JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. [U. s. A., 1795-1820.] THE AMERICAN FLAG. WHEN Freedom from her mountain height And set the stars of glory there; Then from his mansion in the sun Flag of the brave, thy folds shall fly, And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas, on ocean wave JOHN PIERPONT. And frighted waves rush wildly back Flag of the free heart's hope and home, By angel hands to valor given, Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven. Forever float that standard sheet! Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us? JOHN PIERPONT. [U. s. A., 1785-1866.] WAS it the chime of a tiny bell That came so sweet to my dreaming ear, Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell That he winds, on the beech, so mellow and clear, When the winds and the waves lie together asleep, And the Moon and the Fairy are watching the deep, She dispensing her silvery light, 157 That hangs in his cage, a canary-bird swing); And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet, And, as she enjoyed it, she seemed to say, "Passing away! passing away!" O, how bright were the wheels, that told Of the lapse of time, as they moved round slow; And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold, Seemed to point to the girl below. And lo! she had changed: in a few short hours Her bouquet had become a garland of flowers, That she held in her outstretched hands, and flung This way and that, as she, dancing, swung In the fulness of grace and of womanly While the boatman listens and ships his Had something lost of its brilliant blush; oar, To catch the music that comes from the shore? Hark! the notes on my ear that play Are set to words; as they float, they say, "Passing away! passing away!" But no; it was not a fairy's shell, And the light in her eye, and the light on the wheels, That marched so calmly round above her, Was a little dimmed, steals as when Evening Upon Noon's hot face. Yet one could n't but love her, Blown on the beach, so mellow and For she looked like a mother whose first WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. 159 WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. [1798-1835.] JEANIE MORRISON. I'VE wandered east, I 've wandered west, The luve o' life's young day! The fire that 's blawn on Beltane e'en * Where first fond luve grows cool. O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, The blithe blinks o' langsyne. "T was then we luvit ilk ither weel, Twa bairns, and but ae heart! O mornin' life! O mornin' luve! O, mind ye, luve, how aft we left The throssil whusslit in the wood, And on the knowe abune the burn Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison, When hearts were fresh and young, And tones and looks and smiles were I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, shed, Remembered evermair. I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, When sitting on that bink, O, mind ye how we hung our heads, (The scule then skail't at noon) When we ran aff to speel the braes,The broomy braes o' June? My head rins round and round about, As ane by ane the thochts rush back Gin 1 hae been to thee As closely twined wi' earliest thochts Thine ear as it does mine! O, say gin e'er your heart grows grit I've wandered east, I've wandered west, But in my wanderings, far or near, Ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this heart O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, Did I but ken your heart still dreamed |