When on the fervent air there came A Federal band, which eve and morn Down flocked the soldiers to the banks, Then all was still; and then the band, With movement light and tricksy, Made stream and forest, hill and strand Reverberate with "Dixie." The conscious stream, with burnished glow, But thrilled throughout its deepest flow Again a pause, and then again The trumpet pealed sonorous, And "Yankee Doodle " was the strain The laughing ripple shoreward flew Loud shrieked the swarming boys in blue And yet once more the bugle sang Above the stormy riot; No shout upon the evening rang; There reigned a holy quiet. The sad, slow stream its noiseless flood No unresponsive soul had heard That plaintive note's appealing, Our banners on those turrets wave, And there our evening bugles play; So deeply" Home, Sweet Home" had stirred Where orange boughs above their grave The hidden founts of feeling. Or blue or gray, the soldier sees, As by the wand of fairy, The cottage 'neath the live-oak trees, The cabin on the prairie. Or cold or warm, his native skies Bend in their beauty o'er him; Keep green the memory of the brave We are not many, we who pressed Beside the brave who fell that day, But who of us has not confessed He'd rather share their warrior rest Than not have been at Monterey? CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN. Then the king exclaimed. This is for me! And be dashed out his sword on the hilt While his blue eye shot fire openly And his heart overborked till it spelt A hot prayer - God, the rest as thou wilt! • But grant me this! this is for 8 me! O Victor Emmanuel the King, The sword be for thee, and the deed, And nought for the alien, next spring, rought You Hapsburg and Bourbout agreed, great Italy freed, 2 a But for us. with a hero to head us... our King Elizabeth Barrett Browning, ARLINGTON. THE broken column, reared in air, Can almost cast its shadow where The last loud trump, the Judgment sun In that vast sepulchre repose The thousands reaped from every fray; The Spartan bands who wore the gray. The combat o'er, the death-hug done, In summer's blaze, or winter's snows, They keep the truce at Arlington. And almost lost in myriad graves Of those who gained the unequal fight, Are mounds that hide Confederate braves, Who reck not how the north wind raves, In dazzling day or dimmest night. O'er those who lost and those who won, Death holds no parley which was rightJehovah judges Arlington. The dead had rest; the dove had peace ACTION To both had come that great surcease, From all the world's delirious stings, To bugle deaf, and signal gun, They slept like heroes of old Greece, Beneath the glebe at Arlington. And in the spring's benignant reign, The sweet May woke her harp of pines, She danced in emerald down the lines, That told who slept at Arlington. She gave her grasses and her showers W Her song-birds wove their dainty bowers And 'mid the generous spring there came VINDICATION. ERE I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your tribunal, I should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me without a murmur; but the sentence of the law which delivers my body to the executioner will, through the ministry of that law, labor, in its own vindication, to consign my character to obloquy; for there must be guilt somewhere: whether in the sentence of the court, or in the catastrophe, posterity must determine. The man dies, but his memory lives. That mine may not perish, that it may live in the respect of my countrymen, I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate myself from some of the charges against me. Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dishonor; let no man attaint my memory by believing that I could have engaged in any cause but that of my country's liberty and independence, or that I could have become the pliant minion of power in the oppression or the miseries of my countrymen. I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor, for the same reason that I would resist the domestic tyrant; in the dignity of freedom I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and her enemies should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. Am I, who lived but for my country, and who have subjected myself to the vengeance of the jealous and wrathful oppressor, and to the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights, and my country her independence, am I to be loaded with calumny, and not to be suffered to resent or repel it? No! God forbid! Be ye patient; I have but a few words more to say. I am going to my silent grave; my lamp of life is nearly extinguished; my race is run; the grave opens to receive me, and I sink into its bosom. I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world: it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph; for as no one who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times and other men can do justice to my character. When my country shall take her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written. I have done. ROBERT EMMET. "AS BY THE SHORE AT BREAK OF DAY." S by the shore, at break of day, He dying wrote, was "Liberty!" THOMAS MOORE. |