Beyond identity, its wondrous frame;
Decay blights not the spiritual flower,
Nor age suppresses the ethereal flame :
Thus thy dread sting, O death! I dare to
brave;

Thus do I take from thee the victory, O grave!

WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON.

ROBINSON OF LEYDEN.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, one of the most popular of American poets, was born at Cambridge, Mass., Aug. 28, 1809. He graduated at Harvard College, and became a physician and professor in the Medical School of the College He is better known as a poet than as a physician His first volume of poems was issued in 1836, and it has been followed by a number of others, as well as by a series of remarkable prose works.

HE sleeps not here; in hope and prayer
His wandering flock had gone before,
But he, the shepherd, might not share
Their sorrows on the wintry shore.

Before the Speedwell's anchor swung,

Ere yet the Mayflower's sail was spread, While round his feet the Pilgrims clung, The pastor spake, and thus he said:

JOHN DAVIS was born at Plymouth, Mass., Jan. 25, 1761, and died in Boston, Jan. 14, 1847. Throughout his long life he was prominent in public affairs, and was honored by his fellow-citizens. The following piece was written for the Pilgrim Celebration at Plymouth, in 1792 A part of it, at least, has appeared in some Unitarian hymn-books, and has been sung on numerous public commemorative occasions. In this form it was a second time used at the Celebration of the Two Hundred and Fiftieth Anniversary of the Landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth, Dec. 21, 1870.

SONS of renowned sires,
Join in harmonious choirs,
Swell your loud songs;
Daughters of peerless dames,
Come with your mild acclaims,
Let their revered names

Dwell on your tongues.
From frowning Albion's seat
See the famed band retreat,
On ocean tost;

Blue tumbling billows roar,
By keel scarce ploughed before,
And bear them to this shore
Fettered with frost.

1792.

From the cold northern pine, Far toward the burning line, Spreads the luxuriant vine, Bending with fruit.

Columbia, child of Heaven! The best of blessings given

Be thine to greet; Hailing this votive day, Looking with fond survey Upon the weary way

Of Pilgrim feet.

Here trace the moss-grown stones, Where rest their mouldering bones,

Again to rise;

And let thy sons be led

To emulate the dead,

While o'er their tombs they tread With moistened eyes.

JOHN DAVIS.

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS.

THE breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky

Their giant branches tossed.

And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true-hearted, came:
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame.

Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear;

They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard, and the sea :

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods

rang

To the anthem of the free!

The ocean eagle soared

From his nest by the white wave's foam : And the rocking pines of the forest roared, This was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair

Amidst that pilgrim band : — Why had they come to wither there,

Away from their childhood's land?