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Each soldier's 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's 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 below
Each gallant arm that strikes beneath
That awful messenger of death.

Flag of the seas on ocean’s 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.
Forever 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?

Biographical and Historical: The name of Joseph Rodman Drake is

inseparably associated with that of his friend, Fitz-Greene Halleck. Together they contributed a series of forty poems to the New York Eve

ning Post.

Among these was “The American Flag,” the last four lines

of which were written by Halleck, to replace those written by Drake:

Warren's Address at the Battle of Bunker Hill 387

“As fixed as yonder orb divine,
That saw thy bannered blaze unfurled,
Shall thy proud stars resplendent shine,
The guard and glory of the world.”

Drake was a youth of many graces of both mind and body, who wrote verses as a bird sings—for the pure joy of it. His career was cut short by death when he was only twenty-five years old. Of him Halleck wrote: “None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise.”

WARREN'S ADDRESS AT THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL JOHN PIERPONT

Stand! the ground's your own, my braves'

Will ye give it up to slaves?

Will ye look for greener graves?
Hope ye mercy still?

5 What's the mercy despots feel?

Hear it in that battle peal'

Read it on yon bristling steel !
Ask it—ye who will.

Fear ye foes who kill for hire?
10 Will ye to your homes retire?
Look behind you ! they’re afire!
And, before you, see
Who have done it !—From the vale
On they come!—and will ye quail?—
15 Leaden rain and iron hail
Let their welcome bel

In the God of battles trust !
Die we may—and die we must:
But, 0 where can dust to dust
Be consigned so well,
20 As where heaven its dews shall shed,

On the martyred patriot's bed,
And the rocks shall raise their head,
Of his deeds to tell?

Biographical and Historical: John Pierpont was a Unitarian clergy. man of Connecticut, who published several volumes of poetry. General Joseph Warren was one of the generals in command of the patriot army at the battle of Bunker Hill, and was killed in the battle. He was counted one of the bravest and most unselfish patriots of the Revolutionary War. In this poem we have the poet’s idea of how General Warren inspired his men.

COLUMBUS +

JOAQUIN MILLER

Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the Gates of Hercules;

Before him not the ghosts of shores,
Before him only shoreless seas.

5 The good mate said: “Now must we pray,

For lo! the very stars are gone.

Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say?”
“Why, say ‘sail on sail on 1 and on P’’

“My men grow mutinous day by day;
10 My men grow ghastly wan and weak.”
The stout mate thought of home; a spray
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
“What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?”
15 “Why, you shall say at break of day,
“Sail on sail on 1 and on ''”

*Taken from The Complete Poetical Works of Joaquin Miller (copy. righted), by permission of The Whitaker & Ray Company.

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They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,
Until at last the blanched mate said:
“Why, now not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dread seas is gone,
Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say”—
He said: “Sail on 1 sail on 1 and on l’”

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate;
“This mad sea shows his teeth to-night.
He curls his lip, he lies in wait,
With lifted teeth, as if to bite'
Brave Admiral, say but one good word:
What shall we do when hope is gone?”
The words leapt like a leaping sword;
“Sail on sail on 1 and on l’’

Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
Of all dark nights' And then a speck—
A light! A light! A light! A light!
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled !
It grew to be Time’s burst of dawn.
He gained a world; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson: “On sail on so

Biographical and Historical: Cincinnatus Heine Miller (Joaquin

[hoa'kin] Miller) was born in Indiana in 1841. Joining the general movement to the West after the discovery of gold, his parents moved to the Pacific coast in 1850,

“In point of power, workmanship, and feeling, among all the poems

written by Americans, we are inclined to give first place to ‘The Port of Ships,” or ‘Columbus,” by Joaquin Miller.”—London Athenaeum.

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