The Star-spangled hammer.
you see by the dawn's early light What so proudly we haild at the twilight's last gleaming, Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the clouds of the fr
of the fight,
gallantly theaming.
glane the bomb bursting in air
Game proof through the night that our flag was soll there? Jass. that star. opangled banner get I'er the land of the face of the home of the brave free _
POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM.
Thy sacul leaves, Jon Pardon farver,
Shall ever float on done and tower,
dame
To all their heavenly Colors True
In Hackening frost or Crimwow daw,
And God love us as we love thee,
Thrice holy
Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry Flows
Flower of Liberty
L.I them cheer the hiring have trading, wail the dead to then
POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM.
BREATHES THERE THE MAN.
FROM "THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL," CANTO VI. BREATHES there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land !
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
THERE is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside,
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons imparadise the night;
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth :
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air.
In every clime, the magnet of his soul,
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ;
For in this land of Heaven's peculiar race,
The heritage of nature's noblest grace,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
While in his softened looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend.
Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life:
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