Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green sodded acres Of the plain; And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder, Cracking amain ! Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red St. George's Cannoneers; And the "villanous saltpetre" Rung a fierce, discordant metre Round their ears; As the swift Storm-drift, With hot sweeping anger, came the horseguards' clangor On our flanks. Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old-fashioned fire Through the ranks ! Then the old-fashioned colonel Galloped through the white infernal Powder-cloud; And his broad sword was swinging, And his brazen throat was ringing Trumpet loud. Then the blue Bullets flew, And the trooper-jackets redden at the touch of the leaden Rifle-breath; And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron six-pounder, Hurling death! GUY HUMPHREY MCMASTER. THE AMERICAN FLAG. WHEN Freedom, from her mountain height, She tore the azure robe of night, Majestic monarch of the cloud! Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, And see the lightning lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm, To guard the banner of the free, Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, And cowering foes shall shrink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas! on ocean wave And all thy hues were born in heaven. Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us! JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. O SAY, can you see by the dawn's early light What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming! And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On that shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses ? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream; 'Tis the star-spangled banner! O, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! O, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's desolation! Blest with victory and peace, may the heavenrescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto, "In God is our trust "; And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! FRANCIS SCOTT KEY. BARBARA FRIETCHIE. IP from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach tree fruited deep, Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde; On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee marched over the mountain wall,— Over the mountains, winding down, Horse and foot into Frederick town. Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind; the sun Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bravest of all in Frederick town, Up the street came the rebel tread, Under his slouched hat left and right It shivered the window, pane and sash; Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff All day long that free flag tost On the loyal winds that loved it well; And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night. Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the rebel rides on his raids no more. Honor to her! and let a tear Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, Peace and order and beauty draw And ever the stars above look down THE BLACK REGIMENT. [May 27, 1863.] DARK as the clouds of even, Down the long dusky line "Now," the flag-sergeant cried, "Though death and hell betide, Let the whole nation see If we are fit to be Free in this land; or bound Down, like the whining hound, Bound with red stripes of pain In our cold chains again!" O, what a shout there went From the black regiment! "Charge!" Trump and drum awoke; Onward the bondmen broke; Bayonet and sabre-stroke Vainly opposed their rush. Through the wild battle's crush, With but one thought aflush, Driving their lords like chaff, In the guns' mouths they laugh; Or at the slippery brands Leaping with open hands, Down they tear man and horse, Down in their awful course; Trampling with bloody heel Over the crashing steel, All their eyes forward bent, Rushed the black regiment. "Freedom!" their battle-cry, "Freedom! or leave to die! Ah! and they meant the word, Not as with us 't is heard, Not a mere party shout; They gave their spirits out, Trusted the end to God, And on the gory sod Rolled in triumphant blood Glad to strike one free blow, Whether for weal or woe; Glad to breathe one free breath, Though on the lips of death; Praying, alas in vain! That they might fall again, GEORGE HENRY BOKER. SHERIDAN'S RIDE. UP from the South at break of day, The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, And wider still those billows of war As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, But there is a road from Winchester town, He stretched away with the utmost speed; Under his spurning feet the road And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, The first that the General saw were the groups And, striking his spurs with a terrible oath, The sight of the master compelled it to pause. gray, By the flash of his eye, and his nostril's play Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan! Come to the bridal chamber, death, Come to the mother's, when she feels, For the first time, her first-born's breath; Come when the blessed seals That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm; Come when the heart beats high and warm, With banquet song and dance and wine, And thou art terrible; the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, The thanks of millions yet to be. Of sky and stars to prisoned men ; Thy grasp is welcome as the hand Of brother in a foreign land; Thy summons welcome as the cry That told the Indian isles were nigh To the world-seeking Genoese, When the land-wind, from woods of palm, And orange-groves, and fields of balm, Blew o'er the Haytian seas. Bozzaris! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee; there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. She wore no funeral weeds for thee, Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, The heartless luxury of the tomb. But she remembers thee as one Long loved, and for a season gone. For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, Her marble wrought, her music breathed; For thee she rings the birthday bells; Of thee her babes' first lisping tells; For thine her evening prayer is said At palace couch and cottage bed. Her soldier, closing with the foe, Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow; His plighted maiden, when she fears For him, the joy of her young years, Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears. And she, the mother of thy boys, Though in her eye and faded cheek Is read the grief she will not speak, ́ The memory of her buried joys, And even she who gave thee birth, Will, by her pilgrim-circled hearth, |