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We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,

Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.

Wo to the English soldiery
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear:
When waking to their tents on fire
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again;
And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind,

And hear the tramp of thousands
Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release

From danger and from toil:

We talk the battle over,

And share the battle's spoil.

The woodland rings with laugh and shout,

As if a hunt were up,

And woodland flowers are gathered

To crown the soldier's cup.

With merry songs we mock the wind

That in the pine-top grieves,

And slumber long and sweetly,
On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads-

The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life our fiery barbs to guide
Across the moonlight plains;
'Tis life to feel the night wind
That lifts their tossing manes.
A moment in the British camp--
A moment and away
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs,
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band,
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton,
For ever from our shore.

BRYANT.

97. THE DEATH OF ALIATAR.

'Tis not with gilded sabres
That gleam in baldricks blue,
Nor nodding plumes in caps of Fez,
Of gay and gaudy hue-
But habited in mourning weeds,
Come marching from afar,
By four and four, the valiant men
Who fought with Aliatar.
All mournfully and slowly

'The afflicted warriors come, To the deep wail of the trumpet, And beat of muffled drum.

The banner of the Phenix,

The flag that loved the sky,
That scarce the wind dared wanton with,
It flew so proud and high-
Now leaves its place in battle-field,
And sweeps the ground in grief;
The bearer drags its glorious folds
Behind the fallen chief,

As mournfully and slowly.

'

The afflicted warriors come, To the deep wail of the trumpet, And beat of muffled drum.

Brave Aliatar led forward
A hundred Moors to go

To where his brother held Motril
Against the leaguering foe.

On horseback went the gallant Moor,
That gallant band to lead;

And now his bier is at the gate,

From whence he prick'd his steed. While mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.

The knights of the Grand Master
In crowded ambush lay;

They rush'd upon him where the reeds
Were thick beside the way;
They smote the valiant Aliatar,
They smote him till he died,
And broken, but not beaten, were
The brave ones by his side.
Now mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.

O! what was Zayda's sorrow,
How passionate her cries!

Her lover's wounds stream'd not more free
Than that poor maiden's eyes.

Say, love-for thou didst see her tears:
O, no! he drew more tight

The blinding fillet o'er his lids,
To spare his eyes the sight.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.

Nor Zayda weeps him only,
But all that dwell between

The great Alhambra's palace walls
And springs of Albaicin.

The ladies weep the flower of knights,
The brave the bravest here:
The people weep a champion,
The alcaydes a noble peer.
While mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come,

To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.

BRYANT

98. THE AMERICAN EAGLE.

eye

BIRD of the heavens! whose matchless
Alone can front the blaze of day,
And, wandering through the radiant sky,
Ne'er from the sunlight turns away;
Whose ample wing was made to rise
Majestic o'er the loftiest peak,
On whose chill tops the winter skies,
Around thy nest, in tempests speak.
What ranger of the winds can dare,
Proud mountain king! with thee compare ;
Or lift his gaudier plumes on high
Before thy native majesty,

When thou hast ta'en thy seat alone,
Upon thy cloud-encircled throne?

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Bird of the cliffs! thy noble form
Might well be thought almost divine;
Born for the thunder and the storm,

The mountain and the rock are thine;
And there, where never foot has been,
Thy eyry is sublimely hung,
Where lowering skies their wrath begin,
And loudest lullabies are sung

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By the fierce spirit of the blast,
When, his snow mantle o'er him cast,
He sweeps across the mountain top,
With a dark fury naught can stop,
And wings his wild unearthly way
Far through the clouded realms of day.

Bird of the sun! to thee--to thee

The earliest tints of dawn are known, And 'tis thy proud delight to see

The monarch mount his gorgeous throne;
Throwing the crimson drapery by,
That half impedes his glorious way;
And mounting up the radiant sky,
E'en what he is,--the king of day!
Before the regent of the skies

Men shrink, and veil their dazzled eyes;
But thou, in regal majesty,

Hast kingly rank as well as he;
And with a steady, dauntless gaze,
Thou meet'st the splendour of his blaze.

Bird of Columbia! well art thou
An emblem of our native land;
With unblench'd front and noble brow,
Among the nations doom'd to stand;
Proud, like her mighty mountain woods;
Like her own rivers, wandering free;
And sending forth, from hills and floods,
The joyous shout of liberty!

Like thee, majestic bird! like thee,
She stands in unbought majesty,

With spreading wing, untired and strong,
That dares a soaring far and long,
That mounts aloft, nor looks below,
And will not quail though tempests blow.

The admiration of the earth,

In grand simplicity she stands; Like thee, the storms beheld her birth, And she was nursed by rugged hands; But, past the fierce and furious war, Her rising fame new glory brings, For kings and nobles come from far To seek the shelter of her wings. And like thee, rider of the cloud, She mounts the heavens serene and proud, Great in a pure and noble frame, Great in her spotless champion's name,

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