Ere she a stadium had well advanced
On the great path that to her greatness led;
Her temple’s propylon was shattered;
Yet thanks to saving Grace and Washington,
Her incubus was from her bosom hurled;
And, rising like a cloud-dispelling sun,
She took the oil, with which her hair was curled,
To grease the “Hub” round which revolves the world.
This fine production is rather heavy for an “anthem,” and contains too much of Boston to be considered strictly national. To set such an “anthem” to music would require a Wagner; and even were it really accommodated to a tune, it could only be whistled by the populace.
We now come to a