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? No refuge could save the hireling and slave 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; CIII. HALLOWED GROUND. 1. What's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod By man, the image of his God, · To bow the knee? 2. What hallows ground where heroes sleep? Or genii twine beneath the deep Their coral tomb. Whose sword or voice has served mankind,- To live in hearts we leave behind 4. Is't death to fall for Freedom's right? 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 7. Peace, love! the cherubim that join The heart alone can make divine Religion's spot. 8. What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth And your high-priesthood shall make earth CIV. BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 3. No useless coffin inclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him; 4. Few and short were the prayers we said, 5. We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, 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, But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on, 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?" |