THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. I. HERE we halt our march, and pitch our tent And light our fire with the branches rent Wild storms have torn this ancient wood, But a wilder is at hand, With hail of iron and rain of blood, To sweep and waste the land. II. How the dark wood rings with voices shrill, That startle the sleeping bird; To-morrow eve must the voice be still, And the step must fall unheard. In Ticonderoga's towers, And ere the sun rise twice again, The towers and the lake are ours. III. Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides A ruddier juice the Briton hides In his fortress by the lake. Build high the fire, till the panther leap From his lofty perch in flight, And we'll strengthen our weary arms with sleep For the deeds of to-morrow night. A PRESENTIMENT. "OH father, let us hence-for hark, A fearful murmur shakes the air The clouds are coming swift and dark ;— What horrid shapes they wear! A winged giant sails the sky; Oh father, father, let us fly!" "Hush, child; it is a grateful sound, That beating of the summer shower; Here, where the boughs hang close around, We'll pass a pleasant hour, Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain, Has swept the broad heaven clear again.” "Nay, father, let us haste-for see, That horrid thing with horned brow,— His wings o'erhang this very tree, He scowls upon us now; His huge black arm is lifted high; Oh father, father, let us fly!" "Hush, child;" but, as the father spoke, Downward the livid firebolt came, Close to his ear the thunder broke, The child lay dead; while dark and still. 202 THE CHILD'S FUNERAL. FAIR is thy site, Sorrento, green thy shore, Vesuvius smokes in sight, whose fount of fire, Here doth the earth, with flowers of every hue, Heap her green breast when April suns are bright, Flowers of the morning-red, or ocean-blue, Or like the mountain frost of silvery white. Currents of fragrance, from the orange tree, Refresh the idle boatsman where they blow. |