Our old men lie mangled By wild-wolf and bear; Our babes we have strangled— Dread act of despair; And vengeance will nerve us To desperate deed, While an arm can be lifted— One bosom can bleed. Pale robbers are swarming In hammock and vale; Their squadrons are forming With flags on the gale; We dread not their footmen, Armed rider and steed, While an arm can be lifted— One bosom can bleed. * * * * * =STABILITY.= =BY J. HUNT, JR.= Be thou, like yon old mountain oak, Of sturdy mien—in purpose strong; And prove thyself to be unchanged, In every sense, from Right to Wrong. Let not success unbalance mind; In adverse times be honest, then; Support the Truth, and thou shalt march, A monarch, in the van of Men. * * * * * =LINES,= Suggested by reading an account of the very ancient Willow which still stands in what were once the gardens of Semiramis, at Babylon, with which it is supposed to have been coeval. =BY MRS. E. L. CUSHING.= Oh, solitary tree! Living memento of the mighty Past! Strange, dreamy images the mind o’ercast, As dwell its thoughts on thee. Where roved Semiramis Thou still doth stand—perchance her foot she staid Beneath thy silvery boughs—in their deep shade To woo the zephyr’s kiss. There now, thou standest lone; And as the winds thine ancient branches sway, Thou dost respond to their light mirthful play, With melancholy moan. [3]The wandering Arab hears, And deems in thee unearthly spirits dwell; Then hastes with flying foot the tale to tell, Of his dark doubts and fears. Ancient, mysterious tree! What secrets deep lie hidden in thy breast? ’Twere strange, indeed, if aught could be at rest, Knowing what’s known to thee. Thou hast outlived thy race! Lone dweller, thou, amid decay and death, Where e’en the violet, with her perfumed breath, No eye may ever trace.