O

THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM

FREEDOM! thou art not, as poets dream,

A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs,
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap

With which the Roman master crowned his slave
When he took off the gyves. A bearded man,
Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailèd hand
Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow,
Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred

With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs

Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched
His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee;
They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven.
Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep,

And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires,

Have forged thy chain; yet while he deems thee bound,

The links are shivered, and the prison walls
Fall outward; terribly thou springest forth,
As springs the flame above a burning pile,
And shoutest to the nations, who return
Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC

F Nelson and the North

OF

Sing the glorious day's renown,

When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone:
By each gun the lighted brand

In a bold, determined hand,

And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine, While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line:

It was ten of April morn by the chime.
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.

But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rushed

O'er the deadly space between.

172

THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC

"Hearts of Oak!" our captains cried; when each gun

From its adamantine lips

Spread a death shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.

Again! again! again!

And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane,
To our cheering sent us back;

Their shots along the deep slowly boom:-
Then cease-and all is wail,

As they strike the shattered sail,
Or, in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom.

Now joy, old England, raise

For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities blaze,

Whilst the wine cup shines in light;
And yet, amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep
Full many a fathom deep

By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore.

THOMAS CAMPBELl.

Ο

THE CAVALRY CHARGE

UR good steeds snuff the evening air,
Our pulses with their purpose tingle;
The foeman's fires are twinkling there;
He leaps to hear our sabres jingle.

Halt!

Each carbine sent its whizzing ball:
Now cling! clang! forward all
Into the fight!

Dash on beneath the smoking dome!
Through level lightnings gallop nearer!
One look to Heaven! No thoughts of home;
The guidons that we bear are dearer.

Charge!

Cling! clang! forward all!

Heaven help those whose horses fall!
Cut left and right!

They flee before our fierce attack!

They fall! they spread in broken surges!
Now, comrades, bear our wounded back
And leave the foeman to his dirges!
Wheel!

The bugles sound the swift recall;
Cling! clang! backward all!

Home, and good-night!

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.