Then from his mansion in the sun She call'd 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 heavenChild 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!

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 dimm'd the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier 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 sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death.

Flag of the seas! on ocean 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.

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.

For ever 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?

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

AMERICA.

My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrim's pride,
From every mountain-side
Let freedom ring.

My native country, thee-
Land of the noble, free-

Thy name I love;

I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees

Sweet freedom's song:
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break,-
The sound prolong.

Our fathers' God, to Thee,
Author of liberty,

To Thee we sing;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King.

SAMUEL F. SMITH.

BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.

MINE eyes have seen the glory of the

coming of the Lord :

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of

His terrible swift sword:

His truth is marching on.

MEN OF ENGLAND.

MEN of England! who inherit
Rights that cost your sires their

blood!

Men whose undegenerate spirit

Has been proved on field and flood!—

By the foes you've fought uncounted,
By the glorious deeds you've done,
Trophies captured-breaches mounted—
Navies conquer'd-kingdoms won!

Yet, remember, England gathers
Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame,
If the freedom of your fathers
Glow not in your hearts the same,

What are monuments of bravery

Where no public virtues bloom? What avail, in lands of slavery, Trophied temples, arch and tomb?

Pageants!-Let the world revere us For our people's rights and laws, And the breasts of civic heroes

Bared in Freedom's holy cause.

Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory, Sidney's matchless shade is yours,— Martyrs in heroic story,

Worth a hundred Agincourts!

We're the sons of sires that baffled

Crown'd and mitred tyranny ;They defied the field and scaffold For their birthrights-so will we!

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

YE Mariners of England

That guard our native seas!

The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave-
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak
She quells the floods below-
As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

SONNET.

ON A DISTANT VIEW OF ENGLAND.

AH! from mine eyes the tears unbidden

start,

As thee, my country, and the long-lost

sight

Of thy own cliffs, that lift their summits white