BOSTON HYMN.

And here in a pine State-House

They shall choose men to rule
In every needful faculty, —
In church and state and school.

Lo, now! if these poor men
Can govern the land and sea,
And make just laws below the sun,
As planets faithful be.

And ye shall succor men;
'T is nobleness to serve;

Help them who cannot help again;
Beware from right to swerve.

I break your bonds and masterships,
And I unchain the slave:

Free be his heart and hand henceforth,
As wind and wandering wave.

Pay ransom to the owner,

And fill the bag to the brim!

Who is the owner? The slave is owner,
And ever was. Pay him!

O North! give him beauty for rags,
And honor, O South! for his shame ;

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Nevada! coin thy golden crags
With Freedom's image and name.

Up! and the dusky race

That sat in darkness long,

Be swift their feet as antelopes,

And as behemoth strong.

Come East and West and North,

By races, as snow-flakes,

And carry My purpose forth,

Which neither halts nor shakes.

My will fulfilled shall be;
For, in daylight or in dark,
My thunderbolt has eyes to see
His way home to the mark.

Atlantic Monthly.

TREASON'S LAST DEVICE.

BY EDMUND C. STEDMAN.

"Who deserves greatness,

Deserves your hate.

You common cry of curs, whose breath I loathe

As reek o' the rotten fens."

"Hark! hark! the dogs do bark."

SONS of New England in the fray,

Coriolanus.

Nursery Rhyme.

Do you hear the clamor behind your back? Do you hear the yelping of Blanche and Tray, Sweetheart and all the mongrel pack?

Girded well with her ocean crags,

Little our mother heeds their noise;

TREASON'S LAST DEVICE.

Her eyes are fixed on crimson flags:

But you, do you hear it, Yankee boys?

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Do you hear them say that the patriot fire
Burns on her altars too pure and bright,
To the darkened heavens leaping higher,
Though drenched with the blood of every fight?
That in the light of its searching flame
Treason and tyrants stand revealed,
And the yielding craven is put to shame
On capitol floor or foughten field?

Do you hear the hissing voice which saith
That she who bore through all the land
The lyre of Freedom, the torch of Faith,
And young Invention's mystic wand
Should gather her skirts and dwell apart,

With not one of her sisters to share her fate,

A Hagar, wandering sick at heart?

A Pariah, bearing the nation's hate?

Sons, who have peopled the gorgeous West,
And planted the Pilgrim vine anew,

Where, by a richer soil carest,

It grows as ever its parent grew,

Say, do you hear while the very bells

Of your churches ring with her ancient voice,
And the song of your children sweetly tells
How true was the land of your fathers' choice

Do you hear the traitors who bid you speak
The word that shall sever the sacred tie?
And

ye who dwell by the golden Peak, Has the subtle whisper glided by? Has it crossed the immemorial plains

To coasts where the gray Pacific roars,
And the Pilgrim blood in the people's veins
Is pure as the wealth of their mountain ores?

Spirits of sons who side by side

In a hundred battles fought and fell,
Whom now no East and West divide,

In the isles where the shades of heroes dwell, – Say, has it reached your glorious rest,

And ruffled the calm which crowns you there? The shame that recreants have confest,

The plot that floats in the troubled air?

Sons of New England, here and there,
Wherever men are still holding by
The honor our fathers left so fair,

Say, do you hear the cowards' cry?
Crouching amongst her grand old crags,
Lightly our mother heeds their noise,
With her fond eyes fixed on distant flags;
do you hear it, Yankee boys?

But you,

WASHINGTON, Jan. 19, 1863.

New York Tribune.

LARRY'S RETURN FROM THE WAR.*

BY WILL S. HAYS.

--

THE black clouds were angrily chasing each other;
The cold winter winds howling carelessly by
The cottage where sat Kitty Gray and her mother,
Poor Kitty looked sad, with a tear in her eye.
She thought of her lover, with whom she had parted,
Who had gone to the wars, it was Larry O'More.
Oh, hark! she heard footsteps, and suddenly started;
Then smiled, as she leaped like a fawn to the door.

Larry was one of those who withdrew from the contest because of the Proclamation of Freedom to the slaves in the States under rebel rule, which was issued January 1, 1863.

LARRY'S RETURN FROM THE WAR. 145

And lo! there stood Larry, as fresh and as cosy

As when he left Kitty's bewitching young charms; Whose eyes were so bright, and whose cheeks were so

66

"Arrah! Kitty," said Larry, "love, come to me arms.' "O Larry! you're safe!" Yes, thrue for ye, darlin'; I've been in the battles, whin the balance wor kilt, An' the ribils, like haythens, come fightin' an' snarlin' Arrah! Kitty, no knowin' the blood that was spilt."

"Come, Larry, sit down."

you,

99

"Faith, I will, an' close near

For lonesome I've been for many months past; I often have wished ď mind?" 66

ye

Yes, I hear you."

"That ivery big fight that we had was the last." "And have you been wounded?"

lucky.

66

Ah, no! I wor

The boys fought like divils, an' died in a hape; An' since our last march, as we wint through Kintucky, How many brave fellows have laid down to slape!

"No longer a sojer, dear Kitty, I'll tarry,

Faith, while I wor one, to the cause I wor thrue,

An' now I've come home, love, a swate girl to marry." Pray, Larry, who is she?" "Arrah! Kitty, 't is

66

you!

I've got me discharge, an' through life's wintry weather We'll make the path aisy as aisy can be.

Me heart 's in me hand."

"I'll take them together." "Presint arms, then, darlint!" "I will, love," says

are you tired of fightin'?"

And sweet Kitty smiled looked him full in the eyes. "Oh! no, Kitty, dear; for I took a delight in

Performin' me dooty, wherever it lies;

May me hand lave me body whin I pull the thrigger