3. And where is the band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion

A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.

No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

4. Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand

Between their loved home and the war's desolation! Blest with victory and peace, may the Heaven-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made, and preserved us a

nation.

Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just;
And this be our motto-" In God is our trust;"
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

CIII. HALLOWED GROUND.

1. What's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker meant should not be trod

By man, the image of his God, ·
Erect and free,
Unscourged by Superstition's rod

To bow the knee?

2. What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
"Tis not the sculptured piles you heap!
In dews that heavens far distant weep
Their turf may bloom;

Or genii twine beneath the deep

Their coral tomb.

Whose sword or voice has served mankind,-
And is he dead, whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high?

To live in hearts we leave behind
Is not to die.

4. Is't death to fall for Freedom's right?
He's dead alone that lacks her light!
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight
The sword he draws:-

What can alone ennoble fight?

A noble cause!

5. Give that! and welcome War to brace

Her drums and rend Heaven's reeking space! The colors planted face to face,

The charging cheer,

Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, Shall still be dear.

6. And place our trophies where men kneel To Heaven !—but Heaven rebukes my zeal! The cause of truth and human weal,

O God above!

Transfer it from the sword's appeal
Το peace and love.

7. Peace, love! the cherubim that join
Their spread wings o'er devotion's shrine !
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine,
Where they are not;

The heart alone can make divine

Religion's spot.

8. What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!--
Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth
Earth's compass round;

And your high-priesthood shall make earth
All hallowed ground.

CIV. BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.
1. Not a drum was heard, nor 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.
2. We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

3. No useless coffin inclosed his breast,

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.

4. 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.

5. 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!

6. 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.

7. But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock tolled the hour for retiring; And we knew, by the distant random gun, That the foe was sullenly firing.

8. 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 left him alone in his glory.

CV. THE DIVER.

1. "Oh, where is the knight or the squire so bold As to dive to the howling Charybdis below?— I cast in the whirlpool a goblet of gold,

And o'er it already the dark waters flow; Whoever to me may the goblet bring,

Shall have for his guerdon that gift of his king."

2. He spoke, and the cup from the terrible steep, That, rugged and hoary, hung over the verge Of the endless and measureless world of the deep, Twirled into the maëlstrom that maddened the surge. "And where is the diver so stout to go

I ask ye again--to the deep below?"