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POETRY.
Prom the Congregational Magazine.
THP LAST PLAGUE OF EGYPT.
v And it came to pass that at midnight the
Lord smote all the first-born in th* land of Egypt,
from the first-born of Pharaoh that sat on hit
throne, unto the first born of the captive that was
in the donee on 5 and all the first born of cattle.
And there was a great cry in Egypt, for there was
not a houe where there was not one dead.”—
Ex. x. 29, 30.
’Tis midnight- ’tis midnight o’er Egypt’! dark sky,
And in whirlwind and sorn thesitoccosweeps by;
All arid and hot is its death breathing blast—
Each sleeper breathes thick, and each bosom
beats fast.
And the young mother wakes, and starts in her
rest,
And presses more closely her babe to her bre u st;
But the heart that she presses is death-like and
still,
And the lips that she kisses are breathless and
chill.
And the young brother clings to the elder in fear,
As the gust falls so dirge-like and sad on his ear.
But the brother returns not the trembling em
brace—
He speaks not—he breathes not —death lays in
his place.
And the first born of Egypt are dying around ;
’Tis a -igb—’tis a moan—and then slumber more
sound :
They but wake from their sleep, and their spirits
are fled
They but wak into life to repose with the dead.
And there lav the infant, still smiling in death,
Scarce heav’d its young breast as it parted with
breath:
And there lay the boy in youth’s bndding bloom,
With the calmness of sleep, but the hue of the
tomb!
And there fell the youth in the pride of his pime,
In the spring tide of life, and perchance too of
crime ;
And unnerv’d is that arm, and clos’d is that eye,
And cold is that bosom which once beat so high.
And the fond mother’s hope, and the fond father’s
trust,
And the widow’s sole stay, are returning to dust.
Egypt has not a place where there is not one
dead.
From the proud monarch’s palace to penury’s
shed.
And th? hearths of that country are desolate now.
And the crown of her glory is struck from her
brow ;
But wlule proud Egypt trembles,still Israel is free,
Unfetter'd, unbound, as the wave of the sea.
MISCELLANY.
THE RETURN HOME.
The life of man is made p of checker
edscene® and strange vicissitudes, in which
misery often predominates over happiness,
and passion over reason ; and in the differ
ent parts which we are destined to per
form id this eventful drama we often find
ourselves the most active agents in produc
ing our own unhappiness. We are ondonbt*
edly mnch more the creatures of impulse
than reason ; impulse is always at home
wilh o, and governs w? at pleasure; whilst
re r-00 is a guest of whom we know not
the value, and whom we too seldom enter
tain. Imaginary evils become real by
beii g uwelt on, and it seldom happens that
wb-r- the gifts of fortune are so numerous
and Uvish as to deprive us of real cause lor
that we do not fasten on some
id< a m isery, until it becomes substance.
My own story is a base in point, and 1 will
rela'e it.
Circumstances which are painful to re
member and unnecessary to retrace, de*
prived my father at a late period of his
life, arid whilst I was just entering my eigh
teen 1 h year, of a considerable fortune ;
mo-i .if wt’ich he had acquired by his own
industry, and which be now lost by a trust
too unsuspectingly reposed in one who was
unworthy of it. My father made the ne
cessary sacrifice of his property, to meet
the demand against him, with apparent in
diffei 1 nee. until it became evident that the
mis-'hief was more wide spread than he
had anticipated; and that his paternal es
tate. which he had hoped to save from the
wrerk, would also be swallowed up in the
liquidation of his unfortunate debt. The
estate was sold ; and my father, unable to
struggle, at his advanced age, with misfor
tune and bodily infirmity, soon sunk tinder
the trial.
The world was now before me, and l
was to begin life for myself. I had numer
ous friends and connexions, by whom many
advantageous offers were made me, and
various residence* proposed; bat in the
wide world there was but one spot which
•was endeared to me, and that was the
p*ace of my nativity. Being deprived of
that, I was determined to remove as far
fr ro its vicinity as possible. I had vague
Botions and undefined wishes, even then,
of repossessing this cherished spot, in some
future and more happy period ; and every
succeeding day strengthened the hope, un
til it became the anchor on which all my
wishes and exertions rested.
I removed to a distant land. I formed
business connexions which were fortunate,
and friendships which were pleasant. I
engaged the respect of the aged, and the
esteem of the young. I was gradually ac
quiring a fortune, and might have been
happy, could I have considered my present
place of residence as home. But I could
not# I looked upon it as the pious saint
looks upon this world of trial; I considered
it a place of probation, and alas I made the
place of my nativity a heaven. Home was
the name round which all my recollections;
and anticipated enjoyments clung; and the
only place which l thought could afford me
happiness. I had now beeD absent from
my native place near fifteen years, and had
by industry and good fortune acquired a
handsotne estate, when I heard by accident
that my long regretted home on safe*
I immediately commissioned a friend to pur
chase it for me ; I now congratulated my
self as being on the summit- of felicity. I
collected my property ; took leave of my
friends, and after a long journey, rendered
still more tedious by my impatience, I once
more stood upon my native soil. Few
would understand my feelings, were I to
describe them on seeing for the first time,
the white walls of my old home shining
through trees by which they were sur
rounded ; and fewer still would sympathise
with my almost childish joy in again posses
sing the home of my fathers. But my hap
piness was as evnnescent as it was exces
sive. 1 soon found (hat the short period of
my absence had been marked by many
changes; that of the frienJs whom I left,
some had removed from the vicinity ; ots
era had suffered under vicissitudes of for
tune. and many had been carried off hy
death. The estate itself had undergone
strange alterations; and through neglect,
had become little better than a barren
waste.—The fences were thrown down ;
and the fair fields and beautiful nrreadow
were laid open to the ravages of the neigb
boring cattle ; the garden walks were over
ran with weeds so as scarcely to leave ft
a trace of tbeir former existence; the
bower had fallen into total ruin, and the
large willow in front oftbe house, on whose
pendant branches I had swung a thousand
times when a boy, was uprooted arid dead.
In short, the desolation of the prospect was
complete; and the desolation of my heart
corresponded with it. The melancholy
recollections of past events, rendered this
day to which 1 had looked forward as the
end of all troubles and the commencement
of happiness, the most miserable of my
life.
Time, however, has given reason the
ascendency over feeling, and has taught me
that it is wisdom to form our happiness
of the materials within onr reach, and not
to refer it to some distant period, which
may never arrive.
BATTLE OFMBUNKEK HILL.
From Ike Recorder and Telegraph.
The Celebration of the Fiftieth Anniversary
of the Battle of Bunker Hill is past ; and with
heartfelt satisfaction we record a brief outline of
what we then saw and heard.
II was a day to which many a veteran hero had
looked forward with transport, as the remembran
cer of all that was almost dear and romantick in
the history of their own lives and of their coun
try. Their children too, and children’s children;
the sons of their departed companions in danger
and glory ; their fellow citizens, who, without the
toil, have shared the fruits of their valor; stran
gers far remote, and members of other communi
ties—all welcomed the day with joy, and joined
in the enthusiasm it occasioned.
So great was the concourse of citizens from
abroad, that with all the accommodations which
our numerous taverns and boarding-houses could
furnish, and all the hospitality of our citizens,
hundreds of gentlemen were obliged to take up
with lodgings on benches and sofas, or perchance
oh a tavern floor, or in barnß, or wherever a va
cant spot presented itself large enough to sustain
their weary limbs. It has been estimated, we
know not how correctly, that the number of per
sons assembled on the occasion, including citizens
of Boston, could not be less than 150,000. Nev
er before, it is presumed, was so great a concourse
assembled in this metropolis.
At half past ten o’clock, on the ever memora
ble “ 17th of June,” the procession (command
ed by Gen. Lyman) moved from the State House,
through Park, Common, School, \Vasbington,
Union, Hanover and Prince streets; across
Charlestown Bridge ; thence through Maine,
Green, and High streets to Bunker Hill, the site
of the Monument. In all this distance, of at least
a mile and a half, not a building but was filled
with auimated spectators ; eager to behold what
must doubtless be considered one of the most in
teresting spectacles ever witnessed in New Eng
land.
The procession extended at least a mile; and
altho’ entirely unobstructed, was thirty-five min
utes in passing the point where we took our sta
tion. It was led on by a corps of Cavalry, and
16 companies of Light Infantry, in superb uni
form.—Then followed, chiefly in carriages, the
Survivors of the Battle, about 100 in number,
each wearing on his breast the badge, “ Bunker
Bill, June 17, 1775.” One of them displayed
an old pouch which he had used in the battle:
and another his drum. It was a proud day to
these hardy veterans ; and we rejoice that steps
have been taken, as we learn from the Daily Ad
vertiser, to procure in writing, for preservation,
the narratives of each of these men, relative to
the incidents of the battle. This most interesting
part of the Procession was followed by about 200
officers and soldiers of the Revolution on foot,
with appropriate badges. Numbers of (hem
walked with a firm step, as if Heaven had in re
serve for them many years to oomo. Next came
the Bunker Hill Monument Association, to the
number of 2000 or 3000, consisting of those only
who have subscribed $5 or more to the Monu
ment; the Mnsonick Orders from this and other
States, to the number of more than 2000, dressed
in their various insignia ; Hon. Daniel Webster,
President, and other officers of the Association :
Dr. Kirkland of Harvard College, and Rev. Mr.
Thaxter, a Revolutionary Chaplain ; Gen. Lafay
ette, and Gen. Lallemand of Philadelphia ; Geo.
Washington Lafayette, andthe General’s suite ;
Gov. Lincoln, Lieut. Gov. Morton, the lion.
Council, Senate and House of Representatives of
Mass. Gov. Fcuno of R. 1. and aids; Hon. Mr.
Barbour, Sec’y. of War ; Delegations from other
States, and from the Pilgrim Society at Plymouth
—Officers of the U. S. army and navy, officers f
the militia, &c.
When arrived at the Battle Ground, the mem
bers of the Association were ranged round the
site of the Monument, being included at some dis
tance, within the lines of the soldiery, and enclos
ing within their own lines at a distance ol several
rods, the Masunick orders and other sections of
the Procession. The Corner Stone was then
solemnly laid by the Grand Master of Masons >n
Massachusetts, assisted by Gen. Lafayette, Hon
Daniel Webster, and several others. In the cav
ity of the stone was deposited a casket, contain
ing coins, newspapers, &c. and a silver plate,
with a suitable inscription.
Three cheers from the procession within the
lines, (which were promptly answered by salutes
of Artille,y on Bunker Hill, and Copps’ Hill in
Boston,) at length announced to the multitude
without, the conclusion of the ceremony of laying
the Corner Stone. The whole concourse then
moved to the northeastern declivity of the Mount,
near to the spot where the British were first fatal
ly convinced of the determined courage of the
Rebels.” At the foot of the Mount a stage had
been erected for the Orator of the Day, connect
ed with which, in the rear, was a large artificial
bower, dressed with a profusion of evergreens,
and surmounted by a flying Eagle. This delight
ful retreat was occupied hy the Officers of the
Association, the Governor)! and Lieut. Govern
our of Massachusetts, and several other gentle
men of the highest distinction. Gen. Lafayette,
on the contrary, took a position below, directly
in front of the Orator. Either side of the stage,
on seats provided for the occasion, were ranged
an elegant assemblage of ladies, protected from
the suu by spacious awnings. All along in front,
as far np as any ear could hear, might be seen
successive ranks of gentlemen from every part of
our country, eager to catch the accents, and feel
the emotions of this interesting celebration. The
whole assembly wc should estimate at 10,000 or
12,000
W hen the din of the multitude had subsided,
the venerable Mr. Thaxter, of the Vineyard, who
had officiated as Chaplain in the Revolution, and
whose locks are now whitened with the frosts of
85 years, advanced to the front of the stage, and j
invoked the blessing of Heaven upon the events j
of the day, with thanksgiving for all the way of:
mercy in which the Lord has led us, from the
landing’ of our pious forefathers to the present
time.
The following Hymn was then sung, from the
pen of the Rev. Mr. Pierpont ;
HYMN.— Tune, Old Hundred.
1 O, is not this a holy spot!
’Tis the high place of Freedom’s birth :
God of eur fathers ! is it not
The holiest spot of all the earth ?
2 Quench’d is thy fame on Horeb’s side:
The robber roams o’er Sinai now;
And those old men, thy seers, abide
No more on Zion’s mournful brow.
3 But on this hill thou, Lord, hast dwelt,
Since round its head the war-sloud curl’d,
And wrapped our fathers, where they knelt
In prayer and battle for a world.
4 Here sleeps their dust : ’tis holy ground :
And we, the children of the brave,
From the four winds are gathered round,
To lay our offering on their grave.
5 Free as the winds around us blow,
Free as yon waves below us spread,
We rear a pile that long shall throw
Its shadow on their sacred bed.
6 But on their deeds no shade shall fall.
While o’er their couch thy sun shall flame :
Thine ear was bowed to hear their call.
And thy right hand shall guard their,fame.
To the Address of Mr. Webster we have no
power to do justice. Suffice it to say, that for
strength of thought and grandeur of conception,
it surpassed any thing which we ever remember
to have heard. For more than an hour he com
manded an universal, intense, and thrilling inter
est; and sat down amidst the applause of thou
sands. After touching briefly on the most inter
esting topicks which the occasion snggested—
particularly the memory of General Warren, who
fifty years before had fallen on that very emi
nence in the cause of freedom —he successively
addressed the survivers of the Battle, the Oflicers
and Soldiers of the Revolution, and Gen. Lafay
ette. We need not say that it was done in a mas
terly manner. Happening to sit very near the
Survivers of the Battle, we can testify to many a
heart filled with unutterable emotion and many
an eye overflowing with tears, while the images of
the past and glory of the future were presented
vividly to their conceptions, by the magickof the
Orator’s eloquence.
The exercises of the day were concluded by
singing the following hymn, composed for the oc
casion by Rev. Mr. Flint, of Salem.
HYMN.— Tune, St. Martins.
1 O glorious day ! that saw the array
Os freemen in tbeir might,
When here they stood, unused to blood,
Yet dared th’ unequal fight.
2 The sons are met to own the debt
Due to their fathers’ fame;
And here they place the column’s base
To bear their deathless name.
3 ’Tis not that here the victor’s cheer
Rung o’er the falling foe,—
That earth here drank of many a rank
The life-blood’s gushing flow:
4 The pledge here given to earth and heaven,
Freemen to live or die—
This gives their fame its sacred claim
To immortality.
5 To God, who willed a State to build,
Based on the rights of man,
©lory we give, who this day live
- To bail the accomplished plan.
The Guests and Subscribers to the Dinner were
then escorted to Bunker Hill, where bad been
erected an immense tent, 400 feet in length by
100 in breadth, with 12 tables running through
the whole extent. These were furnished with
4000 plates, none of which were found superflu
ous.
After the Regular Toasts, Mr. Webster, having
made some introductory remarks, proposed the
following as enjoined upon him by the Directors
of the Association:
“ Health and long life to Gen. Lafayette.”
On which Gen. Lafayette rose, and thus ex
pressed himself:
Gentlemen—l will not longer trespass on your
time than to thank you in ttie name of my Revo
lutionary companions in arms and myself for the
testimonies of esteem and affection, 1 may say of
filial affection, which have been bestowed upon
us on the memorable celebration of this anniver
sary day, and to offer our fervent prayers for the
preservation of that Republican freedom, equali
ty, and self-government, that blessed union be
tween the States of the confederacy for which
we have fought and bled, and on which rest the
hopes of mankind. Permit nte to propuse the
following sentiment, —
Bunker Hill, and the holy resistance to op
pression which has already enfranchised the Ame
rican hemisphere,—the next half century Jubi
lee's toast shall be, — lu enfranchised Europe.
Os the surviving officers of this memorable hat
tie, there were present seven Captains, three
Lieutenants and two Ensigns—no Field or Staffs
Officers now living.
ht the first carriage containing the officers who
were in the battle,was Col. Clark, ag,ed 95—Capt.
B. Mann, aged 85 —Capt. Samuel Russell Trevett,
aged 74 —Gen. Henry Dearborn, aged 74 he
aggregate ages, 328 years. These were all cap
tains and distinguished in the battle—Cnptajn
Trevett was the senior officer-present, he haying
been a Capt. of Artillery on that great day.
J 1 Providential Escape. A few days since the
brig Sea-horse was upset in the Delaware, At the
time of the accident two ladies were in the.cabin ;
one wae taken out through the sky-light. The
Democratic!! Press gives the following account of
the release of the other, Mrs. Eherman, from the
cabin, where she remained until the quarter deck
was cut away.
“When the vessel was upset, Mrs. Eberman
was lying sea-sick on her bed. In an instant ihe
was cast out of her birth into the iilto
which the sea was pouring in torrents through the
windows and sky light. She knew not tvhat
cause pitched her from her birth, and amidst mid
night darkness, found herself floundering in the
i water and assailed on all sides by the drifting
I furniture. She heard no sounds bnt those caused
by the rushing and dashing of the waters—she
laid hold of the side of a birth, into which, buoy
ed as she was ty the water, she scrambled. It
was afterwards ascertained that this was the cap
tain’s birth, and fortunately it was a few inches
higher than any other in the ship.
44 In this birth Mrs. Eberman sat with her head
against the deck, and up to her neck in water.
All was silent and dark; her sensations were
most painful and confused; she supposed the
vessel had sunk to the bottom of the bay. In
(his horrible situation, buried alive, she grasped
an orange which was floating in the cabin;, she
ate it, and it greatly refreshed her. She now
heard a noise over her head, and with a cane
which she had caught in the water, she struck
perpendicularly over her, against the under side
of the deck. She was answered by voices; hope
revived, she breathed more freely, and her mind
became more alive to her actual situation. She
heard the sound of the axe, it promised her deliv
erance, but it created the most agonizing appre
hensions. He head was touching, was pressed
against, the under side of the deck, and there it
must remain or be submerged in water; every’,
stroke of the axe more certainly assured her
that it fell directly over her head ; these were
among her most agonized moments.
44 At length a chip, about the length of the axe,
was taken out from the lower side of the deck,
and the light of Heaven again shed its blessed in
fluence on the suffering mortal beneath. With
the eagerness appertaining to sq perilous a situa
tion, Mrs. Eberman pushed her hand as far as it
would go, through the aperture. Her husband,
with all a husband’s anxiousness and love, was on
the outside of the vessel ; who can tell his feelings
when the appearance of her hand assured him she
was yet sensibly alive—but his heart had scarcely
time to beat with joy before it was collapsed with
horror. The axe of the workman was uplifted
and about to descend with its sharpest edge, upon
the hand of his wife—it would sever it from her
body—it was happily arrested before it gave the
fatal blow. Let us be brief—a saw was procured,
a hole sufficiently large was made, and Mr*. Eb
ernian was once again folded in the arms of her
husband, and restored to the world.” ;
During the advance of the French army in*V
Russia, the dreadful fate of Charles XII. at Ppl
♦owa, was frequently the subject of remark
among the French offictrs, although little or no
apprehension was entertained that the immense
power of Bonaparte would meet with an over
throw so complete as that of the Swedish mon
arch. A short time before the battle of Borodino,-
a Russian officer bore a flag into the French camp,
and during his stay, a French General inconside
rately asked him, “ What shall we find between
Wiaeina and Moscow ?” “ Pultowa !”.fiercely
replied the Russian.
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