Pacific Ocean!
You must be ashamed of your thundering flood,
When the wails of the Chinese toilers rise
To drown your frantic noise.
Pacific Ocean!
You can no longer be proud of your deep blue dress!
It is now crimsoned by the blood of myriad Chinese workers.

Rocky Mountains!
You must cease to take pride in your height!
For your lofty peaks
Fail as a white curtain
To hide from the American workers
The heaped heads of the Chinese toilers
That are high against the sky.

Oh! Statue of Liberty!
When we see you from the top of the heaped heads

There was an Old Man on the Humber,
Who dined on a cake of Burnt Umber;
When he said, ‘It's enough!’—they only said, ‘Stuff!
You amazing Old Man on the Humber!’

A SUITOR came to a lady bright
And wooed her on bended knee;
“I have honour and worth and a brave man's might,
And love and a life for thee.”

She spoke him soft, and she smiled him smiles,
And gave him her flower to wear,
And sent him a quest of weary miles,
And named his name in her prayer.

Till he said at last, “Sweetheart, sweetheart,
I have followed thee long and well,
And the time has come when we shall not part
Till the day of the tolling bell.”

“I am sorry, my knight,” the sweet voice said,
“You have failed to understand

O, LASSIE , wilt thou gang wi' me,
An' leave thy frien's i' south countrie—
Thy former frien's an' sweethearts a',
An' gang wi' me to Gallowa'?

O Gallowa' braes, they wave wi' broom,
An' heatherbells in bonnie bloom;
There's lordly seats an' livin's braw
Amang the braes o' Gallowa'.

There's stately woods on mony a brae,
Where burns and birds in concert play;
The waukrife echo answers a',
Amang the braes o' Gallowa'.
O Gallowa' braes, they wave wi' broom, &c.

The simmer shiel' I'll build for thee
Alang the bonnie banks o' Dee,

Where are those hours, on rosy pinions borne,
Which brought to ev'ry guiltless with success?
When pleasure gladden'd each returning morn,
And ev'ry ev'ning clos'd in calms of peace.

How smil'd each object, when by friendship led,
Thro' flow'ry paths we wander'd unconfin'd:
Enjoy'd each airy hill, or solemn shade,
And left the bustling empty world behind.

With philosophic, social sense survey'd,
The noon-day sky in brighter colours shone:
And softer o'er the dewy landscape play'd
The peaceful radiance of the silent moon.

——S WEET is the voice that calls
——From babbling waterfalls
In meadows where the downy seeds are flying;
——And soft the breezes blow,
——And eddying come and go,
In faded gardens where the rose is dying.

——Among the stubbled corn
——The blithe quail pipes at morn,
The merry partridge drums in hidden places,
——And glittering insects gleam
——Above the reedy stream,
Where busy spiders spin their filmy laces.

——At eve, cool shadows fall
——Across the garden wall,
And on the clustered grapes to purple turning;
——And pearly vapors lie

Already I 'm upon the bridge that leads
From Earth unto a land beyond my ken,
And far to me is now what once was near.
Beneath, as formerly, the race of men
Praise, blame, and forge their darts for warlike deeds;
From here I see that true and noble creeds
Even on foemen's shields are blazoned clear.
No more does life bewilder with its riot.
I am as lonely as a man may be;
Still is the air, austere, and winter-quiet;
Self is forgot, and I go forward free.
I loose my shoes and cast aside my stave.
Softly I go, for I would not defile

A human parent chases a crow away from sparrow nestlings

When thou letst loose thy mind to obiects vain
Tis not in thee to call her backe againe:
And therefore when thy pleasure in her good
Droopes, and would downe in melancholy blood,
Feed her alacritie with any thought
Or word, that euer her recomfort wrought.

TO-DAY, “I thought, “I will not plan nor strive;
Idle as yon blue sky, or clouds that go
Like loitering ships, with sails as white as snow,
I simply will be glad to be alive.”

For, year by year, in steady summer glow
The flowers had bloomed, and life had stored its hive,
But tasted not the honey. Quite to thrive,
The flavor of my thrift I now would know.

But the good breeze blew in a friend—a boon
At any hour. There was a book to show,
A gift to take, a slender one to give.

The morning passed to mellow afternoon,