"I hear thee speak of the better land, Thou call'st its children a happy band; Mother! O where is that radiant shore?-- Shall we not seek it and weep no more?-- Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies glance thro' the myrtle boughs?" --"Not there, not there, my child!" "Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? Or midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange, bright birds, on starry wings, Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?" --"Not there, not there, my child!" "Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold?-- Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand?" Is it there, sweet mother! that better land?" --"Not there, not there, my child!" "Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair-- Sorrow and death may not enter there; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, --It is there, it is there, my child" Mrs. Hemans. CLXXIII. LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woads 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's 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!