The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told.

Our fortress is the good green wood,
Our tent the cypress tree;
We know the forest round us,

As seamen know the sea.

We know its walls and thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,
Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.

Woe to the English soldiery
That little dread us near!
On them shall light, at midnight,
A strange and sudden fear:
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again;
And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind,

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,
On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads--

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
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp—
A moment and away,
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs;
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band,
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more,

Till we have driven the Briton
For ever from our shore.

PERCIVAL.

Ex. XLV.-TO THE EAGLE.

BIRD of the broad and sweeping wing!
Thy home is high in heaven,

Where wide the storms their banners fling,
And the tempest clouds are driven.

Thy throne is on the mountain top;

Thy fields—the boundless air;
And hoary peaks, that proudly prop
The skies-thy dwellings are.

Lord of the boundless realm of air!
In thy imperial name,

The hearts of the bold and ardent dare,
The dangerous path of fame.

Beneath the shade of thy golden wings,

The Roman legions bore,

From the river of Egypt's cloudy springs,
Their pride, to the polar shore.

For thee they fought, for thee they fell,
And their oath was on thee laid;

To thee the clarions raised their swell,
And the dying warrior prayed.

Thou wert, through an age of death and fears,
The image of pride and power,

Till the gathered rage of a thousand years
Burst forth in one awful hour.

And then, a deluge of wrath it came,
And the nations shook with dread;
And it swept the earth till its fields were flame,
And piled with the mingled dead;
Kings were rolled in the wasteful flood,
With the low and crouching slave;
And together lay, in a shroud of blood,
The coward and the brave.

And where was then thy fearless flight ?—
"O'er the dark mysterious sea,

To the lands that caught the setting light,
The cradle of Liberty.

There, on the silent and lonely shore,

For ages, I watched alone;

And the world in its darkness, asked no more
Where the glorious bird had flown.

But then came a bold and hardy few,
And they breasted the unknown wave:

I caught afar the wandering crew,

And I knew they were high and brave.
I wheeled around the welcome bark,
As it sought the desolate shore;
And up to heaven, like a joyous lark,
My quivering pinions bore.

"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,-
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill;
For his country he sighed, when, at twilight, repairing
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill:
But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion;
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean,
Where once, in the fervor of youth's warm emotion,
He sung the bold anthem of 'Erin go bragh!'

"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,
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore!
But, alas! in a far-foreign land I awaken,

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 ?—
Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall?
Where is the mother that looked on my childhood?
And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all ?
Ah! my sad soul, long abandoned by pleasure!
Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure?
Tears, like the rain-drops, may fall without measure,
But rapture and beauty they can not recall!

"Yet all its sad recollections suppressing,
One dying wish my lone bosom can draw;-
Erin! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing!
Land of my forefathers! Erin go bragh!

Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion,
Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean!

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,
If such the wide earth shows,
With fairer cheeks and brighter eyes,
Match us the star and rose;

O. W. HOLMES.

The winds that lift the Georgian's vail,
Or wave Circassia's curls,

Waft to their shores the sultan's sail,—
Who buy our Yankee girls?

The gay grisette, whose fingers touch
Love's thousand chords so well;
The dark Italian, loving much,

But more than one can tell;

And England's fair-haired, blue-eyed dame
Who binds her brow with pearls ;—
Ye who have seen them, can they shame
Our own sweet Yankee girls?

And what if court or castle vaunt
Its children loftier born?—
Who heeds the silken tassel's flaunt
Beside the golden corn?

They ask not for the dainty toil
Of ribboned knights and earls,
The daughters of the virgin soil,
Our free-born Yankee girls!

By every hill whose stately pines
Wave their dark arms above

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,-
God bless our Yankee girls!