With merry songs we mock the wind
That in the pine-top grieves,

And slumber long and sweetly
On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon The band that Marion leads

The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guard the fiery barb
Across the moonlight plain;
'Tis life to feel the night wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp -
A moment and away,
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs;
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band,
With kindliest welcoming,

With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton

Forever from our shore.

་

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.

XXXIV.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

OH, SAY, can you see by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still

there;

Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On that shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,

Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence re

poses,

What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering

steep,

As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses ? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream; 'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh, long may it wave

99

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore,
'Mid the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country they'd leave us no more ?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps'
pollution.

No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh, thus be it ever when freeman shall stand

Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!

Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the Heaven-rescued land

Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us

a nation.

Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,
And this be our motto, "In God is our trust";
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

THE VOICE OF SPRING.

ΙΟΙ

XXXV.

THE VOICE OF SPRING.

MRS. HEMANS.

I COME, I come! ye have called me long;
I come o'er the mountains with light and song!
Ye may trace my steps o'er the waking earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves, opening as I pass.

I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut flowers,
By thousands, have burst from the forest bowers;
And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes,
Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains, -
But 'tis not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin or the tomb!

I have passed o'er the hills of the stormy North,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth;
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,

And the raindeer bounds through the pasture free;
And the pine has a fringe of softer green,

And the moss looks bright where my step has been.

I have sent through the wood-paths a gentle sigh, And called out each voice of the deep blue sky, From the night-bird's lay through the starry time In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,

To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-bough into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts, I have loosed the

chain;

They are sweeping on to the silvery main;

They are flashing down from the mountain-brows;
They are flinging spray on the forest boughs;
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves.

Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come!
Where the violets lie may now be your home.
Ye of the rose-cheek and dew-bright eye,
And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly;
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay,
Come forth to the sunshine; I may not stay.