples with banners, may well laugh us to scorn. We are a nation of boasters, say they. We boast, too, not of what we have done or are doing, but of what our fathers did. Miserable gasconade! While we suffer such men, by our own showing, to lie "uncoffined and unknown."

It will be seen I am a Monument man. I belong to the mountain. For I have learned (at a distance which makes news with me, what may be stale and flat there) the design of the Bunker Hill Monument is resuscitated-I think it is said, by the ladies. Whether under the circumstances, I am of their opinion, or they are of mine, may be a question of more subtlety than moment. Be that as it may-I am no denizen of the city, and no member of the state. I have no local pride to gratify; no prejudice but such as may be common, I trust, with more than two millions of my countrymen. The fame of Warren is the inheritance of all. It matters but little in what country or state he fell we do not estimate the worth of men, as the honor of a people, by degrees of latitude and longitude. We do not ask if Themistocles or Napoleon died in their own country; or if Nelson or Bacon died upon the north or south side of the seas. Enough for us and for all ages, that they were Greeks, Britons and Frenchmen. And when, in our turn, our history shall be buried in the waves of time, with but here and there a bright name leaving the tide, like the remnants of a vast wreck, and we shall be rescued in human memory, only as the land of Washington, and Franklin, and Warren, and the Monument will be sought for with the Parthenon, who will ask if it stood strictly according to Morse, in the limits of Massachusetts Proper? And if no such Monument exist, how would it justify the sons of the Pilgrims, that in 1830 there were not enough of one party or one section to build it? The others had no interest in the matter. They belonged to other parishes. They lived west of the Connecticut, or north of the Merrimack. They were masons or anti-masons. They were war men or peace men. They would not even suffer their women to do it. afraid of the moral influence of their wives and sisters, and so dishonored their fathers. Most noble race! A Monument should be built, if not to their father's valor, to their own discretion. How liberally patriotic! How scrupulously pious! Ah! but the times were hard; they would have given their heroes a grave-stone as well when they died together upon

They were

fcruples

the battle-field, as when they died separately in peace, but the times were hard. Money was scarce, and they could'nt pay for the granite. So they concluded to let the old gentlemen's bones lie as they were, and cancel the indecency by firing squibs on the 4th of July, valorously eating fat dinners, and supporting the militia system, from pure regard for their memories, at a great expense of -rum and blank cartridges !-very much as the Governor of Tortugas wears a cocked hat in defence of his majesty's island. The argument is a great one-$50,000 for 2,000,000 of people-the wealthiest, the poorest, the least taxed, the most extravagant on earth, who spent more than that sum when the corner-stone was laid, in marching and eating! It reminds one of the resolve of Congress, after a week's debate, that they could not vote Mustapha a pair of breeches. It was inconsistent with economy.

Very well! but now we think of it, we are conscientious. The corner-stone was laid with masonic honors; and masonry, as we have proved by our continued and complete disclosures, is a secret combination. We would be gallant to the ladies, were it not for Morgan's unavenged ghost and the

masons.

I avow that I allude to this miserable conceit in mere sport. I would not insult any numerous and worthy class of men, however I may disagree with them in creed, by pretending to believe them influenced by such a train of reasoning, or such a tone of feeling. The reader may accuse me of making this part of my sport of the whole cloth; but not so. An Editor has actually said, that the ladies should be discouraged in the noble and honorable labor they have recently undertaken for the country-because when the corner-stone of the frustum of the Monument was laid, a few masons assisted as masons, in common with an hundred citizens. Whereupon the Editor felt it his duty to button his pocket, and sound the tocsin. Our countrymen should be alarmed. Our liberties are in danger. * I am aware that others have samples upon this subject; and such as deserve notice, though they may not be well founded. They suppose it the tendency of this measure to cherish a martial spirit wantonly. We think not so. It is not the question, if a Monument shall be

*This scrupulous young man discontinued an exchange with a country paper, because the latter had copied from the Boston Statesman, without comment, a literary notice of Brainard, soon after his decease. "This man once said (wrote the editor) 'Masonry defied the world in arms'— cannot exchange." We vouch for this amusing anecdote as a fact.

-we