But let the angry sun From heaven look fiercely red, The hurricane hath might But let the sound roll on! For those that from their toils are gone- Loud rush the torrent-floods And free, in green Columbia's woods, But let the floods rush on! The mountain-storms rise high Ana toss the pine-boughs through the sky, But let the storm rage on! On the frozen deep's repose VOL. II.-Q But let the ice drift on! Let the cold-blue desert spread! The warlike of the isles, Go, stranger! track the deep, THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. THE breaking waves dash'd high And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moor'd their bark Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amid the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea! And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free! The ocean-eagle soar'd From his nest by the white wave's foam, There were men with hoary hair Why had they come to wither there, There was woman's fearless eye, What sought they thus afar? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure Ay, call it holy ground, shrine! The soil where first they trod ! They have left unstain'd what there they foundFreedom to worship God! THE GRAVE OF KÖRNER. GREEN wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest, Rest, bard! rest, soldier! by the father's hand The oak waved proudly o'er thy burial rite, On thy crown'd bier to slumber warriors bore thee, And with true hearts thy brethren of the fight [thee; Wept as they vail'd their drooping banners o'er And the deep guns, with rolling peal, gave token That lyre and sword were broken. Thou hast a hero's tomb: a lowlier bed Is hers, the gentle girl beside thee lying; Fame was thy gift from others: but for her- Thou hast thine oak, thy trophy: what hath she? It was thy spirit, brother! which had made The bright world glorious to her thoughtful eye, Wo, yet not long she linger'd but to trace But smile upon her ere she went to rest. The earth grew silent when thy voice departed, The home too lonely whence thy step had fled: What then was left for her, the faithful-hearted? Death, death, to still the yearning for the dead. Softly she perish'd; be the flower deplored, Here with the lyre and sword. Have ye not met ere now? so let those trust RHINE SONG. It is the Rhine! our mountain vineyards laving, Sing on the march, with every banner waving : The Rhine! the Rhine, our own imperial river! We left thy shores to die or to deliver, We bear thee freedom back! Hail! hail! my childhood knew the rush of water, E'en as my mother's song; That sound went past me on the field of slaughter, And heart and arm grew strong! Roll proudly on! brave blood is with thee sweeping, Pour'd out by sons of thine, Where sword and spirit forth in joy were leaping, Like thee, victorious Rhine! Home! home! thy glad wave hath a tone of greeting, Thy path is by my home: Even now my children count the hours till meeting, Go tell the seas that chains shall bind thee never, Sing through the hills that thou art free for ever- Q2 |