4. Keep it before the people!

That the poor man claims his meed,—

The right of soil,

And the right of toil,

From spur and bridle freed!

The right to bear,

And the right to share,

With you and me, my brother!
Whatever is given

By God, from heaven,

To one as well as another!

LX.-A LEGEND OF "THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE," A. D. 1154-1864.

J. G. WHITTIER.

1. A strong and mighty angel,
Calm, terrible, and bright,

The cross in blended red and blue
Upon his mantle white!

2. Two captives by him kneeling,
Each on his broken chain,
Sang praise to God who raiseth
The dead to life again!

3. Dropping his cross-wrought mantle,
"Wear this," the angel said;
"Take thou, O Freedom's priest, its sign-
The white, the blue, and red."

4. Then rose up John de Matha

In the strength the Lord Christ gave,
And begged, through all the land of France,
The ransom of a slave.

5. The gates of tower and castle

Before him open flew,

The drawbridge at his coming fell,

The door-bolt backward drew.

6. For all men owned his errand,

And paid his righteous tax;

And the hearts of lord and peasant
Were in his hands as wax.

7. At last, outbound from Tunis,
His bark her anchor weighed,

Freighted with seven score Christian souls
Whose ransom he had paid.

8. But, torn by Paynim hatred,
Her sails in tatters hung;
And on the wild waves, rudderless,
A shattered hulk she swung.

9. "God save us !" cried the captain,
"For nought can man avail;

Oh, woe betide the ship that lacks
Her rudder and her sail.

10. "Behind us are the Moormen ;
At sea we sink or strand;
There's death upon the water,
There's death upon the land!"

11. Then up spake John de Matha:
"God's errands never fail !

Take thou the mantle which I wear,
And make of it a sail."

12. They raised the cross-wrought mantle,
The blue, the white, the red;
And straight before the wind off-shore
The ship of Freedom sped.

13. "God help us!" cried the seamen,

"For vain is mortal skill

;

The good ship on a stormy sea
Is drifting at its will.”

14. Then up spake John de Matha:

'My mariners, never fear!

The Lord whose breath has filled her sail

May well our vessel steer!"

15. So on through storm and darkness
They drove for weary hours;

And lo! the third gray morning shone
On Ostia's friendly towers.

16. And on the walls the watchers
The ship of mercy knew—
They knew far off its holy cross,
The red, the white, and blue.

17. And the bells in all the steeples
Rang out in glad accord,

To welcome home to Christian soil
The ransomed of the Lord.

18. So runs the ancient legend
By bard and painter told;
And lo! the cycle round again,
The new is as the old.

19. With rudder foully broken,
And sails by traitors torn,
Our country on a midnight sea
Is waiting for the morn.

20. Before her, nameless terror;
Behind, the pirate foe;

The clouds are black above her,
The sea is white below.

21. The hope of all who suffer,

The dread of all who wrong,

She drifts in darkness and in storm,
How long, O Lord! how long?

22. But courage, O my mariners!

Ye shall not suffer wreck

While up to God the freedman's prayers
Are rising from your deck.

23. Is not your sail the banner

Which God hath blest anew,
The mantle that De Matha wore,
The red, the white, the blue?

24. Its hues are all of heaven-
The red of sunset's dye,

The whiteness of the moonlit cloud,
The blue of morning's sky.

25. Wait cheerily, then, O mariners,
For daylight and for land,
The breath of God is in your sail,
Your rudder is His hand.

26. Sail on, sail on, deep-freighted
With blessings and with hopes;
The saints of old with shadowy hands
Are pulling at your ropes.

27. Behind you, holy martyrs

Uplift the palm and crown,
Before you, unborn ages send
Their benediction down.

28. Take heart from John de Matha!—
God's errands never fail!

Sweep on through storm and darkness,
The thunder and the hail!

29. Sail on! the morning cometh ;
The port ye yet shall win ;

And all the bells of God shall ring
'The good ship bravely in!

LXI. THE FATE OF EUROPEAN KINGS.

THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGHER.

1. I was one evening on the Ohio, when the river had been swollen with recent rains. The current was passing quickly, but with a placidity which reminded me of the old proverb, that "smooth water runs deep." From the various incidents that were going on in the boat about me, and the varying features of the scene through which we were gliding, I turned to one object, which, far more forcibly than the rest, attracted my attention. It was a sycamore tree, a noblelooking tree; noble in its proportions, noble in its profusion, noble in its promise.

2. And the birds were in it, on its topmost branches, striking out their wings, and uttering their quick notes of joy. O! with what a sweet thrill came forth the liquid song from that waving, sparkling foliage; and how confident it made the looker-on, that the tree from which it gushed in a thousand mingling streams would stand and flourish and put forth its beauty, and rejoice in the fragrant breath of the summer, and stoutly defy the shock of the winter, for years

to come!

3. It was a dream. I looked downward; the roots were stripped. The earth had been loosened from them, and they glistened like bones, whitened, as they were, with the water which tumbled through them and about them and over them. One hold alone it seemed to have. But the sleepless element was busy upon that. Even while I looked, the soft mold slipped in flakes from the solitary stay which held the tree erect.

4. And there it stood, full of vigor, full of beauty, full of festive life, full of promise, with a grave, perhaps a fathom deep, opened at its feet. The next flood, and the last link must give way. And down must come the lord of the forest, with all his honors, with all his strength, with all his mirth; and the remorseless river shall toss him to the thick slime, and then fling him up again, tearing his tangled finery, and bruising and breaking his proud limbs, until, two thousand miles below, on some stagnant swamp, tired of the