It shall gleam o'er the sea, 'mid the bolts of the storm, Over tempest, and battle, and wreck,

And flame where our guns with their thunder grow

warm,

'Neath the blood on the slippery deck.

The oppressed of the earth to that standard shall fly, Wherever its folds shall be spread,

And the exile shall feel 'tis his own native sky,

Where its stars shall wave over his head;

And those stars shall increase till the fullness of time Its millions of cycles has run,—

Till the world shall have welcomed their mission sublime, And the nations of earth shall be one.

Though the old Alleghany may tower to heavell,
And the Father of Waters divide,

The links of our destiny cannot be riven

While the truth of those words shall abide. Oh! then, let them glow on each helmet and brand, Though our blood like our rivers should unl, Divide as we may in our own native land, To the rest of the world we are ONE.

Then, up with our flag!-let it stream on the air;
Though our fathers are cold in their graves,
They had hands that could strike, they had souls that

could dare,

And their sons are not born to be slaves.

Up, up with that banner!-where'er it may call,
Our millions shall rally around,

And a nation of freemen that moment shall fall,
When its stars shall be trailed on the ground.

SHERIDAN'S RIDE.

T. B. REED.

Up from the South at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door,
The terrible grumble and rumble and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan—twenty miles away.

And wider still those billows of war
Thundered along the horizon's bar,
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the listener cold
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
And Sheridan-twenty miles away.

But there is a road from Winchester town,
A good, broad highway leading down;

And there, through the flush of the morning light,
A steed, as black as the steeds of night,
Was seen to pass as with eagle flight—
As if he knew the terrible need,

He stretched away with the utmost speed;
Hills rose and fell-but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away.

Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South,
The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth,
Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster,
Foreboding to foemen the doom of disaster;
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls;

Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
With Sheridan only ten miles away.

Under his spurning feet, the road
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
And the landscape sped away behind,

Like an ocean flying before the wind;

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire,
Swept on with his wild eyes full of fire.

But, lo! he is nearing his heart's desire-
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
With Sheridan only five miles away.

The first that the General saw was the groups
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops;-
What was done--what to do-a glance told him both,
Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath,

He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzahs,
And the wave of retreat checked its course there because
The sight of the master compelled it to pause.
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray;
By the flash of his eye, and his red nostril's play,
He seemed to the whole great army to say,
'I have brought you Sheridan all the way
From Winchester down to save the day!"
Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan!

Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man!

And when their statues are placed on high
Under the dome of the Union sky,—
The American soldier's Temple of Fame,-
There, with the glorious General's name,
Be it said in letters both bold and bright:
"Here is the steed that saved the day
By carrying Sheridan into the fight
From Winchester--twenty miles away!"

LA FAYETTE.

CHARLES SPRAGUE.

While we bring our offerings to the mighty of our own land, shall we not remember the chivalrous spirits of other shores, who shared with them the hour of weakness and woe? Pile to the clouds the majestic columns of glory; let the lips of those who can speak well hallow each spot where the bones of your bold repose; but forget not those who with your bold went out to battle.

Among these men of noble daring, there was one, a young and gallant stranger, who left the blushing vine-hills of his delightful France. The people he came to succor were not his people; he knew them only in the melancholy story of their wrongs. He was no mercenary adventurer, striving for the spoils of the vanquished; the palace acknowledged him for its lord, and the valley yielded him its increase. He was no nameless man, staking life for reputation; he ranked among nobles, and looked unawed upon kings.

He was no friendless outcast, seeking for a grave to hide a broken heart; he was girdled by the companions of his childhood; his kinsmen were about him; his wife was before him. Yet from all these he turned away. Like a lofty tree that shakes down its green glories to battle with the winter's storm, he flung aside the trappings of place and pride to crusade for Freedom, in Freedom's holy land. He came; but not in the day of successful rebellion; not when the new-risen sun of Independence had burst the cloud of time, and careered to its place in the heavens. He came when darkness curtained the hills, and the tempest was abroad in its anger; when the plow

stood still in the field of promise, and briers cumbered the garden of beauty; when fathers were dying, and mothers were weeping over them; when the wife was binding up the gashed bosom of her husband, and the maiden was wiping the death-damp from the brow of her lover. He came when the brave began to fear the power of man, and the pious to doubt the favor of God. It was then that this one joined the ranks of a revolted people.

Freedom's little phalanx bade him a grateful welcome. With them he courted the battle's rage; with theirs his arm was lifted; with theirs, his blood was shed. Long and doubtful was the conflict. At length, kind Heaven smiled on the good cause, and the beaten invaders fled. The profane were driven from the temple of Liberty, and at her pure shrine the pilgrim warrior with his adored Commander knelt and worshipped. Leaving there his offering, the incense of an uncorrupted spirit, he at length rose and crowned with benedictions turned his happy feet toward his long-deserted home.

After nearly fifty years, that one has come again. Can mortal tongue tell, can mortal heart feel the sublimity of that coming? Exulting millions rejoice in it; and their loud, long, transporting shout, like the mingling of many winds, rolls on, undying, to freedom's farthest mountains. A congregated nation comes around him. Old inen bless him, and children reverence him. The lovely come out to look upon him; the learned deck their halls to greet him; the rulers of the land rise up to do him homage.

How his full heart labors! He views the rusting trophies of departed days; he treads the high places