As on, on, on, on, pours the tide of fight,

Still aloft floats the tossing flag, in the glance of morning's

light.

We leap to our saddles, we range us in line

As the voice of the trumpet is calling:

On the crown of yon ridge, bright their drawn sabres shine; Down its slope, like a flood, they are falling.

"Give the spur to the charge, ere the foeman is nigh: Rush amain, as the forest rings loud with your cry:

Speed on to the shock, in his midway career

For our sires still were first in fight; they never thought of

fear!"

So on, on, on, on, o'er the sounding plain,

To the wild conflict fierce they rush, and together dash amain.

146.

PERCIVAL

ON LAYING THE CORNER-STONE OF THE BUNKER-HILL

MONUMENT.

O, is not this a holy spot?

'Tis the high-place of freedom's birth!

God of our fathers! is it not

The holiest spot of all the earth ?

Quenched is thy flame on Horeb's side;
The robber roams o'er Sinai now;
And those old men, thy seers, abide
No more on Zion's mournful brow.

But on this hill, thou, Lord, hast dwelt,
Since round its head the war-cloud curled,
And wrapped our fathers, where they knelt,
In prayer and battle for a world.

Here sleeps their dust: 'tis holy ground:
And we, the children of the brave,
From the four winds are gathered round,
To lay our offering on their grave.

Free as the winds around us blow,

Free as the waves below us spread,
We rear a pile, that long shall throw
Its shadow on their sacred bed.

But on their deeds no shade shall fall,
While o'er their couch thy sun shall flame
Thine ear was bowed to hear their call,

And thy right hand shall guard their fame.

PIERPON

147. THE MARSEILLES HYMN.

YE sons of Freedom, wake to glory!

Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise!
Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,
Behold their tears, and hear their cries.
Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,
Affright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty lie bleeding?
To arms! to arms, ye brave!

Th' avenging sword unsheath:"

March on, march on, all hearts resolved
On victory or death!

Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous kings, confederate, raise;

The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo! our fields and cities blaze;
And shall we basely view the ruin,
While lawless force, with guilty stride,
Spreads desolation far and wide,
With crimes and blood his hands imbruing?
To arms! to arms, ye brave!

Th' avenging sword unsheath :
March on, march on, all hearts resolved
On victory or death!

With luxury and pride surrounded,
The vile insatiate despots dare,
Their thirst of power and gold unbounded,
To mete and vend the light and air.
Like beasts of burden would they load us;
Like gods, would bid their slaves adore;
But man is man, and who is more?
Then shall they longer lash and goad us?

J. R. DE L'ISLE.-FRANCES J. CROSBY.

To arms! to arms, ye brave!

Th' avenging sword unsheath:
March on, march on, all hearts resolved
On victory or death!

O Liberty! can man resign thee,
Once having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee;
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?

Too long the world has wept, bewailing,
That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield;
But freedom is our sword and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.
To arms! to arms, ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath:

March on, march on, all hearts resolved
On victory or death!

423

J. R. DE L'ISLE.

148. SPEAK NOT HARSHILY.

SPEAK not harshly when reproving
Those from duty's path who stray:
If we would reclaim the erring,

Kindness must each action sway.

Speak not harshly to the wayward ;-
Win their confidence-their love;
They will feel how pure the motive
That hath led us to reprove.

Speak not harshly to the stranger,
Though he come in humble guise;
Think how slight a thing would kindle
Gladness in a stranger's eyes.

Speak not harshly to the felon,
Though like adamant his heart;
Touch one chord of fond affection,
And the scalding tear may start.

Speak not harshly to the orphan,
They have borne of grief their share;

Add not to their heavy burden,
Add not to corroding care.

Speak not harshly, was the precept
Which to man the Saviour taught ;-
May that precept ever guide us—
Gentle words will cost us naught.

FRANCES J. CROSBY

149. THE DEATH OF MAJOR RINGGOLD.

THEY bore him from the battle-field
And clash of arms away;
Extended on a lowly couch,
The dying hero lay.

The life-blood issues from the wound

All human aid is vain ;

A faithful band in silence weeps

Their brave commander slain.

Through foemen's ranks he proudly rode,
They marked his lofty brow;

His keen dark eye had defiance flashed ;—
But oh! he has fallen now.

He beckoned to one who near him stood-
Leaned his head on his friendly breast,
And then in accents weak and low,
These words to him addressed.

"I know that life is ebbing fast;
All, all will soon be o'er ;-

My Country! I have fought for thee,
But I fight for thee no more.

"And when these eyes in death are closed,

And tolls my funeral knell,

To Cadwal'der and his brave corps,
Bear thou my last farewell."

FRANCES J. CROSBY.

150. THE DEATH OF COLONEL CLAY.

Lo! on the bloodstained battle-field
A wounded hero lying!
Dim is the lustre of his eye-
For he, alas! is dying.

See how with feeble hand he grasps
The sword so faithful ever!
Now drops the weapon by his side,
To be resumed-no, never.

Oh, gallant Clay! though for thy brow
Its laurels fame is wreathing,-
Vain trophies these, thy bosom now
Its last faint sigh is heaving.

Back! tyrants! would ye deeper make
The wounds already given?
You from an agéd father's heart
Another tie have riven.

Intrepid Warrior! thou hast left
A deathless name behind thee;
That name unsullied, bright shall shine,
Though the dark grave may hide thee

Thou by thy General's side hast fought,
And Taylor will deplore thee;

And many a heart that loved thee dear
Will weep in silence o'er thee.

151.

GENERAL SCOTT.

FRANCES J. CROSBY

HAIL, Son of Columbia! the patriot flame

Burns bright in each breast while we tell of thy fame;
We have heard of the deeds thou so nobly hast done,
We have heard of thy battles so fearlessly won.

Thou hast carried our flag to a far distant shore;
See! it streams from the towers of Juan d'Ulloa;