THE AMERICAN FLAG.

And frighted waves rush wildly back, Before the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea

HEN 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.

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,

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 harbinger of victory!

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. 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,

Shall look at once to Heaven and thee;
And smile to see thy splendors fly,
In triumph, o'er his closing eye.

Flag of the free heart's hope and home,
By angel's 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 Feeedom's soil beneath our feet,

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us!
DRAKE.

GOOD-BYE, PROUD WORLD.

OOD-BYE, proud world! I'm going
home:

Thou'rt not my friend. and I'm not thine.
Long through thy weary crowds I roam;
A river-ark on the ocean's brine,
Long I've been toss'd like the driven foam;
But now, proud world! I'm going home.
Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face;
To Grandeur, with his wise grimace;
To upstart Wealth's averted eye;
To Supple Office, low and high;
To crowded halls, to court and street;
To frozen hearts and hasting feet;
To those who go, and those who come;
Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home.

I am going to my own hearth-stone,
Bosom'd in yon green hills alone-
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies plann'd ;
Where arches green, the livelong day,
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,
And vulgar feet have never trod

A spot that is sacred to thought and God.
Oh, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;
And when I am stretch'd beneath the pines,
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan ;
For what are they all in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet!
EMERSON.

One word, ere yet the evening ends,
Let's close it with a parting rhyme;
And pledge a hand to all young friends,
As fits the merry Christmas time;
On life's wide scene you too have parts
That Fate ere long shall bid you play ;
Good night! with honest, gentle hearts
A kindly greeting go alway!

Good night! I'd say the griefs, the joys,
Just hinted in this mimic page,
The triumphs and defeats of boys,
Are but repeated in our age;

I'd say your woes were not less keen,

Your hopes more vain, than those of men, Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen At forty-five played o'er again.

I'd say we suffer and we strive

Not less nor more as men than boys, With grizzled beards at forty-five, As erst at twelve in corduroys. And if, in time of sacred youth,

We learn at home to love and pray, Pray Heaven that early love and truth May never wholly pass away.

And in the world, as in the school,

I'd say how fate may change and shift, The prize be sometimes with the fool,

The race not always to the swift: The strong may yield, the good may fall, The great man be a vulgar clown,

The knave be lifted over all,

The kind cast pitilessly down.

Come wealth or want, come good or ill,
Let young and old accept their part,
And bow before the Awful Will,
And bear it with an honest heart.

Who misses, or who wins the prize? Go, lose or conquer as you can ; But if you fail, or if you rise,

Be each, pray God, a gentleman.

A gentleman, or old or young!

(Bear kindly with my humble lays,) The sacred chorus first was sung Upon the first of Christmas days, The shepherds heard it overheadThe joyful angels raised it then ; Glory to Heaven on high, it said,

And peace on earth to gentlemen!

My song, save this, is little worth;
I lay the weary pen aside,

And wish you health and love and mirth,
As fits the solemn Christmas-tide;

As fits the holy Christmas birth,

Be this, good friends, our carol still: Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, To men of gentle will.

With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,

And Appenzel's stout infantry and Egmont's Flemish spears!

There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land!

And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand;

And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,

And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood;

And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war,

To fight for His own holy Name, and Henry of Navarre.

The King has come to marshal us, in all his armor drest,

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest!

He looked upon his People, and a tear was in his eye;

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.

Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,

Down all our line, in deafening shout, "God save our lord the King!"

"And if my standard-bearer fall,-as fall full well he may,

A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,

A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest.

And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star,

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein,

D'Aumale hath cried for quarter-the Elemish Count is slain;

Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds. before a Biscay gale;

The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail,

And then we thought on vengeance, and all along

our van

"Remember St. Bartholomew!" was passed from man to man;

But outspake gentle Henry, then,-" No Frenchman is my foe;

Down, down with every foreigner! but let your brethren go."

O! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war,

As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre!

Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne !

fray,

Press where you see my white plume shine, amid the ranks of war,

And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre."

Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin!

The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain,

With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.

Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,

Charge for the golden lilies now, upon them with the lance!

never shall return!

Ho! Philip, send for charity thy Mexican pistoles,

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls.

Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright!

Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night!

For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,

And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave.

Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are!

And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre.

MACAULAY.

THE THREE FISHERS.

HREE fishers went sailing out into the

west,

Out into the west as the sun went down; Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,

And the children stood watching them out of the town:

For men must work, and women must weep,
And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,

And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;

They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,

And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and

brown.

But men must work, and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
And the harbor bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands,

In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands

For those who will never come home to the town:

For men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep, And good bye to the bar and it's moaning. KINGSLEY.

THE BROOKSIDE.

WANDERED by the brookside,

I wandered by the mill;

I could not hear the brook flow,The noisy wheel was still; There was no burr of grasshopper, No chirp of any bird,

But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.

I sat beneath the elm-tree,

I watched the long, long shade,
And as it grew still longer,
I did not feel afraid;

For I listened for a footfall,
I listened for a word-

But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

He came not-no, he came not-
The night came on alone -
The little stars sat one by one

Each on his golden throne:
The evening wind passed by my cheek,
The leaves above were stirred-
But the beating of my own heart

Was all the sound I heard.

Fast, silent tears were flowing,
When something stood behind:
A hand was on my shoulder-
I knew its touch was kind:
It drew me nearer-nearer-
We did not speak one word,
For the beating of our own hearts
Was all the sound I heard.