dering side?

Yea, what is all the riot man can make In his short life, to thy unceasing roar? And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him

Who drowned a world, and heaped the waters far

Above its loftiest mountains?-a light

wave,

That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's might.

bright,

On which our friendship and our love to write;

That these may never from the soul depart, We trust them to the memory of the heart. There is no dimming, no effacement there; Each new pulsation keeps the record clear; Warm, golden letters all the tablet fill, Nor lose their lustre till the heart stands still.

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

[U. s. A., 1795-1820.]

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

WHEN Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,

And set the stars of glory there;
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure, celestial white
With streakings of the morning light;

Then from his mansion in the sun
She called her eagle-bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land.

Flag of the brave, thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high!
When speaks the signal-trumpet tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on,
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn
To where thy sky-born glories burn,
And as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And when the cannon-mouthings loud
Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall,
Then shall thy meteor glances glow,

And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death.

Flag of the seas, on ocean wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,

And the Moon and the Fairy are watching the deep,

She dispensing her silvery light,
And he his notes as silvery quite,

157

That hangs in his cage, a canary-bird swing);

And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet,

And, as she enjoyed it, she seemed to say, "Passing away! passing away!"

O, how bright were the wheels, that told Of the lapse of time, as they moved round slow;

And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold,

Seemed to point to the girl below. And lo! she had changed: in a few short hours

Her bouquet had become a garland of flowers,

That she held in her outstretched hands, and flung

This way and that, as she, dancing, swung In the fulness of grace and of womanly

pride,

That told me she soon was to be a bride; Yet then, when expecting her happiest

day,

In the same sweet voice I heard her say, "Passing away! passing away!"

While I gazed at that fair one's cheek, a shade

Of thought or care stole softly over, Like that by a cloud in a summer's day made,

Looking down on a field of blossoming clover.

The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush

oar,

To catch the music that comes from the shore?

Hark! the notes on my ear that play Are set to words; as they float, they say,

"Passing away! passing away!"

But no; it was not a fairy's shell, Blown on the beach, so mellow and clear;

Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell,

Striking the hour, that filled my ear, As I lay in my dream; yet was it a chime That told of the flow of the stream of time. For a beautiful clock from the ceiling

hung,

And a plump little girl, for a pendulum, swung

(As you've sometimes seen, in a little ring

And the light in her eye, and the light on the wheels,

That marched so calmly round above her,

Was a little dimmed, — as when Evening

steals

Upon Noon's hot face. Yet one could n't but love her,

For she looked like a mother whose first babe lay

Rocked on her breast, as she swung all day; And she seemed, in the same silver tone, to say,

"Passing away! passing away!"

While yet I looked, what a change there

came!

Her eye was quenched, and her cheek

was wan;

Goes round his mightiest subjects' neck;

Yet will he, in his saddle, stoopI've seen him, in his palace-yardTo take petitions from a troop

Of women, who, behind his guard, Come up, their several suits to press, To state their wrongs, and ask redress.