Shout for the mighty men, Who on the Persian tents, Like lions from their midnight den Let loose from an immortal hand, But there are none to hear; The voice that should be raised by men The tree, the rock, the sand, The memory The vision of thy band Still gleams within the glorious dell And is thy grandeur done? Mother of men like these! Has not thy outcry gone Where Justice has an ear to hear? Are plunged the chain and scimitar; VIII. THE FALL OF D'ASSAS. ALONE, through gloomy forest shades, No moonbeam pierced the dusky glades, Yet, on his vigil's midnight round, CROLY. THE FOURTH OF JULY. Where were his thoughts that lonely hour? — Hush! hark! did stealing steps go by? Hark! yet again!- and from his hand Young soldier, thou 'rt betrayed! "Silence!" in under-tones they cry, Still at the bayonet's point he stood, the foe!" The stir, the tramp, the bugle-call- 807 MRS. HEMANS. IX. THE FOURTH OF JULY. To the sages who spoke, to the heroes who bled, To the day and the deed, strike the harp-strings of glory! Let the song of the ransomed remember the dead, And the tongue of the eloquent hallow the story! O'er the bones of the bold Be that story long told, And on Fame's golden tablets their triumphs enrolled, Who on Freedom's green hills Freedom's banner unfurled, And the beacon-fire raised that gave light to the world! They are gone mighty men!—and they sleep in their fame ; Shall we ever forget them? O, never! no, never! *Pronounced O-vern'. Let our sons learn from us to embalm each great name, And the anthem send down, Independence forever!" Wake, wake, heart and tongue! Keep the theme ever young; Let their deeds through the long line of ages be sung, Who on Freedom's green hills Freedom's banner unfurled, And the beacon-fire raised that gave light to the world! CHARLES SPRAGUE X. THE SEED OF FREEDOM'S TREE. Stanzas to the memory of the Spanish patriots, killed in resisting the Regency and the Duke of Angoulême. BRAVE men, who at the Trocadero fell Beside your cannons, conquered not, though slain, For Freedom, - and ye have not died in vain ; For, come what may, there shall be hearts in Spain Cursing the bigot's and the Bourbon's chain, What though your cause be baffled, freemen cast In dungeons, dragged to death, or forced to flee? The patriot's blood's the seed of Freedom's tree! Earth shudders at your victory! for ye Are worse than common fiends from heaven that fell, Go to your bloody rites again! Bring back With thanks to Heaven, that let you loose again, To practice deeds with torturing fire and steel No eye may search, no tongue may challenge or reveal! * Pronounced or-tok'tho-neez. The word means of the land itself, or aboriginal inhabitants; natives of the soil as distinguished from settlers. THE MARINER'S SONG. Yet, laugh not in your carnival of crime Too proudly, ye oppressors! Spain was free! Glory to those that die in this great cause! Kings, bigots, can inflict no brand of shame, 809 CAMPBELL. XI. -THE MARINER'S SONG. A WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, "O! for a soft and gentle wind!" But give to me the snoring breeze, There's tempest in yon hornëd moon, And lightning in yon cloud; The wind is piping loud, my boys, While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. XII. THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. YE who love the haunts of Nature, love the sunshine of the meadow, love the shadow of the forest, love the wind among the branches, and the rain-shower and the snow-storm, and the rushing of great rivers through their palisades of pine-trees, and the thunder in the mountains, whose innumerable echoes flap like eagles in their eyries,* - listen to these wild traditions, to this Song of Hiawatha !† Ye who love a nation's legends, love the ballads of a people, that, like voices from afar off, call to us to pause and listen, speak in tones so plain and childlike, scarcely can the ear distinguish whether they are sung or spoken, listen to this Indian legend, to this Song of Hiawatha! Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, who have faith in God and Nature, who believe that in all ages every human heart is human; that, in even savage bosoms, there are longings, yearnings, strivings, for the good they comprehend not; that the feeble hands and helpless, groping blindly in the darkness, touch God's right hand in the darkness, and are lifted up and strengthened, listen to this simple story, to this Song of Hiawatha ! Ye who sometimes in your rambles through the green lanes of the country, where the tangled barberry-bushes hang their tufts of crimson berries over stone walls gray with mosses, pause by some neglected grave-yard, for a while to muse and ponder on a half-effaced inscription, writ with little skill of song-craft, homely phrases, but each letter full of hope and yet of heart-break, full of all the tender pathos of the Here and the Hereafter, and read this rude inscription, read this song of Hiawatha ! stay Pronounced a'riz. LONGFELLOW. XIII.THE GRAVE. BLEST are the dormant In death! They repose + Pronounced He-a-wa'tha, the second a as in fall. |