Thy sacul leaves, Jan Fardon flower, -float on dome and terver To all their heavenly Colns True In Hackening frost And God Love Thrice or Crimson dus; us as we love thee, holy Flower of Liberty. Then hail the banner of the fee,. Olion Wendell Homes POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. BREATHES THERE THE MAN -- BREATHES there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentered all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. SIR WALTER SCOTT. + MY COUNTRY. THERE is a land, of every land the pride, HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE How sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blessed! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mold, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung; WILLIAM COLLINS, THE BRAVE AT HOME. THE maid who binds her warrior's sash With smile that well her pain dissembles, The while beneath her drooping lash One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, Though Heaven alone records the tear, And Fame shall never know her story, Her heart has shed a drop as dear As e'er bedewed the field of glory! |