→Anonymous. 10. THE AMERICAN PATRIOT'S SONG.— Hark! hear ye the sounds that the winds on their pinions With a voice that resounds through her boundless dominions? "Tis Columbia calls on her sons to be free! Behold on yon summits, where heaven has throned her, In the breeze of her mountains her loose locks are shaken, Yes, despots! too long did your tyranny hold us, In a vassalage vile, ere its weakness was known; Till we learned that the links of the chain that controlled us Were forged by the fears of its captives alone. That spell is destroyed, and no longer availing, Go tame the wild torrent, or stem with a straw The proud surges that sweep o'er the strand that confines them; But presume not again to give freemen a law, Nor think with the chains they have broken to bind them. To hearts that the spirit of liberty flushes, Resistance is idle,—and numbers a dream They burst from control, as the mountain-stream rushes> 11. THE VICTIM.—Anonymous. "Hand me the bowl, ye jovial band," He said-twill rouse my mirth;" He looked around, he blushed, he laughed, He started up, like one from sleep In his deep dream he had not felt But now he saw them as they knelt, But the foul fiend her hateful spell He grasped the bowl to seek relief; Through haunts of horror and of strife, 12. THE CALL OF POLAND.-Campbell. Have ye sharpened your swords? for the battle is nigh- That the vengeance which slept under muscovite sway, "Tis freedom that calls you, though dim be the sun, The darkness around you dispelling; Though death-fires enshroud you and waste is begun, She to deeds of high worth compelling, Points to every loved altar and dwelling, And demands from the sons of the noble in fame- By the glory our tyrants would quench, but in vain- By all that is worthy in man's little day, Have ye sharpened your swords for the banquet of death?" Have ye dared on the hazard the stake of your breath? Not vain shall be your invocation; The call of each sword upon liberty's aid 13. THE OCEAN.-Anonymous: Likeness of heaven! agent of power! What are the riches of Mexico's mines, To the wealth that far down in the deep water shines? From the high hills that view thy wreck-making shore, How humbling to one with a heart and a soul, Yes! where are the cities of Thebes and of Tyre? But thou art almighty-eternal-sublime— But hold! when thy surges no longer shall roll, 14. THE WORLD.-Anonymous. How beautiful the world is! The green earth covered with flowers-the trees laden with rich blossoms-the blue sky, and the bright water, and the golden sunshine. The world is, indeed, beautiful, and He who made it must be beautiful. It is a happy world. Hark! how the merry birds singand the young lambs-see! how they gambol on the hillside. Even the trees wave, and the brooks ripple, in gladness. Yon eagle!-Ah! how joyously he soars up to the glorious heavens -the bird of liberty, the bird of America. "His throne is on the mountain-top; He rises, like a thing of light, Amid the noontide blaze: The midway sun is clear and bright— It cannot dim his gaze." It is happy-I see it and hear it all about me-nay, I feel it -here, in the glow, the eloquent glow of my own heart. He who made it must be happy. It is a great world. Look off to the mighty ocean when the storm is upon it;-to the huge mountain, when the thunder and the lightnings play over it; to the vast forest-the interminable waste; the sun, the moon, and the myriads of fair stars, countless as the sands upon the seashore. It is a great, a magnificent world, and He who made it,-Oh! He is the perfection of all loveliness, all goodness, all greatness, all gloriousness! 15. CATILINE, ON HEARING HIS SENTENCE OF BANISHMENT. -Croly. Banished from Rome! what's banished but set free From daily contact of the things I lothe? "Tried and convicted traitor!"-Who says this? Banished?—I thank you for't. It breaks my chain! But here I stand and scoff you :-here I fling Your consul's merciful. For this all thanks. Or make the infant's sinew strong as steel. This day's the birth of sorrows! This hour's work Things of high import sound I in thine ears, Dear child, though now thou mayest not feel their power; But hoard them up, and in thy coming years Forget them not, and when earth's tempests lower, |