102 THE WINGED WORSHIPPERS. Ye never knew The crimes for which we come to weep: Bless'd wanderers of the upper deep. To you 'tis given To wake sweet nature's untaught lays; To chirp away a life of praise. Then spread each wing, Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands, In yon blue dome not rear'd with hands. Or if ye stay To note the consecrated hour, Teach me the airy way, And let me try your envied power. Above the crowd, On upward wings could I but fly, "Twere heaven indeed, Through fields of trackless light to soar, And nature's own great God adore. THE AMERICAN FLAG. BY JOSEPH R. DRAKE. WHEN Freedom from her mountain height She tore the azure robe of night, She call'd her eagle-bearer down, gave Majestic monarch of the cloud, Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To guard the banner of the free, Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line comes gleaming on. 104 THE AMERICAN FLAG. Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, To where thy sky-born glories burn; Heave in wild wreathes the battle-shroud, Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall; Flag of the seas! on ocean wave Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; Shall look at once to heaven and thee, Flag of the free heart's hope and home! Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven. For ever float that standard sheet! Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us! THE BATTLE-FIELD. BY WILLIAM C. BRYANT. ONCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, Ah! never shall the land forget How gush'd the life-blood of her brave- Now all is calm, and fresh, and still; And talk of children on the hill, And bell of wandering kine are heard. No solemn host goes trailing by The black-mouth'd gun and staggering wain; Men start not at the battle-cry; O! be it never heard again. Soon rested those who fought; but thou Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, And blench not at thy chosen lot. The timid good may stand aloof, The sage may frown-yet faint thou nòt, 106 THE DEPARTED. Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, Truth crush'd to earth, shall rise again : Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield, THE DEPARTED. BY PARK BENJAMIN, THE departed! the departed! They visit us in dreams, And they glide above our memories But where the cheerful lights of home The departed, the departed Can never more return! The good, the brave, the beautiful, Of the ever-tossing deep! |