The British soldier trembles Our fortress is the good green wood, As seamen know the sea. We know its walls and thorny vines, Woe to the English soldiery And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind. Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil: We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up; And woodland flowers are gathered, To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind That in the pine-top grieves, And slumber long and sweetly, Well knows the fair and friendly moon The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain; 'Tis life to feel the night-wind Grave men there are by broad Santee, Till we have driven the Briton PERCIVAL. Ex. XLV.-TO THE EAGLE. BIRD of the broad and sweeping wing! Where wide the storms their banners fling, Thy throne is on the mountain top; Thy fields—the boundless air; Lord of the boundless realm of air! The hearts of the bold and ardent dare, Beneath the shade of thy golden wings, The Roman legions bore, From the river of Egypt's cloudy springs, For thee they fought, for thee they fell, To thee the clarions raised their swell, Thou wert, through an age of death and fears, Till the gathered rage of a thousand years And then, a deluge of wrath it came, And where was then thy fearless flight ?— To the lands that caught the setting light, There, on the silent and lonely shore, For ages, I watched alone; And the world in its darkness, asked no more But then came a bold and hardy few, I caught afar the wandering crew, And I knew they were high and brave. "And now that bold and hardy few Are a nation wide and strong; And danger and doubt I have led them through, And they worship me in song; And over their bright and glancing arms On field, and lake, and sea, With an eye that fires, and a spell that charms, I guide them to victory." Ex. XLVI.-THE EXILE. CAMPBELL. THERE came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,- "Sad is my fate!"-said the heart-broken stranger"The wild deer and wolf to the covert can flee; But I have no refuge from famine and danger : A home and a country remain not to me! Never again, in the green sunny bowers, Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours Or cover my harp with wild-woven flowers, And strike to the numbers of 'Erin go bragh!' "Erin! my country! though sad and forsaken, And sigh for the friends that can meet me no more! O cruel fate, wilt thou never replace me In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chase me? Never again shall my brothers embrace me? They died to defend me!-or live to deplore! "Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood ?— "Yet all its sad recollections suppressing, Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion, And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion,— 'Erin mavournin-Erin go bragh!'" Ex. XLVII.--OUR YANKEE GIRLS. LET greener scenes with bluer skies, O. W. HOLMES. The winds that lift the Georgian's vail, Waft to their shores the sultan's sail,— The gay grisette, whose fingers touch But more than one can tell; And England's fair-haired, blue-eyed dame And what if court or castle vaunt They ask not for the dainty toil By every hill whose stately pines The home where some fair being shines, To warm the wilds with love. From barest rock to bleakest shore Where furthest sail unfurls, That stars and stripes are streaming o'er,- |