JANE MARIA MEAD. Jane Maria Mead, a native of Paris, Maine, was born on the twenty -second day of December, 1811. Her father was a physician. When Jane was a little girl he migrated to the West. Since the year 1834 her home has been in Ohio. In 1855 she was married, at Maumee City, to Whitman Mead, who was a prominent lawyer in northern Ohio for ten or twelve years, but who has, for the most part, exchanged Blackstone and the subtleties of the law for the more congenial pursuit, farming. He resides near the town of Medina. Mrs. Mead has been, since 1850, an occasional writer for the Louisville Journal and the Neio York Tribune, and was one of the regular contributors of the Genius of the West, published in Cincinnati from 1853 to 1856. Her writings are marked by ele- vation of thought and purity of style, and her poetry partakes largely of a sober and devotional feehng which indicates her Puritan ancestry. The Louisville Journal said of her poems — " they are pure diamonds polished with the most skillful art." NATIONAL ODE. Columbia ! lift thy starry ej^es. And weep o'er ruined hopes no more ; The sun still shines in yonder skies. Though lightnings leap and thunders roar ; Then from thy garments shake the dust, And smooth thy brow, and smile at care : Daughter of Heaven ! 'tis thine to trust. And never breathe the word, despair. Our fearless sires — uncheered, unshod — Through fire, and flood, and tempest trod, And conquered, "in the name of God." Comrades ! the very stars have stooped To light the hero on his way ; Through war and peace, in glory grouped, Undimmed, their beams of splendor play. They lead the legions of the free ; They watch above the soldier's bier; They guard our rights on land and sea — In doubt, in darkness, doubly dear. Through years of peace — 'neath war- clouds dun — Till death, will every father's son Defend the flag our fathers won. Can we forget the men that trode The ranks of death with iron will ? Can we forget the blood that flowed At Lexington and Bunker Hill ? No ! By the memory of the Brave WTiO sleep in glory's hallowed bed — By every sainted mound and wave, Each drop of blood, for Freedom shed, Shall prove a seed will rise again — A harvest vast of mighty men, Invincible with sword and pen. (399)
