LYDIA HOWARD HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY.

Born at Norwich, Connecticut, 1791-died 1865.

INDIAN NAMES.

YE say they all have pass'd away,
That noble race and brave;

That their light canoes have vanish'd
From off the crested wave;

That, 'mid the forests where they roam'd,
There rings no hunter's shout:
But their name is on your waters,
Ye may not wash it out.

"Tis where Ontario's billow
Like ocean's surge is curl'd,

Where strong Niagara's thunders wake
The echo of the world,

Where red Missouri bringeth

Rich tribute from the West,

And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps
On green Virginia's breast.

Ye

say

their cone-like cabins,
That cluster'd o'er the vale,

Have disappear'd, as wither'd leaves
Before the autumn's gale;

But their memory liveth on your hills,
Their baptism on your shore,
Your everlasting rivers speak

Old Massachusetts wears it

Within her lordly crown,

And broad Ohio bears it

Amid his young renown;
Connecticut hath wreath'd it

Where her quiet foliage waves,

And bold Kentucky breathes it hoarse
Through all her ancient caves.

1

Wachusett hides its lingering voice
Within its rocky heart,
And Alleghany graves its tone
Throughout his lofty chart.
Monadnock, on his forehead hoar,
Doth seal the sacred trust:
Your mountains build their monument,
Though ye destroy their dust.

CHARLES SPRAGUE.
Born at Boston, Mass: 1791-died 1875.

THE WINGED WORSHIPPERS.

(TO TWO SWALLOWS IN A CHURCH.)
GAY, guiltless pair!

What seek ye from the fields of heaven?
Ye have no need of prayer,

Ye have no sins to be forgiven.

Why perch ye here,

Where mortals to their Maker bend?

Can your pure spirits fear

The God ye never could offend?

Ye never knew

The crimes for which we come to weep:
Penance is not for you,

Bless'd wanderers of the upper deep!

To you 'tis given

To wake sweet nature's untaught lays;
Beneath the arch of heaven

To chirp away a life of praise.

Then spread each wing,

Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands,

In

And join the choirs that sing

yon blue dome not rear'd with hands!

Or, if ye stay,

To note the consecrated hour,

Teach me the airy way,

And let me try your envied power!

Above the crowd

On upward wings could I but fly,
I'd bathe in yon bright cloud,
And seek the stars that gem the sky.
'Twere heaven indeed,

Through fields of trackless light to soar,
On nature's charms to feed,
And nature's own great God adore.

NATHANIEL LANGDON FROTHINGHAM.
Born at Boston, Mass: 1793-died 1870.

THE CROSSED SWORDS.*

SWORDS cross'd,—but not in strife!

The chiefs who drew them, parted by the space
Of two proud countries' quarrel, face to face
Ne'er stood for death or life.

Swords cross'd, that never met

While nerve was in the hands that wielded them;
Hands better destined a fair family stem

On these free shores to set.

Kept cross'd by gentlest bands!

Emblems no more of battle, but of peace;
And proof how loves can grow and wars can cease,
Their once stern symbol stands.

It smiled first on the array

Of marshal'd books and friendliest companies;
And here, a history among histories,

It still shall smile for aye.

See that thou memory keep,

Of him the firm commander; and that other,

The stainless judge; and him our peerless brother;— All fallen now asleep!

Yet more a lesson teach,

To cheer the patriot-soldier in his course,

That Right shall triumph still o'er insolent Force:

That be your silent speech!

*See Note 7.

Oh, be prophetic too!

And may those nations twain, as sign and seal Of endless amity, hang up their steel,

As we these weapons do!

The archives of the Past,

So smear'd with blots of hate and bloody wrong,
Pining for peace, and sick to wait so long,
Hail this meek cross at last.

JOSEPH

RODMAN

DRAKE.

Born in New York 1795-died 1820.

WHEN Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurl'd her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,

And set the stars of glory there;
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white
With streakings of the morning light;
Then from his mansion in the sun
She call'd her eagle-bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land.

Majestic monarch of the cloud!

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud,
And see the lightning lances driven,

When strive the warriors of the storm,
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven-
Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given
To guard the banner of the free,
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle-stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbingers of victory!

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high,
When speaks the signal trumpet tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on;
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn
To where thy sky-born glories burn,
And, as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance;
And when the cannon-mouthings loud

Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, And gory sabres rise and fall,

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall,
Then shall thy meteor-glances glow,
And cowering foes shall sink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death.

Flag of the seas! on ocean wave

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea

Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendours fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.

Flag of the free heart's hope and home,
By angel hands to valour given;
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
For ever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us,

With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us?