Nor Fate his calm and humble hopes beguiled; | He mourned no recreant friend nor mistress coy, For on his vows the blameless Phoebe smiled, And her alone he loved, and loved her from a child.

No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast,
Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife;
Each season looked delightful, as it passed,
To the fond husband and the faithful wife.
Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd life
They never roamed; secure beneath the storm
Which in Ambition's lofty land is rife,
Where peace and love are cankered by the

worm

Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to deform.

The wight, whose tale these artless lines unfold,
Was all the offspring of this humble pair;
His birth no oracle or seer foretold;
No prodigy appeared in earth or air,
Nor aught that might a strange event declare.
You guess each circumstance of Edwin's birth;
The parent's transport and the parent's care;
The gossip's prayer for wealth and wit and
worth;

And one long summer day of indolence and mirth.

And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy;
Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye.
Dainties he heeded not, nor gaud, nor toy,
Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy;
Silent when glad; affectionate though shy;
And now his look was most demurely sad;
And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why.
The neighbors stared and sighed, yet blessed

the lad:

Some deemed him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad.

But why should I his childish feats display? Concourse and noise and toil he ever fled; Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray Of squabbling imps; but to the forest sped, Or roamed at large the lonely mountain's head, Or, where the maze of some bewildered stream To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led, There would he wander wild, till Phoebus' beam, Shot from the western cliff, released the weary

team.

The exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed,
To him nor vanity nor joy could bring ;
His heart, from cruel sport estranged, would
bleed

To work the woe of any living thing,
By trap or net, by arrow or by sling;
These he detested; those he scorned to wield;
He wished to be the guardian, not the king,

Tyrant far less, or traitor of the field; And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield.

Lo! where the stripling, rapt in wonder, roves Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine ; And sees, on high, amidst the encircling groves, From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine, While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join,

And Echo swells the chorus to the skies. Would Edwin this majestic scene resign For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies? Ah! no he better knows great Nature's charms to prize.

And oft he traced the uplands, to survey, When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn, The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain gray,

And lake, dim gleaming on the smoky lawn: Far to the west the long, long vale withdrawn, While twilight loves to linger for a while; And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn, And villager abroad at early toil. But, lo! the Sun appears! and heaven, earth, ocean, smile.

And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb, When all in mist the world below was lost. What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sub

- What meant its iron stroke?

Why caught each man his blade?
Why the hot haste he made?
Why echoed every street
With tramp of thronging feet,
All flying to the city's wall?
It was the call,

Known well to all,

That Freedom stood in peril of so
And even timid hearts grew bold,
Whenever Roland tolled,
And every hand a sword could hol
For men

Were patriots then,
Three hundred years ago!

Toll! Roland, toll!
Bell never yet was hung,
Between whose lips there swung
So true and brave a tongue!

Amen! So let it be;

For a true king is he

Who keeps his people free.

Toll! Roland, toll!

This side the sea!

No longer they, but we,

Have now such need of thee!

Toll! Roland, toll!

And let thy iron throat
Ring out its warning note,

Till Freedom's perils be outbraved,
And Freedom's flag, wherever waved,
Shall overshadow none enslaved !
Toll till from either ocean's strand
Brave men shall clasp each other's hand,
And shout, "God save our native land!"
-And love the land which God hath saved!
Toll! Roland, toll!

THEODORE TILTON.

TOLL, THEN, NO MORE!

TOLL for the dead, toll, toll !

No, no! Ring out, ye bells, ring out and shout. For they the pearly gates have entered in, And they no more shall sin,

Ring out, ye bells, ring, ring!

Toll for the living, toll!

No, no! Ring out, ye bells, ring out and shout, For they do His work tho' midst toil and din, They, too, the goal shall win,

Ring out, ye bells, ring, ring!

Toll for the coming, toll!

No, no! Ring out, ye bells, ring out and shout, For it is theirs to conquer, theirs to win The final entering in,

Ring out, ye bells, ring, ring!

Toll, then, no more, ye bells!

No, no! Ring out, O bells, ring out and shout: The Was, the Is, the Shall Be, and all men Are in His hand! Amen!

Ring out, ye bells, ring, ring!

Yet birds' clearest carol by fall or by swelling No magical sense conveys,

And bells have forgotten their old art of telling The fortune of future days.

"Turn again, turn again," once they rang cheerily While a boy listened alone:

Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily All by himself on a stone.

Poor bells! I forgive you; your good days are

over,

And mine, they are yet to be;

But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features.

By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade, Then say what secret melody was hidden In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played?

Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its juggles.