I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light! The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday, The tree is living yet! I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, ΙΟ 15 And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow! I remember, I remember The fir trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops It was a childish ignorance, 20 25 But now 'tis little joy 30 To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy. SONG OF MARION'S MEN WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT (1797-1878), sometimes called 'The Father of American poetry,' was born at Cummington, Massachusetts. Quiet and studious as a boy, his poetical nature ripened early, and at nineteen he had written 'Thanatopsis.' The level there reached was maintained but seldom surpassed in his later works. For some years he practised law; but in 1825 he went to New York, where he soon became connected with the Evening Post, of which he afterward was editor and proprietor. For more than fifty years his name was associated with what is best in American journalism. His poetry shows a deep yet passionless love of nature, and is marked at all times by simplicity, seriousness, and dignity. Some of the most familiar of his poems are, 'To a Waterfowl,' 'The Fringed Gentian,' 'The Song of Marion's Men,' and the 'Planting of the Apple Tree.' ་ OUR band is few but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress tree; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea. We know its vales of thorny vines, Its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery, 5 10 On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear: When, waking to their tents on fire, They grasp their arms in vain ; And they who stand to face us Are beat to earth again; And they who fly in terror dream A mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind. 15 20 Then sweet the hour that brings release 25 From danger and from toil: We talk the battle over, And share the battle spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind That in the pine-top grieves, And slumber long and sweetly On beds of oaken leaves. Well knows the fair and friendly moon The band that Marion leads 30 35 The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steed. 40 Grave men there are by broad Santee, For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band For them we wear these trusty arms, And lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton, 45 50 55 60 AT SEA ALLAN CUNNINGHAM ALLAN CUNNINGHAM (1784-1842) was the son of a Scotch peasant of Dumfriesshire. He was apprenticed to a stone-mason, and on coming to London became connected with the famous sculptor Chantrey, in whose employ he rose to the rank of foreman. He wrote 'Lives of Painters,' a 'History of Literature, Biographical and Critical,' and even tried his hand at novels, but his best work is to be found in his songs, which entitle him, according to some critics, to a rank among Scottish song writers inferior only to that of his great countryman, Burns. A WET sheet and a flowing sea, And bends the gallant mast: And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves O for a soft and gentle wind! I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze The good ship tight and free — 5 ΙΟ 15 |