I wheeled around the welcome bark, "And now that bold and hardy few And danger and doubt I have led them through, And they worship me in song; And over their bright and glancing arms, On field, and lake, and sea, With an eye that fires and a spell that charms I guide them to victory." NEW ENGLAND. AIL to the land whereon we tread, HAIL Our fondest boast; The sepulchre of mighty dead, The truest hearts that ever bled, No slave is here; our unchained feet Our fathers crossed the ocean's wave They left behind the coward slave To welter in his living grave; With hearts unbent, and spirits brave, Such toils as meaner souls had quelled; Hail to the morn, when first they stood On Bunker's height, And, fearless, stemmed the invading flood, Oh, 'twas a proud, exulting day, In light. There is no other land like thee, Thou art the shelter of the free; Ere I forget to think upon My land, shall mother curse the son Thou art the firm, unshaken rock, And, rising from thy hardy stock, And free the oppressed: All, who the wreath of Freedom twine Are blessed. We love thy rude and rocky shore, Let foreign navies hasten o'er, And peal their cannon's loudest roar, They still shall find our lives are given THE CORAL-GROVE. EEP in the wave is a coral-grove, DEB Where the purple mullet and goldfish rove, Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow; The water is calm and still below, For the winds and waves are absent there, The sea-flag streams through the silent water, To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter: There, with a light and easy motion, The fan-coral sweeps through the clear, deep sea; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, Where the myriad voices of Ocean roar, The purple mullet and goldfish rove, Where the waters murmur tranquilly, Through the bending twigs of the coral-grove. IT IS GREAT FOR OUR COUNTRY TO DIE. OH, it is great for our country to die, where ranks are contending! Bright is the wreath of our fame; glory awaits us for aye Glory, that never is dim, shining on with light never ending Glory that never shall fade-never, oh, never away ! Oh, it is sweet for our country to die! How softly reposes Warrior-youth on his bier, wet by the tears of his love, Wet by a mother's warm tears! they crown him with garlands of roses, Weep, and then joyously turn, bright where he triumphs above. Not to the shades shall the youth descend who for country hath perished; Hebe awaits him in heaven, welcomes him there with her smile: There, at the banquet divine, the patriot spirit is cherished; Gods love the young who ascend pure from the funeral pile. Not to Elysian fields, by the still, oblivious river; Not to the isles of the blest, over the blue rolling sea; But on Olympian heights shall dwell the devoted forever; There shall assemble the good, there the wise, valiant, and free. Oh, then, how great for our country to die, in the front rank to perish― Firm with our breast to the foe, Victory's shout in our ear! Long they our statues shall crown, in songs our memory cherish; We shall look forth from our heaven, pleased the sweet music to hear. 66 NOW, To be cast in some low and lonely spot, To melt, and to sink unseen or forgot? And then will my course be ended ?" "Twas thus a feathery Snow-Flake said, As down through the measureless space it strayed, |