In dews that heavens far distant weep

Their turf may bloom;

Or genii twine beneath the deep

Their coral tomb.

Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right?
He's dead alone that lacks her light!
And murder sullies in heaven's sight,
The sword he draws:-

What can alone ennoble fight?

A noble cause!

Give that and welcome war to brace
Her drums! and rend heaven's reeking space!
The colors planted face to face,

The charging cheer,

Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase,
Shall still be dear.

What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!
Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth

Earth's compass round;

And your high-priesthood shall make earth

THE SEMINOLE'S REPLY.

Blaze, with your serried columns!
I will not bend the knee !
The shackles ne'er again shall bind
The arm which now is free.
I've mailed it with the thunder,
When the tempest muttered low;
And where it falls, ye well may dread
The lightning of its blow!

I've scared ye in the city,

I've scalped ye on the plain;

Go, count your chosen, where they fell
Beneath my leaden rain!

I scorn your proffered treaty !
The pale-face I defy!

Revenge is stamped upon my spear,
And blood my battle-cry!

Some strike for hope of booty,
Some to defend their all,-
I battle for the joy I have
To see the white man fall:
I love, among the wounded,
To hear his dying moan,
And catch, while chanting at his side,
The music of his groan.

Ye've trailed me through the forest,
Ye've tracked me o'er the stream;
And struggling through the everglade,
Your bristling bayonets gleam;
But I stand as should the warrior,
With his rifle and his spear;
The scalp of vengeance still is red,
And warns ye,-Come not here!

I loathe ye in my bosom,

I scorn ye with mine eye,

And I'll taunt ye with my latest breath,
And fight ye till I die!

I ne'er will ask ye quarter,

And I ne'er will be your slave; But I'll swim the sea of slaughter,

Till I sink beneath its wave !

[G. W. Patten.

SPIRIT OF PATRIOTISM.

BREATHES there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,—

"This is my own,-my native land!" Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned,

From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go mark him well,
For him, no minstrel raptures swell!

High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch concentered all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung!

[Sir Walter Scott.

THE LIFE-BOAT.

THE thunder-spirits sound on high

The storm's wild tocsin, loud and deep, And winds and waves, with maddening cry,

Fierce at the summons leap.

Wide flashed through heaven the lightning's wing

The blinding rain did swiftly pour;

And the noble ship, a helpless thing,

Lay tossing toward the shore!

Then shrieked the crew, "In mercy save!"

And rushing headlong to her side,

They launch the life-boat on the wave,

And tempt the fearful tide.

And there was He, above the storm,
Who smiled upon the shallop light,
And sent an angel's viewless form
To guide the bark aright!

Boy! in the storms that shake the soul,
Quail not! there's still a life-boat nigh;
And there may Angel-Faith's control,
Grief's wildest waves defy!

[Mrs. Osgood.

TAKE HEED.

I KNEW him when a little child,
As opening rosebud fair;

He seemed an angel when he smiled,
So pure a light was there.

I knew him when a brave, bright boy,
With spirit like a bird's;
His heart a gushing fount of joy,
And music all his words.

I knew him when a noble youth,
With fame-aspiring eye;

His very look was that of truth,—
The truth beyond the sky.

I knew him when young manhood came,-
How proud the wreath he wore!

To every heart his gifted name
Virtue's bright promise bore.

I knew him when his youthful bride,

Joyous he came to wed;

The country's flower, the country's pride,

"God bless them!" thousands said.

I knew him when he stooped to kiss,

How sweet that kiss must be !-
The pledges of his wedded bliss,
Bright, blessed cherubs three.

I knew him at the holy shrine,-
The altar of his God:

I saw him take the bread and wine,
And pure the path he trod,—

I knew him this, I knew him all
The fondest heart could crave;

And yet, oh God! his blackened pall
Covers a drunkard's grave!

[J. É. L.

FLIGHT OF THE MUSKOGEE INDIAN.

On the shores of Carolina an Indian warrior stood,

A captive of the Shawnees, and reddened with their blood; Strange arts of varied torture his conquerors tried in vain; Like a rock that stands the billows, he dashed them off again.

He shouted, and the echo shrill returned the lengthened shriek,

"I have rent you as the eagle rends the dove within his

beak;

And ye give me women's tortures; see, I lightly cast

them by.

As the Spirit of the storm-cloud throws the vapor from

the sky."

"Ye are women!" the wild echo came wilder on the air,— "I will show a worthy trial for a Muskogee to bear; Let me grasp a heated gun in this raw and bloody hand,

And ye shall not see an eyelash move to shame my father

land."