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And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks,
He led into the house of prayer. Then soon he rose ; the prayer was strong; The psalm was warrior David's song; The text, a few short words of might,“ The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!" He spoke of wrongs too long endured, Of sācred rights to be secured ; Then from his pātriot tongue of flame The startling words for Freedom came. The stirring sentences he spake Compelled the heart to glow or quake, And, rising on his theme's broad wing,
And grasping in his nervous hand
The imaginary battle-brand,
Defiance to a týrant king.
In eloquence of attitude,
Complete in all a warrior's guise. 6. A moment there was awful pause,
When Berkley cried, “Cease, traitor! cease!
The other shouted, “Nāy, not so,
That frown upon the tyrant foe;
There is a time to fight and pray!” 7. And now before the open door
The warrior priest had ordered so—
Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er,
Its long reverberating blow,
The great bell swung as ne'er before :
Was, “War! Wan! WAR!”
As striding from the desk he came,
“Come out with me, in Freedom's name,
READ. Thomas BUCHANAN READ was born in Chester County, Pennsylvania, March 12th, 1822. In 1839 he went to Cincinnati, where he was employed in the studio of Clevenger, the sculptor, and here his attention was first called to painting, which he chose for his profession, and soon practiced with marked skill and success. He settled in New York City in 1841. After a few months he removed to Boston, where he remained until 1846, and then went to Philadelphia, where he practiced his profession, writing occasionally for periodicals, until 1850, when he first visited Europe. In the summer of 1853 he went abroad a second time, and settled in Florence, where until recently he has resided. In 1853 he issued an illustrated edition of his poems, comprising, with some new pieces, all he wished to preserve of volumes previously printed. In 1855, he published “The House by the Sea” and “The New Pastoral,"—the latter, in thirty-seven books, being the longest of his poems. The above is from his latest work, “The Wagoner of the Alleghanies." Mr. Read's distinguishing characteristic is a delicate and varied play of fancy. His verse, though sometimes irregular, is always musical. He excels in homely descriptions. The flowers by the dusty wayside, the cheerful murmur of the meadow brook, the village tavern, and rustic mill, and all tender impulses and affections, are his choice sources of inspiration.
41. THE SETTLER.
IS echoing ax the settler swung
Amid the sea-like solitude,
The Titans' of the wood ;
With its supporting bough,
On the wolf's haunt below.
Of him who plied his ceaseless toil :
Contributed their spoil ;
Where men their crowds collect;
This forest tamer decked.
The streams whose bright lips kissed their flowers,
Through those sun-hiding bowers,
Dark cave and swampy lair ;
His world, his pleasures, there.
Mid the black logs green glowed the grain,
Throve in the sun and rain.
All made a landscape strange,
Of deeds that wrought the chānge.
The rose of summer spread its glow,
Rude Winter brought his snow; 1 Ti' tans, fabled giants of ancient mythology ; hence, whatever is enor mous in size or strength.
And still the settler labored there,
As cheerily he plied
Along the hillock's side. 6. He marked the fire-storm's blazing flood
Roaring and crackling on its path,
Benēafin its greedy wrath ;
And darkening thick the day
Hurled whizzing on its way. 7. His gaunt hound yelled, his rifle flashed,
The grim bear hushed its savage growl,
Its fangs with dying howl ;
And with its moaning cry,
Its pond-built Venice' by.
When Liberty sent forth her cry,
To fight-to bleed-to die;
And witnessed Yorktown's: sun
1 Pond-built Venice. The city of Charlestown, Massachusetts, celebraVenice, one of the finest in Europe, ted as the place where the first great is built on eighty-two small islands, battle was fought between the Britseparated by one hundred and fifty ish and Americans, on the memorable canals, which are crossed by three 17th of June, 1775. hundred and sixty bridges. The 3 Yorktown, Virginia, where was beaver constructs his habitation in fought the final battle of the Revothe water, and the different parts lutionary war, resulting in the surhave no communication except by render of Lord Cornwallis to Gen. water,and hencethepoetical allusion. eral Washington, on the 19th of
· Bunker Hill, a height near October, 1781.
Blaze on a nation's banner spread,
STREET. ALBERT B. STREET was born in Poughkeepsie, a large and beautiful town on the Hudson, on the 18th of December, 1811. His father, Gen. Randall S. Street, was an officer in active service during our second war with England, and subsequently several years a representative in Congress. When the poet was about fourteen years of age his father removed to Monticello, Sullivan County, then what is called a "wild county,” though extremely fertile. Its magnificent scenery, deep forests, clear streams, gorges of piled rocks and black shade, and mountains and valleys, called into life all the faculties that slumbered in the brain of the young poet. He studied law in the office of his father, and attended the courts of Sullivan County for one year after his admission to the bar; but in the winter of 1839 he removed to Albany, where he successfully practiced his profession. For several years past he has been State Librarian. The most complete edition of his poems was published in New York, in 1845. Mr. Street is a descriptive poet, and in his peculiar department he has, perhaps, no superior in this country. He writes with apparent ease and freedom, from the impulses of his own heart, and from actual observations of life and nature.
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming ; Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming? And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; O, say, does that star-spangled banner yệt wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
2. On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the fõe's haughty höst in dread silence reposes,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
'Mid the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,