Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

116

SCOTT AND THE VETERAN.

"But, General," cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow,

"The very men who fought with us, they say, are traitors now; They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old red, white, and blue,

And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is true.

"I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good old gun,
To get the range of traitors' hearts, and prick them, one by one.
Your Miniè rifles and such arms it ain't worth while to try;
I couldn't get the hang o' them, but I'll keep my powder dry."

"God bless you, comrade!" said the Chief-"God bless your loyal heart!

But younger men are in the field, and claim to have a part; They'll plant our sacred banner firm in each rebellious town, And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it down!"

"But, General," still persisting, the weeping veteran cried,
"I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide;
And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that at least can I;
So, give the young ones place to fight, but me a place to die!

"If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in command
Put me upon the rampart with the flagstaff in my hand:
No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shell may fly,
I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die!

"I'm ready, General; so you let a post to me be given,
Where Washington can look at me, as he looks down from heaven,
And say to Putnam at his side, or, maybe, General Wayne-
'There stands old Billy Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane.'

“And when the fight is raging hot, before the traitors fly-
When shell and ball are screeching, bursting in the sky,
If any shot should pierce through me, and lay me on my face,
My soul would go to Washington's, and not to Arnold's place!

[ocr errors]

SOCRATES SNOOKS.

117

IMPERISHABILITY OF GREAT EXAMPLES.-
EDWARD EVERETT.

То O be cold and breathless,-to feel not and speak not, this is

not the end of existence to the men who have breathed their spirits into the institutions of their country, who have stamped their characters on the pillars of the age, who have poured their hearts' blood into the channels of the public prosperity. Tell me, ye who tread the sods of yon sacred height, is Warren dead? Can you not still see him, not pale and prostrate, the blood of his gallant heart pouring out of his ghastly wound, but moving resplendent over the field of honor, with the rose of Heaven upon his cheek, and the fire of liberty in his eye? Tell me, ye who make your pious pilgrimage to the shades of Vernon, is Washington, indeed, shut up in that cold and narrow house? That which made these men, and men like these, cannot die. The hand that traced the charter of Independence is, indeed, motionless; the eloquent lips that sustained it are hushed; but the lofty spirits that conceived, resolved, and maintained it, and which alone, to such men, "make it life to live," these cannot expire:

"These shall resist the empire of decay,

When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away;

Cold in the dust the perished heart may lic,

But that which warmed it once can never die."

SOCRATES SNOOKS.

M

-ISTER Socrates Snooks, a lord of creation,

The second time entered the married relation;
Xantippe Caloric accepted his hand,

And they thought him the happiest man in the land.
But scarce had the honeymoon passed o'er his head,
When, one morning, to Xantippe, Socrates said,

"I think, for a man of my standing in life,
This house is too small, as I now have a wife:
So, as early as possible, carpenter Carey

Shall be sent for to widen my house and my dairy.”

118

SOCRATES SNOOKS.

"Now, Socrates, dearest," Xantippe replied, "I hate to hear everything vulgarly my'd ; Now, whenever you speak of your chattels again, Say, our cow-house, our barn-yard, our pig-pen."

66

'By your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I will say what I please
Of my houses, my lands, my gardens, my trees."
"Say Our," Xantippe exclaimed in a rage.

"I won't, Mrs. Snooks, though you ask it an age!"

Oh, woman! though only a part of man's rib,
If the story in Genesis don't tell a fib,

Should your naughty companion e'er quarrel with you,
You are certain to prove the best man of the two.
In the following case this was certainly true;
For the lovely Xantippe just pulled off her shoe,
And laying about her, all sides at random,
The adage was verified-" Nil desperandum."

Mister Socrates Snooks, after trying in vain
To ward off the blows which descended like rain,-
Concluding that valor's best part was discretion-
Crept under the bed like a terrified Hessian:
But the dauntless Xantippe, not one whit afraid,
Converted the siege into a blockade.

At last, after reasoning the thing in his pate, He concluded 'twas useless to strive against fate; And so, like a tortoise protruding his head,

Said, "My dear, may we come out from under our bed?" "Hah! hah!" she exclaimed, "Mr. Socrates Snooks,

I perceive you agree to my terms, by your looks:
Now, Socrates,-hear me,-from this happy hour,

If you'll only obey me, I'll never look sour."

"Tis said the next Sabbath, ere going to church,

He chanced for a clean pair of trowsers to search :

Having found them, he asked, with a few nervous twitches, "My dear, may we put on our new Sunday breeches ? "

THE SONG OF THE FORGE.

119

CLA

THE SONG OF THE FORGE.

LANG, clang! the massive anvils ring;
Clang, clang! a hundred hammers swing;

Like the thunder-rattle of a tropic sky,

The mighty blows still multiply;

Clang, clang!

Say, brothers of the dusky brow,

What are your strong arms forging now?
Clang, clang!-We forge the colter now,-
The colter of the kindly plow;

Prosper it, Heaven, and bless our toil!
May its broad furrow still unbind
To genial rains, to sun and wind,
The most benignant soil!

Clang, clang!Our colter's course shall be
On many a sweet and sheltered lea,
By many a streamlet's silver tide,
Amid the song of morning birds,
Amid the low of sauntering herds,
Amid soft breezes which do stray
Through woodbine hedges and sweet May,
Along the green hill's side.

When regal Autumn's bounteous hand.
With widespread glory clothes the land,-
When to the valleys, from the brow
Of each resplendent slope, is rolled
A ruddy sea of living gold,-
We bless-we bless the PLOW.

Clang, clang!-Again, my mates, what glows
Beneath the hammer's potent blows ?—
Clang, clang!-We forge the giant CHAIN,
Which bears the gallant vessel's strain,
'Mid stormy winds and adverse tides;
Secured by this, the good ship braves
The rocky roadstead, and the waves
Which thunder on her sides.

Anxious no more, the merchant sees

120

THE SONG OF THE FORGE.

The mist drive dark before the breeze,
The storm-cloud on the hill;

Calmly he rests, though far away
In boisterous climes his vessel lay,
Reliant on our skill.

Say on what sands these links shall sleep,
Fathoms beneath the solemn deep;

By Afric's pestilential shore,

By many an iceberg, lone and hoar,-
By many a palmy Western isle,
Basking in Spring's perpetual smile,-
By stormy Labrador?

Say, shall they feel the vessel reel,
When to the battery's deadly peal
The crashing broadside makes reply?
Or else, as at the glorious Nile,

Hold grappling ships, that strive the while
For death or victory?

Hurra!-Clang, clang!-Once more, what glows,

Dark brothers of the forge, beneath
The iron tempest of your blows,

The furnace's red breath?

Clang, clang!-A burning torrent, clear
And brilliant, of bright sparks, is poured
Around and up in the dusky air,

As our hammers forge the sword.
The sword!—a name of dread; yet when
Upon the freeman's thigh 'tis bound,
While for his altar and his hearth,
While for the land that gave him birth,

The war-drums roll, the trumpets sound,
How sacred is it then!

Whenever for the truth and right
It flashes in the van of fight,-
Whether in some wild mountain-pass,
As that where fell Leonidas,—
Or on some sterile plain, and stern,
A Marston or a Bannockburn,—-

« AnteriorContinuar »