LEXINGTON.

"T was calm at eve as childhood's sleep,
The seraph-rest that knows not care-
Still as the slumbering summer-deep,

When the blue heaven lies dream-like there;
Blending with thoughts of that azure steep,
The bright, the beautiful and fair;
Like hopes that win from heaven their hue,
As fair, as fleeting, and as few,
Those tranquil Eden-moments flew :
The morn beheld the battle strife-
The blow for blow-the life for life-
The deed of daring done-

The Rubicon of doubt was past,

An empire lost, a birth-right won;
When Freedom's banner braved the blast,
Flashing its splendors far and fast
From crimsoned Lexington!

There was a fearful gathering seen

On that eventful day,

And men were there who ne'er had been

The movers in a fray;

The peaceful and the silent came

With darkling brows, and flashing eyes;
And breasts that knew not glory's flame,
Burned for the patriot-sacrifice!

No pomp of march-no proud array—
There spake no trumpet sound-

But they pressed, when the morn broke dim and gray,

Dauntless, that conflict-ground;

Sadly, as if some tie were broken,

Firmly, with eye and lip severe;

Dark glances passed, and words were spoken,

As men will look and speak in fear;

Yet coursed no coward blood,

Where that lone phalanx stood

Rock-like, and spirit-wrought;

A strange, unwonted feeling crept

Through every breast; all memories slept,
While passion there a vigil kept

O'er one consuming thought:

To live a fettered slave,

Or fill a freeman's grave!

Though many an arm hung weaponless,
The clenchéd fingers spake full well
The stern resolve, the fearlessness,
That danger could not quell:
Yet some, with hasty hand,
The rust-encumbered brand

Had snatched from its peaceful sleep,
And held it now with a grasp that told,
A freeman's life should be dearly sold-
'T was courage stern and deep!

Proudly, as conquerors come

From a field their arms have won, With bugle blast and beat of drum,

The Briton host came on!

Their banners unfurled, and gaily streaming, Their burnished arms in the sun-light gleaming: Fearless of peril, with valor high,

And in reckless glee, they were idly dreaming
Of a bloodless triumph nigh:

The heavy tread of the war-horse prancing-
The lightning-gleam of the bayonets glancing-
Broke on the ear, and flashed on the eye,
As the columned foe in their strength advancing,
Pealed their war-notes to the echoing sky!

'T was a gallant band that marshalled there,
With the dragon-flag upborne in air;
For England gathered then her pride,
The bravest of a warrior land-
Names to heroic deeds allied,
The strong of heart and hand.

They came in their panoplied might,

In the pride of their chivalrous name; For music to them were the sounds of the fightOn the red carnage-field was their altar of fame : They came, as the ocean-wave comes in its wrath, When the storm-spirit frowns on the deep; They came, as the mountain-wind comes on its path, When the tempest hath roused it from sleep: They were met as the rock meets the wave,

And dashes its fury to air;

They were met, as the foe should be met by the brave, With hearts for the conflict, but not for despair!

What power hath stayed that wild career?
Not Mercy's voice, nor a thrill of fear;
"T is the dread recoil of the dooming wave,
Ere it sweeps the bark to its yawning grave;
"T is the fearful hour of the brooding storm,
Ere the lightning-bolt hath sped;

The shock hath come! and the life-blood warm,
Congeals on the breasts of the dead!
The strife-the taunt-the death-cry loud,
Are pealing through the sulphurous cloud,
As, hand to hand, each foe engages;
While hearts that ne'er to monarch bowed,
And belted knights to the combat crowd—

A fearless throng the contest wages;
And eye to eye, the meek-the proud,
Meet darkly 'neath the battle shroud—

'Tis the feast of death where the conflict rages!

Woe! to the land thou tramplest o'er,

Death-dealing fiend of war!
Thy battle hoofs are dyed in gore,
Red havoc drives thy car;
Woe! for the dark and desolate,

Down crushed beneath thy tread;

Thy frown hath been as a withering fate,
To the mourning and the dead!

Woe! for the pleasant cottage-home,

The love-throng at the door;

Vainly they think his step will come :

Their cherished comes no more!

Woe! for the broken-hearted,

The lone-one by the hearth; Woe! for the bliss departed:

The Pleiad gone from earth!

'Twas a day of changeful fate,

For the foe of the bannered-line;

And the host that came at morn in state,

Were a broken throng ere the sun's decline;

And many a warrior's heart was cold,
And many a soaring spirit crushed,
Where the crimson tide of battle rolled,
And the avenging legions rushed.

Wreaths for the living conqueror,

And glory's meed for the perished!
No sculptor's art may their forms restore,
But the hero-names are cherished;
When voiced on the wind rose the patriot-call,

They gave no thought to the gory pall,
But pressed to the fight as a festival!
They bared them to the sabre stroke,
Nor quailed an eye when the fury broke;

;

They fought like men who dared to die For freedom! was their battle-cry, And loud it rang through the conflict smoke!

Up with a nation's banners! They fly

With an eagle flight,

To the far blue sky;

"Tis a glorious sight,

As they float abroad in the azure light,
And their fame shall never die!

When nations search their brightest page
For deeds that gild the olden age,
Shining the meteor-lights of story:

England, with swelling pride, shall hear
Of Cressy's field, and old Poictiers,
And deathless Agincourt;

Fair Gallia point with a kindling eye
To the days of her belted chivalry,
And her gallant Troubadour;
Old Scotia, too, with joy shall turn
Where beams the fight of Bannockburn,
And Stirling's field of glory!

Land of the free! though young in fame,
Earth may not boast a nobler name:
Platæa's splendor is not thine,

Leuctra, nor Marathon ;

Yet look where lives in glory's line,
The day of Lexington!

GREECE.

The brave heart's Holy Land.

HALLECK.

Land of the pencil and the lyre,
The marble and the dome!
Whose name is to the Muse a fire,

Whose temples are a home:
Clime of a wealth unbought!

Where genius long enshrined

His treasury of thought,

The Peru of the mind!

Land of that unforgotten few!

The breathing rampart-rock
That towered a Pelion to the view,
When burst the battle shock!

Clime of the fair and brave!

When will the tale be o'er,

Of warriors in their grave,

Of maidens in their gore!