페이지 이미지
PDF
ePub
[ocr errors]

SOLDIERS OF FREEDOM.

| But whether on the scaffold high Yet 't is not helm or feather,

Or in the battle's van,

The fittest place where man can die For ask yon despot, whether

Is where he dies for man ! His plumèd bands

M. J. BARRY.
Could bring such hands
And hearts as ours together.

FREEDOM.
Leave pomps to those who need 'em, —
Give man but heart and freedom,

I must have liberty
And proud he braves

Withal, as large a charter as the wind, The gaudiest slaves

| To blow on whom I please. That crawl where monarchs lead 'em.

As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 7.

SHAKESPEARE. The sword may pierce the beaver,

Of old sat Freedom on the heights, Stone walls in time may sever;

The thunders breaking at her feet : 'T is mind alone,

Above her shook the starry lights : Worth steel and stone,

She heard the torrents meet. That keeps men free forever. 0, the sight entrancing.

T. MOORE. When once more her hosts assemble,

Her open eyes desire the truth.

The wisdom of a thousand years Let the tyrants only tremble ;

Is in them. May perpetual youth
Smile they at this idle threat ?

Keep dry their light from tears ;
Crimson tears will follow yet.
Waterloo.

BYRON.

That her fair form may stand and shine, But William said, “He don't deserve

Make bright our days and light our dreams, The name of Faith's defender,

Turning to scorn with lips divine Who would not venture life and limb

The falsehood of extremes ! To make a foe surrender.

Of old sat Freedom on the heights.

TENNYSON. “Brave boys," he said, “be not dismayed,

So Thought flung forward is the prophecy For the loss of one commander,

Of Truth's majestic march, and shows the way For God will be our king this day,

Where future time shall lead the proud array And I'll be general under.”

Of peace, of power, and love of liberty.
From the Battle of the Boyne.
OLD BALLAD.

SIR JOHN BOWRING. The Power that led his chosen, by pillared cloud NO.

red slond No. Freedom has a thousand charms to show, and flame,

That slaves, howe'er contented, never know. Through parted sea and desert waste, that Power is still the same;

Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call He fails not -- He-- the loval hearts that firm on A blessing -- Freedom is the pledge of all.

Table Talk.

COWPER. Him rely ; So put your trust in God, my boys, and keep your powder dry.*

ENGLAND. Oliver's Advice.

COL. BLACKER.

Daddy Neptune, one day, to Freedom did say,

“If ever I lived upon dry land, HUMANITY'S HEROES.

The spot I should hit on would be little Britain !"

Says Freedom, “Why, that's my own island !" No common object to your sight displays,

0, it's a snug little island ! But what with pleasure Heaven itself surveys,

A right little, tight little island ! A brave man struggling in the storms of fate,

Search the globe round, none can be found And greatly falling with a falling state.

So happy as this little island. While Cato gives his little senate laws,

The Tight Little Island.

T. DIBDIN. What bosom beats not in his country's cause? Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed! | We must be free or die, who speak the tongue Who sees him act, but envies every deed ? That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals Prologue to Mr. Addison's Cato.

POPE.

hold

Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung * Cromwell, on a certain occasion, when his troops were about

Of earth's first blood, have titles manifold. crossing a river to attack the enemy, concluded an address with these words : “Put your trust in God; but mind to keep your Poems dedicated to National Independence, Part I. Sonnet xvi. powder dry."

WORDSWORTH.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,

SWITZERLAND. This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,

Thus every good his native wilds impart, This other Eden, demi-paradise ;

Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; This fortress, built by Nature for herself,

And e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise, Against infection and the hand of war;

Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. This happy breed of men, this little world,

Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, This precious stone set in the silver sea, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms ; Which serves it in the office of a wall,

And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, Or as a moat defensive to a house,

Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, Against the envy of less happier lands ;

So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this But bind him to his native mountains more. England.

The Traveller.

GOLDSMITH. King Richard II., Act ii. Sc. I. SHAKESPEARE.

AMERICA. This England never did, nor never shall,

Hail Columbia ! happy land ! Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.

Hail ye heroes, heaven-born band ! King John, Act v. Sc. 7.

SHAKESPEARE. Who fought and bled in freedom's cause,

Who fought and bled in freedom's cause,

And when the storm of war was gone, Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her Enjoyed the peace your valor won ! wing,

Let independence be our boast, And flies where Britain courts the western spring; Ever mindful what it cost;

Ever grateful for the prize, Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,

Let its altar reach the skies. I see the lords of humankind pass by ;

Firm — united — let us be, Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,

Rallying round our liberty ; By forms unfashioned fresh from nature's hand,

As a band of brothers joined, Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,

Peace and safety we shall find. True to imagined right, above control, —

Hail Columbia.

JOSEPH HOPKINSON. While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan,

They love their land because it is their own, And learns to venerate himself as man.

And scorn to give aught other reason why ; Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictured Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, here,

And think it kindness to his majesty.

F. G. HALLECK.

[blocks in formation]

THE BALLOT-Box.

Along the street A land of settled government,

The shadows meet A land of just and old renown,

Of Destiny, whose hands conceal Where freedom broadens slowly down,

The moulds of fate From precedent to precedent :

That shape the State,

And make or mar the common weal.
Where faction seldom gathers head ;
But, by degrees to fulness wrought,

Around I see
The strength of some diffusive thought

The powers that be; Hath time and space to work and spread.

I stand by Empire's primal springs ; The Land of Lands.

And princes meet

In every street,

And hear the tread of uncrowned kings !
God save our gracious king,
Long live our noble king,

Not lightly fall
God save the king.

Beyond recall
Send him victorious,

The written scrolls a breath can float;
Happy and glorious,

The crowning fact
Long to reign over us,

The kingliest act
God save the king.

Of Freedom is the freeman's vote!
God save the King.

HENRY CARBY.' The Eve of Election.

TENNYSON.

WHITTIER,

A weapon that comes down as still

Our fathers' God! from out whose hand As snow-flakes fall upon the sod;

The centuries fall like grains of sand, But executes a freeman's will,

| We meet to-day, united, free, As lightning does the will of God;

And loyal to our land and thee, And from its force, nor doors nor locks

To thank thee for the era done, Can shield you ; --'t is the ballot-box.

And trust thee for the opening one. A Word from a Petitioner,

J. PIERPONT.

0, make thou us, through centuries long,
“CENTENNIAL" ECHOES.

In peace secure, in justice strong ;
Sun of the stately Day,

Around our gift of freedom draw
Let Asia into the shadow drift,

The safeguards of thy righteous law; Let Europe bask in thy ripened ray,

And, cast in some diviner mould,

Let the new cycle shame the old !
And over the severing ocean lift
A brow of broader splendor !

Centennial Hymn : International Exposition, Philadelphia,
May 10, 1876.

WHITTIER.
Give light to the eager eyes
Of the Land that waits to behold thee rise :
The gladness of morning lend her,

Long as thine Art shall love true love,
With the triumph of noon attend her,
And the peace of the vesper skies!' Long as thine Eagle harms no Dove,
For lo ! she cometh now

Long as thy Law by law shall grow,
With hope on the lip and pride on the brow,

Long as thy God is God above, Stronger, and dearer, and fairer,

Thy brother every man below, — To smile on the love we bear her,

So long, dear Land of all my love, To live, as we dreamed her and sought her,

Thy name shall shine, thy fame shall glow ! Liberty's latest daughter !

Centennial Meditation of Columbia: International Exposition, In the clefts of the rocks, in the secret places, Philadelphia, May 10, 1876.

S. LANIER. We found her traces; On the hills, in the crash of woods that fall, We heard her call;

Who cometh over the hills, When the lines of battle broke,

Her garments with morning sweet, We saw her face in the fiery smoke ;

The dance of a thousand rills
Through toil, and anguish, and desolation,

Making music before her feet ?
We followed, and found her

Her presence freshens the air,
With the grace of a virgin Nation

Sunshine steals light from her face,
As a sacred zone around her!

The leaden footstep of Care
Who shall rejoice

Leaps to the tune of her pace,
With a righteous voice,

Fairness of all that is fair,

Grace at the heart of all grace! For the menace is dumb that defied her,

Sweetener of hut and of hall, The doubt is dead that denied her,

Bringer of life out of naught, And she stands acknowledged, and strong, and Freedom, 0, fairest of all free!

The daughters of Time and Thought! The National Ode: read at the Celebration in Independence Hall, Ode to Freedom : Centennial Anniversary of the Battle of Concord, Philadelphia, July 4, 1876 BAYARD TAYLOR. 1 April 19, 1875.

J. R. LOWELL.

[graphic][ocr errors][subsumed][merged small][graphic][ocr errors]

They turned to the Earth, but she frowns on her child,

They turned to the sea, and he smiled as of old:
Sweeter was the peril of the breakers white and wild,

Sweeter than the land, with its bondage and gold!

Bayard Taylory

[graphic]

The staw of love new shined alone,

Cool zephys visk the sea;
Among the lecies the mino-kap weaver

No serenadle for thee.

Teot Morrig.

[graphic]
« 이전계속 »