Mark the eagle of Freedom, his banners unfurl'd,
His eye on the sun, while suspense chains the world.
From a thousand ships pouring, his conquerors of
France

Debouch on our plains in the dread pomp of war;
Confiding in conquest, they gayly advance;
Their deep-mouth'd artillery thunders afar;
Near Niagara's roar

The parch'd earth drank their gore-
Our heroes their garbs triumphantly wore.
Brown, Scott, Gaines, and Ripley their falchions
raised high,

Their resolve" We will conquer, or gloriously die."
See, the sons of the west! like a dark cloud of night,
With eagerness forth from their deep forests throng;
Their death-tubes of terror prepared for the fight,
Like their own Mississippi, impetuous and strong.
'Tis Jackson who leads

Them to glorious deeds,

Where the vaunting invader in agony bleeds:
Come, toast then our heroes, we swear this great day
We will hand down, in glory, till time pass away.

286

DEATH OF DU COUDRAY.

In the spring of life he left

His relatives and hearth,
And bade a long farewell unto
The land which gave him birth.
Within his young breast glow'd
The patriot's holy flame:

In the glorious strife for liberty,
To aid our sires he came.

He came in that dark hour

Which souls the sternest tried:
But freely the young warrior bound
The falchion to his side.
Its burning zeal gave promise
Of a chivalrous career:
The rolling drum, and cannon peal
Was music to his ear.

Ah! Death is often nearest

When least we deem him nigh:
This noble son of France fell not
Where warriors meet to die.
The banner, bathed in slaughter,
Alas! was not his shroud:
Nor was the gallant stranger's pall
The wreathing battle-cloud.

Impatient, in the fearful strife,
To wield his blade untried,
He urged his steed until he reach'd
The Schuylkill's rapid tide.
A boat, to bear him over, soon
Across the flood was sent,
And into it the fiery youth,
Without dismounting, went.

Regardless of the rein, the steed,
(Affrighted by the gleam

Of weapons,) with his rider plunged
Into the foaming stream.

w.w

His comrades fruitless efforts

To save their leader made:
They saw the waves close over him,
But could afford no aid.

Forget him not, Americans!
Green let his memory be!
To die in your defence, he came
Across the stormy sea.

Your children teach, from infancy,

To reverence his name,
And give to him a lofty place
Upon the page of Fame.

287 TO THE MEMORY OF HARRISON.

UNSEAL the mournful sod,

Let sound your notes of wo-
A Christian soul has gone to God-
A Christian corse must to its burial go.

Simple shall be our rite:

The dust unto its dust,

The spirit to its native light,

To us, the blessed memory of the just.

It seems but yestermorn

That, by the gathering crowd,

Thou, as their chosen one, wert borne Hither, with sound of joy, and welcome loud.

Call'd from thy stately West,

Thou camest, on mission proud;

It is fulfill'd: lie down to rest

With quiet heart in an untarnish'd shroud.
Thy message briefly said,

With word and look serene;

Thou bowest low thy hoary head,
And glidest, as a shadow, from the scene.

Our good old president!

On that triumphal day,

A milk-white steed beneath thee bentPaler is that which bears thee now away.

It is not well to mourn;

Man is but half a slave,

But half to sin and suffering born,
The tide of sorrow breaks upon the grave.

And when the warm spring sun
On thy green bed shall lie,
Methinks 'twill be a sweeter one
Than purple couch or regal canopy.

For, surely, thou art spared

The weight of weary days:
Sleepless anxieties, unshared,

And lonely wanderings in life's thorniest ways. Thou hast but plann'd our good,

Nor lived to see it fail;

Nor struggled with man's evil mood, Till thy soul fainted in its prison frail.

For thee the trump of war

Breathes vain defiance now;

We hear it, dimly, from afar,

But Peace has set her seal upon thy brow.

The chains thou wouldst have broken

Must bind us, if God will:

The words of truth thou wouldst have spoken His voice shall speak, and every heart be still.

Upon the wreck of things

His signet is impress'd;
Turn we from vain imaginings,
For so He giveth His beloved rest.

288 ON THE DEATH OF HARRISON.

A WAIL! a plaintive, wide, and fearful wail!
The air is full of deep and sickening wo;
A nation's eyes are dim, their faces pale,
The chosen of their hearts in death is low!
O, Death! in wild, terrific majesty,
Thou stand'st before us here;
Ah, yes, we had forgotten thee,
Thou, who art ever near.

We were too full of joy, too full of trust

In MAN,

Forgetful of the mandate, "dust to dust,"
And while bright hope began

To wax into firm confidence, and we spoke aloud
Of the dark future, as if even now

It was our own,

THOU,

O Death! all silent and alone,

Prepared stood, our thoughtless hope in gloom to shroud.