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may cry peace, peace, but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle! What is it that gentlemen wish? what would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!

LXXII. CATILINE'S LAST HARANGUE TO HIS ARMY.

1. BRAVE comrades! all is ruined!

I disdain

To hide the truth from you. The die is thrown!

And now, let each that wishes for long life
Put up his sword, and kneel for peace to Rome.
Ye are all free to go.-What! no man stirs !
Not one!-a soldier's spirit in you all?
Give me your hands! (This moisture in my eyes
Is womanish-'twill pass.) My noble hearts!
Well have you chosen to die! For, in my mind,
The grave is better than o'erburthened life;-
Better the quick release of glorious wounds,
Than the eternal taunts of galling tongues;-
Better the spear-head quivering in the heart,
Than daily struggle against Fortune's curse ;-
2. Better, in manhood's muscle and high blood,
To leap the gulf, than totter to its edge
In poverty, dull pain, and base decay.
Once more, I say,—are ye resolved?

Then, each man to his tent, and take the arms
That he would love to die in,-for, this hour,
We storm the Consul's camp.-A last farewell!
When next we meet, we 'll have no time to look,
How parting clouds a soldier's countenance:
Few as we are, we 'll rouse them with a peal
That shall shake Rome!

Now to your cohorts' heads,-the word's-Revenge.

CROLY.

LXXIII.-THE AMERICAN FLAG.

1. 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.

2. Majestic monarch of the cloud,

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest trumpings loud

And see the lightning lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm,

J. R. DRAKE.

And rolls the thunder-drum of Heaven,

Child of the Sun! to thee 'tis given

To guard the banner of the free:
To hover in the sulphur smoke:
To ward away the battle-stroke;
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbingers of victory!

3. 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 fall beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below

That lovely messenger of death.

4. Flag of the seas! on ocean's wave

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave.
When Death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back,
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to Heaven and thee;
And smile to see thy splendors fly,
In triumph, o'er his closing eye.

5. Flag of the free heart's hope and home!
By angel hands to Valor given !

Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,

And all thy hues were born in Heaven.
Forever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us,

With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us?

LXXIV.-BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE, 1809.
Rev. CHARLES WOLFE.

1. Nor a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
We buried him darkly, at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moonbeams' misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

2. No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Nor in sheet, nor in shroud, we wound him;
But he lay, like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.
Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

3. We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed,

And smoothed down his lonely pillow,

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow!

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that 's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ;

But little he 'll reck, if they let him sleep on,
In the grave where a Briton has laid him!

4. But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock struck the hour for retiring, And we heard by th' distant and random gun, That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame, fresh and gory! We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, But we left him-alone with his glory!

LXXV. THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN, 1800.

1. ON Linden when the sun was low,

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

2. But Linden saw another sight,

When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

3. By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each warrior drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed,
To join the dreadful revelry.

4. Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steeds to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of Heaven
Far flashed the red artillery.

5. And redder yet those fires shall glow
On Linden's hills of blood-stained snow,
And darker yet shall be the flow

Of Iser rolling rapidly.

6. 'T is morn; but scarce yon lurid sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
While furious Frank and fiery Hun

Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
7. The combat deepens. On, ye brave
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!

And charge with all thy chivalry!
8. Ah! few shall part where many meet,
The snow shall be their winding-sheet.
And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

LXXVI.-POETICAL SELECTIONS.

1.-NOVEMBER.

W. C. BRYANT.

1. YET one smile more, departing, distant sun!
One mellow smile through the soft vapory air,
Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run,
Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare.
One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,

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And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast,

And the blue gentian flower, that in the breeze

Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.

Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee

Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way,

The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,

And man delight to linger in thy ray.

Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear

The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air.

2.-THE CONSTITUTION.

W. C. BRYANT.

1. GREAT were the thoughts, and strong the minds
Of those who framed in high debate,
The immortal league of love, that binds
Our fair broad Empire, State with State.

And deep the gladness of the hour,

When as the auspicious task was done,
In solemn trust, the sword of power,
Was given to glory's spotless son.

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