Come when his task of fame is wrought;
Come, with her laurel-leaf,1 blood-bought;
Come in her crowning hour, and then
Thy sunken eye's unearthly light
To him is welcome as the sight

Of sky and stars to prison'd men;
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand
Of brother in a foreign land;
Thy summons welcome as the
That told the Indian isles 2 were nigh

cry

To the world-seeking Genoese,3
When the land-wind, from woods of palm,
And orange groves, and fields of balm,4
Blew o'er the Haytien seas.5

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;

1 Laurel-leaf: an allusion to the laurel crowns given by the Greeks to those who were victors in the ancient games.

2 Indian isles: the West Indies.

8 Genoese: Columbus; he however was not seeking a New World, but a new way to the Old World, of India, or Asia.

4 Balm: here, any fragrant plants.

5 Haytien seas: the seas about the island of Hayti.

6 Weeds: mourning.

For thee her poet's lyre 1 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 their pilgrim-circled hearth,2

Talk of thy doom without a sigh ;
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's,
One of the few, th' immortal names

That were not born to die.

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK.

1 Lyre: a kind of harp.

2 Pilgrim-circled hearth: the hearth of the widow of Bozzaris, round which travellers from foreign lands gathered to hear his story and that of Greek Independence.

THE NATION'S DEAD.

FOUR hundred thousand men,
The brave, the good, the true,
In tangled wood, in mountain glen,
On battle plain, in prison pen,
Lie dead for me and you.

Four hundred thousand of the brave

Have made our ransomed soil their grave,
For me and you,

Good friend, for me and you.

In many a fevered swamp,
By many a black bayou,1

In many a cold and frozen camp,
The weary sentinel ceased his tramp,
And died for me and you.

From western plain to ocean tide

Are stretched the graves of those who died

For me and you,

Good friend, for me and you.

On many a bloody plain

Their ready swords they drew,

And poured their life-blood like the rain,

A home, a heritage, to gain,

To gain for me and you.

1 Bayou (bi-oo'): the narrow outlet of a lake or a channel of water or

creek in the valley of the lower Mississippi.

Our brothers mustered by our side,

They marched, and fought, and bravely died
For me and you,

Good friend, for me and you.

Up many a fortress wall

They charged, those boys in blue;
'Mid surging smoke and volleyed ball,
The bravest were the first to fall,
To fall for me and you.

Those noble men, the nation's pride,
Four hundred thousand men, have died
For me and you,

Good friend, for me and you.

In treason's prison-hold

Their martyr spirits grew

To stature like the saints of old,
While, amid agonies untold,

They starved for me and you.
The good, the patient, and the tried,
Four hundred thousand men, have died
For me and you,

Good friend, for me and you.

A debt we ne'er can pay

To them is justly due;

And to the nation's latest day
Our children's children still shall say,
"They died for me and you."

Four hundred thousand of the brave

Made this, our ransomed soil, their grave,

For me and you,

Good friend, for me and you.

ANONYMOUS.

SONG OF THE CORNISH MEN.1

A GOOD Sword and a trusty hand!
A merry heart and true!

King James's 2 men shall understand

What Cornish lads can do.

And have they fixed the where and when?
And shall Trelawny die?

Here's twenty thousand Cornish men
Will know the reason why!

Outspake their captain, brave and bold,
A merry wight 3 was he:

"If London Tower were Michael's hold,4
We'll set Trelawny free!

1 In 1688, King James II. of England ordered the clergy throughout the realm to read a royal proclamation which suspended all penal laws against Protestant Dissenters and Roman Catholics. The Archbishop of Canterbury and six bishops of the English Church, believing that the king's real object was to favor the Catholic party, petitioned His Majesty to be excused from reading the proclamation. He refused to consider their petition; and as the proclamation was read by only a very few of the clergy, he sent the bishops prisoners to the Tower of London.

One of them was Trelawny, a native of Cornwall. The rough Cornish miners demanded his release, and from one end of Cornwall to the other people were heard singing this song.

The pressure brought to bear on the king and his servile bench of judges was so great that on their trial the bishops were all acquitted. Soon after, James fled the country, and William and Mary came to the throne.

2 King James: James II.

3 Wight person.

4 Michael's hold: St. Michael's castle and stronghold on the coast of Cornwall.