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Yet shoots into the sky a crown
That glitters in the snow.
The icy isles, that never feel
A soft and genial gale,

But bitter blasts, that wedge the keel,
With binding frost and hail;
Where far and wide as sight can go,
No living thing is seen,

And on the eternal waste of snow,
Not one glad leaf of green;
Of cold that pierces to the soul,
And famished hunger's pangs,
When like a pall around the Pole,
The night of winter hangs.

The maiden listens with a sigh,

And so interested gets,

The tear-drops fall from each blue eye,

Like dew from violets.

He tells, that when those sailors brave
Are many years at sea,

False-hearted friends make them a grave

Within their memory.

If but their love were true as cold,

It would remain alway,

Like objects which you there behold,
That never knew decay-

Would never let remembrance show
One spark of truth the less,

Nor love, like rubies, lie 'neath snow
In blank forgetfulness.

In tears perplexed, the maid amazed,
Upon his face did pore,

With black-lashed eyes, dropped them, and gazed

In silence on the floor:

Again he spoke, "I knew a man

Who cruised those seas with me,

He was a bold American,

A backwoodsman was he;
But never in the darkest night,

Amid the freezing foam,
Could he not turn his inner sight

Full on his western home;
And never in the dark descried
North Lights fantastical,

But that he saw the fireside

And shadows on the wall.
Beside a polar spring one day,
That warm-welled up through snows,

He saw a scarlet bud display

A red that shamed the rose;

He plucked, and cried, 'a type, I win,
For thus shall be my love:

That lives alone by warmth within,

And not from light above.'

He knelt, and pressed it to his heart,
Said, 'Here, this bud I'll bear,
For one whom death alone can part,'
Then breathed for her a prayer.
At last he said, 'This will, or not,
This amulet I've won,

Tell if my love is gone, forgot,

Lost in oblivion." "

The stranger sailor ceased to speak

The violet-eyed maid

Lost all the color from her cheek,

And seemed like one that prayed.
Forth from his bosom, slow, he drew
A casket, small, with care,
And, blushing still, with scarlet hue,
The bud within lay there.

He would have said-ere he began,

She snatched the charm of charms

The rosy little talisman,

And sank into his arms!

Why tell of how they screamed, they gazed,

The joyful news to learn;

And how, to see all were amazed,

Their sailor boy return;

Of how they kissed him, shook his hand,

And all talked at a time,

And questioned of the Northern Land,

And of the icy clime;

How mother, brothers, sisters came,

And father, too, beside,

All calling out at once his name,
And viewing him with pride;
And one, far more than all the rest,
Stood leaning at his side-

Then dropped her head upon his breast,
And, from pure pleasure, cried!
Nor how, full soon, the sailor boy
Forgot his toil and pain,

And in the reel, with laughing joy,

Danced with his might and main. How oft the foaming bowl went round, And every eye was bright,

Till daylight heard the music sound,
And Christmas came in sight,

AUTUMN.

WHEN Indian Summer, like an Indian Queen
With dusky face, the prairies skirt doth tread,
And all the forests universal green

Blushes throughout with varied shades of red;

When sugar trees with pale vermillion wave,
And golden flakes fall from the hickory,
And eddying downward toward its wintry grave,
The sanguine gum-leaf droppeth, silently,

When the brown Paw-paw lies upon the ground
With golden heart, exhaling odor rare,

And from the Shell Bark, with a rattling sound
The squirrel shakes the nut down through the air;

When Hackberries are black upon their stems,
And on the Wild Grape dusky purple lies,
And Indian-Arrow clusters with its gems
More bright than coral in its scarlet dyes;

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