We give the following specimen of the fiery genius of Germany's great war-poet - Körner.

MY NATIVE LAND.

Where is the minstrel's native land ? —
Where sparks of noble soul flashed high,
Where garlands bloomed in honor's eye,
Where manly bosoms glowed with joy,
Touched by Religion's altar-brand,
There was my native land !

Name me the minstrel's native land. —
Though now her sons lie slain in heaps,
Though, wounded and disgraced, she weeps,
Beneath her soil the freeman sleeps.
The land of oaks - the German land-
They called my native land!

Why weeps the minstrel's native land ? –
To see her people's princes cower
Before the wrathful tyrant's power;
She weeps, that, in the stormy hour,
No soul at her high call will stand.
That grieves my native land!

Whom calls the minstrel's native land?
She calls the voiceless gods; her cries,
Like thunder-storms, assail the skies;
She bids her sons, her freemen, rise;
On righteous Heaven's avenging hand
She calls my native land!

What will the minstrel's native land?

She'll crush the slaves of despots' power,

Drive off the bloodhounds from her shore,
And suckle freeborn sons once more,

Or lay them free beneath the sand.

That will my native land!

And hopes the minstrel's native land?·

She hopes she hopes! Her cause is just.
Her faithful sons will wake ·

they must.

In God Most High she puts her trust;
On his great altar leans her hand,
And hopes-my native land!

The roaring artillery's clould thicken round me,
The hiss and the glare of the loud bolts confound me;
Ruler of battles, I call on thee.

O Father, lead thou me.

O Father, lead thou me;

To victory, to death, dread Commander, O guide me;
The dark valley brightens when thou art beside me;
Lord, as thou wilt, so lead thou me.
God, I acknowledge thee.

God, I acknowledge thee;

When the breeze through the dry leaves of autumn is moaning,

When the thunder-storm of battle is groaning,

Fount of mercy, in each I acknowledge thee.
O Father, bless thou me.

O Father, bless thou me;

I trust in thy mercy, whate'er may befall me;
'Tis thy word that hath sent me; that word can recall me.
Living or dying, O bless thou me.
Father, I honor thee.

Father, I honor thee;

Not for earth's hoards or honors we here are contending;
All that is holy our swords are defending;

Then falling, and conquering, I honor thee.
God, I repose in thee.

God, I repose in thee;

When the thunders of death my soul are greeting,
When the gashed veins bleed, and the life is fleeting,
In thee, my God, I repose in thee.
Father, I call on thee.

* Charles Theodore Körner was a young German soldier, scholar, poet, and patriot. He was born at Dresden, in the autumn of 1791, and fell in battle for his country at the early age of twenty-two.

CRADLE SONG.

On thy mother's bosom gently rest thee,
Sweetest babe; from sin and sorrow free,
Calmly dream; nor care nor grief molest thee;
That soft breast is all the world to thee.

Joyous hours! ah, still fond memory, dreaming,
Through your blissful scenes delights to rove;
O'er life's ocean-waste, still dimly beaming,
Shines the star-light of a mother's love.

Thrice, in this brief life, to man 't is given
In Love's arms so sweetly to repose;
Thrice on earth to taste the joy of heaven,
Bliss that from no earthly fountain flows.

With her earliest blessing when she greets him,
See in smiles the blooming infant dressed!
Though the world with smiles of welcome meets him,
Love still holds him to the mother's breast.

Soon are dimmed gay childhood's sunny glances,
Clouds are gathering round youth's untried way;
Now, once more fond Love with smiles advances,
And the wanderer hails her cheering ray.

Yet the storm-wind smites the fairest flower,
And the proudest heart in dust must lie.
Love, an angel, cheers man's closing hour,
And in triumph bears him up on high.

We conclude with "Körner's Funeral," by Dr. Follen.

KÖRNER'S FUNERAL.

Mid the sound of trump and drum,
Angels called, "Come, Körner, come!”
And the hero's heart must break.
Break, ye hearts, ye eyes, with sorrow;
Faith's glad light a radiant morrow

From this night of tears shall wake.

Every one familiar with the original, must feel that, were it in this piece alone, the lamented author has truly adorned the literature of his native coun

Germany, thy mourning mother,
Feels each wound of thine, O brother :
Bleeds with thee, and triumphs now.
Throned a king, our souls behold thee;
Bloody-purple robes enfold thee,

Crowned with holy thorns thy brow.

Tuneless now the strings are lying;
Yet on every tongue, undying,
In each bosom lives the lay.
Life's dim lamp alone is shrouded,
While the star of love, unclouded,
Blazes to a flood of day.

Jesus, God's pure love, inspire
This our nation; one desire,

Glowing, through all bosoms breathe;

And to us, when we have striven

Like our brother, be there given
Crown of thorns and starry wreath.

C. C. F.

try, and erected a peculiarly appropriate and most worthy monument to the memory of his young countryman, whose spirit and prineiples, though in a different sphere of action, his own life so nobly and faithfully expressed. Dr. Follen was called to that harder strife and sorer struggle, to which the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive," summons His servants. And may we not well believe that the prayer, with which the poem alluded to closes, has been fulfilled for our revered friend and teacher, that he, too, has found the "crown of thorns a starry wreath?"

I have heard Dr. Follen speak of Körner, and particularly of his patriotic songs, in the most enthusiastic terms. He said there was nothing of the kind equal to them in the literature of the world. He spoke with a peculiar emphasis of the young author, as one who seemed really inspired.

NOTICES OF BOOKS.

The School and the Schoolmaster; a Manual for the use of Teachers, Employers, Trustees, Inspectors, &c., &c., of Common Schools. In Two Parts. Part I. by ALonzo PotTER, D. D., of New York. Part II. by George B. EmerSON, A. M., of Massachusetts. Boston: Wm. B. Fowle & N. Capen. 1843.

WE regard this volume as one of the most important publications of the day. Its influence is already extensively felt in some of the States of the Union, and is to be, we doubt not, from one extreme to another. Treating of a subject which lies at the very foundation of public and private welfare, of national greatness and prosperity, of social progress and individual virtue and happiness, it has already commended itself to some of our public-spirited citizens, who, feeling its value to the people at large, but especially to all who are connected with our public schools, have caused copies of it to be gratuitously distributed to all teachers and superintendents of Common Schools throughout the two States of Massachusetts and New York. The last named State has been furnished with eleven thousand copies, by that "munificent friend and patron of Common Schools, the Hon. James Wadsworth, of Genessee, New York;" the first has been furnished by Martin Brimmer, Esq., the present Mayor of Boston, with three thousand five hundred copies. By Mr. Wadsworth, a copy has likewise been sent to each of the Governors of the several States. This is as it should be. Such a work ought not to be left to force its way into the community unaided. By the wise and thoughtful liberality of these gentlemen, an extent of circulation has been given to it, in a few months, which otherwise it would have taken as many years to effect. But it should fall into the hands of many persons beside those to whom it has already been sent. Each member of School Committees, clergymen throughout the interior of the State, parents, - such as can afford to purchase any books, — and the pupils of the Normal Schools, at the time of their leaving them for the active employment of teaching, should in one way or another, by gratuitous distribution, or by editions of the work being issued at a merely nominal price, in conformity to the cheap printing of the present day, be put in possession of a copy.