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And here—and there—a twinkling port,—reflected—on the deep,—

In many a wavy shadow-show'd their sullen guns-asleep.

Sleep on! thou bloody-hireling crew! in careless slumber lie;

The trench-is growing broad and deep,-the breast-works-broad-and high:
No striplings-we,-but bear the arms-th't held the French-in check,
The drums-th't beat-at Louisburg—and thundered-at Quebec!

And thou-(whose promise—is deceit,)—no more—thy word—we trust;
Thou butcher,-(Gage!) thy power-and thee-we'll humble-in the dust;
Thou and thy Tory ministers-have boasted-to thy brood,-
"The lintels—of the faithful-shall be sprinkled—with our blood!"
But-tho' thin walls—those lintels be,―thy zeal—is all in vain :

A thousand freemen-shall rise up-for every freeman-slain;

And when-o'er trampled crowns-and thrones-they raise the mighty shout, This soil-their Palestine shall be; their altar-this redoubt.

See how the morn-is breaking,—the red-is in the sky;

The mist-is creeping-from the stream-th't floats-in silence by;

The Lindy's hull-looms thro' the fog,-and they-our works-have spied,—
For the ruddy flash—and round shot-part-in thunder—from her side.
And the Falcon and the Cerebus—make—every bosom thrill

With gun, and shell,-and drums,—and ball,—and boatswains' whistle shrill;
But deep-and wider-grows the trench,-as spade-and mattock ply,
For-we have to cope with fearful odds,—and the time—is drawing nigh!

Up-with the pine-tree banner! Our gallant Prescott stands

Amid the plunging shells—and shot,—and plants it—with his hands.
Up-with the shout! for Putnam-comes upon his reeking bay,
With bloody spur—and foaming bit,—in haste—to join the fray;

And Pomeroy,—(with his snow-white hair,—and face—all dust—and sweat,)
Unscathed by French—or Indian,–
,—wears a youthful glory yet.

But thou,-whose soul-is glowing-in the summer-of thy years,
Unvanquishable Warren,-thou,-(the youngest-of thy peers,)—
Wert born,—and bred,—and shaped,—and made—to act a patriot's part;
And dear to us- -thy presence is-as heart's blood-to the heart!
Well may ye howl,-ye British wolves! with leaders-such as they
Not one-
-will fail to follow-where they-choose to lead the way,
As once before,-scarce two months since, we followed on your track,
And—with our rifles—marked the road ye took—in going back.
Ye slew a sick man-in his bed; ye slew (with hands accursed)
A mother-nursing,—and her blood-fell on the babe-she nursed;
By their own doors—our kinsmen fell, and perished—in the strife;
But as we hold a hireling's-cheap,—and dear—a freeman's—life,
By Tanner brook and Lincoln bridge, (before the shut of sun,)
We took the recompense-we claimed,—a score-for every one!
Hark! from the town-a trumpet! The barges—at the wharf
Are crowded-with the living freight,-and now-they're pushing off:
With clash-and glitter,—trump-and drum,—in all its bright array,
Behold the splendid sacrifice-move slowly-o'er the bay!
And still-and still-the barges fill,-and still-across the deep,
Like thunder-clouds-along the sky,-the hostile transports sweep;

And now-they're forming at the Point;-now-the lines advance:
We see-
-(beneath the sultry sun)—their polished bayonets glance;
We hear (anear)-the throbbing drum,-the bugle challenge ring;
Quick bursts-and loud—the flashing cloud,—and rolls—from wing-to wing,
But on the height-our bulwark stands,-tremendous-in its gloom,—

As sullen—as a tropic sky—and silent—as the tomb.

And so we waited-till we saw,-at scarce ten rifles' length,
The old-vindictive Saxon spite,-in all its stubborn strength;
When-sudden-flash-on flash-around the jagged rampart burst
From every gun—the livid light-upon the foe—accursed:
Then-quailed a monarch's might-before a free-born people's ire;
Then-drank the sward-the veteran's life-where swept the yeoman's fire.
Then-staggered-by shot-we saw their serried columns reel,
And fall-as falls the headed rye-before the reaper's steel:
And then-anon a mighty shout-th't might-have waked the dead,—
"Hurrah! they run! the field-is won!" "Hurrah! the foe is fled!"
And every man—has dropped his gun—to clutch—a neighbor's hand,
As his heart-kept praying-(all the while) for home—and native land.
Thrice-on that day we stood the shock-of thrice-a thousand foes,
And thrice-(that day)—within our lines-the shout of victory rose!
And-tho' our swift fire-slackened then,—and reddening—in the skies—
We saw-
-(from Charlestown's roofs-and walls) the flamy columns rise;
Yet while we had a cartridge left-we still-maintained the fight,
Nor gained the foe-one foot of ground-upon that blood-stained height.
What-though for us-no laurels bloom,-nor-o'er the nameless brave—
No sculptured trophy,-scroll,-nor patch-records a warrior's grave!
What-tho' the day-(to us)—was lost! Upon the deathless page-
The everlasting charter stands-for every land—and age!

For man-hath broke-his felon bands,—and cast them-in the dust,
And claimed his heritage divine,—and justified—the trust.
While thro' his rifled prison-bars-the hues of Freedom pour—
O'er every nation,―race,—and clime,-on every sea-and shore.
Such glories-as the patriarch viewed-when-'mid the darkest skies
He saw-above a ruined world-the Bow-of Promise rise!

ODE TO ELOQUENCE.

Heard ye those loud contending waves
That shook Cecropia's pillar'd state;

Saw

ye
the mighty from their graves
Look up, and tremble at her fate?
Who shall calm the angry storm?
Who the mighty task perform,

And bid the raging tumult cease?
See the son of Hermes rise,

With syren-tongue and-speaking eyes
Hush the noise, and soothe to peace!

Lo! from the regions of the north,
The reddening storm of battle pours,
Rolls along the trembling earth,

Fastens on the Olynthian towers.

"Where rests the sword?--where sleep the brave? Awake! Cecropia's ally save

From the fury of the blast;

Burst the storm on Phocis' walls!
Rise! or Greece forever falls;

Up! or freedom breathes her last!"
The jarring states, obsequious now,—
View the Patriot's hand on high;
Thunder gathering on his brow,
Lightning-flashing from his eye!

Borne by the tide of words along,
One voice,- —one mind, inspire the throng!-
"T' arms! t' arms! t' arms!" they cry,
"Grasp the shield,—and draw the sword.
Lead us to Philippi's lord;

Let us conquer him, or die!"

Ah, Eloquence! thou wast undone,
Wast from thy native country driven,
When Tyranny-eclips'd the sun

And blotted out the stars of heaven!

When Liberty-from Greece withdrew,
And o'er the Adriatic flew

To where the Tiber pours his urn,—
She struck the rude Tarpeian rock;
Sparks were kindled by the shock;-
Again thy fires began to burn!—

Now, shining forth, thou mad'st complaint,
The conscript fathers to thy charms,
Rous'd the world-bestriding giant,
Sinking fast in Slavery's arms !—

I see thee stand by Freedom's fane,
Pouring the persuasive strain,
Giving vast conceptions birth:
Hark! I hear thy thunders sound,
Shake the Forum round-and round,

Shake the pillars of the earth!

First-born of Liberty divine!

Put on Religion's bright array:

Speak! and the starless grave-shall shine
The portal of eternal day!

Rise, kindling with the orient beam,
Let Calvary's hill inspire the theme,

Unfold the garments roll'd in blood!
Oh! touch the soul,-touch all her chords
With all the omnipotence of words,

And point the way to heaven-to God!

THE MARSEILLES HYMN. DE L'ISLE.

Ye sons of Freedom, wake-to glory!

Hark! hark! what myriads-bid you rise!
Your children,—wives, and grandsires hoary,
Behold their tears,--and hear their cries.
Shall hateful tyrants,-(mischief breeding,
With hireling hosts,-a ruffian band,)
Affright-and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty-lie bleeding?

To arms! to ARMS, ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath:
March on, march ON,—all hearts resolved
On victory or death!

Now,—now,—the dangerous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous kings, (confederate,) raise;
The dogs of war,—(let loose,)—are howling,
And lo! our fields-and cities-blaze;
And shall we basely-view the ruin,

While lawless force,-(with guilty stride,)
Spreads desolation-far-and wide,
With crimes-and blood—his hands imbruing?

To arms! to ARMS,-ye brave!

The avenging sword unsheath:

March on,-march oN, all hearts resolved-
On victory-or death!

With luxury-and pride-surrounded,
The vile-insatiate despots-dare,
(Their thirst of power-and gold—unbounded,)—
To mete-and vend-the light—and air.
Like beasts of burden-would they load us;
Like gods, would bid their slaves-adore;
But man-is MAN,-and who is more?
Then-shall they longer-lash—and goad us?

To arms! to ARMS,-ye brave !

Th' avenging sword unsheath:

March on, march ON,-all hearts resolved-
On VICTORY-or death!

O LIBERTY! can man resign thee
Once-having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeons,-bolts,—and bars—confine thee,
Or whips-thy noble spirit tame?
Too long-the world has wept,—bewailing
That falsehood's dagger-tyrants wield:
But freedom-is our sword-and shield,
And all their arts-are unavailing.

TO ARMS! to ARMS,―ye brave!

Th' avenging sword unsheath:

MARCH ON, MARCH ON,—all hearts resolved-
On VICTORY--or death!

COLUMBIA. TIMOTHY DWIGHT.

Columbia, Columbia, to glory-arise,

The queen of the world-and the child of the skies;
Thy genius commands thee; with rapture behold,
While ages-on ages-thy splendors unfold.
Thy reign is the last-and the noblest of time;
Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting-thy clime;

Let the crimes of the East-ne'er encrimson thy name;
Be freedom and science and virtue thy fame.

To conquest and slaughter-let Europe aspire;
Whelm nations-in blood and wrap cities-in fire;
Thy heroes-the rights of mankind shall defend,
And triumph pursue them,-and glory attend.
A world-is thy realm; for a world-be thy laws,
Enlarged as thine empire, and just-as thy cause;
On Freedom's broad basis—that empire shall rise,
Extend-with the main and dissolve-with the skies.

Fair Science-her gates-to thy sons shall unbar,
And the east-see thy morn-hide the beams of her star.
New bards-and new sages, unrivaled, shall soar
To fame, unextinguished,-when time is no more;

To thee, the last refuge of virtue designed,
Shall fly-from all nations-the best of mankind;
Here, grateful-to Heaven,-with transport shall bring
Their incense,-more fragrant-than odors of spring.

Nor less shall thy fair ones-to glory ascend,
And genius-and beauty-in harmony blend;
The graces of form shall awake pure desire,
And the charms of the soul-ever cherish the fire;
Their sweetness unmingled,-their manners refined,
And virtue's bright image enstamp'd on the mind;
With peace and soft rapture shall teach life to glow,
And light up a smile-in the aspect of woe.

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