Volume 2 — From The St. James Magazine. CITY ASPIRATIONS.

Oh, not in the town to die! With its restless trampling to and fro, And its traffic-hubbub above, below, And the whirling wheels that hurry by. And the chimney forests, blacken'd and high— Oh, mercy! not in a town to die! In a town I may live, and strive, and toil, And grow a part of the living turmoil; A cog-wheel in a machine of men. Turning to labor again and again, Doing my work with the multitude, With a spirit wean'd, and a heart subdued, Pausing sometimes, in a moment of ease, To yearn and sigh for a meadow breeze, For the whispering rustle of summer trees, And the dreamy murmur of golden bees, And the field-path margined by many a flower. And the village church with its grey old tower; Yet still, for sake of my babes and thee. Sweet wife, I may work courageously; May bide in a town, and with iron will Go laboring on in the hubbub still. Where the wheels of the man-machine ever spin, Money, and money, and money, to win. But to die in a town, in turmoil and smoke, 'Mongst houses, and chimneys gaunt and high. When the silken cord of the soul is broke, Methinks the vapors so heavy would lie. It scarce could soar, as it should, to the sky. Oh, live as I may, to brook it I'll try— But, mercy! not in a town to die!