No refuge could save the hireling and slave O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between our loved home and the war's desolation; Bless'd with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation! Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just, And this be our motto, “In God is our trust ;" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave THE CHARGE AT WATERLOO. ON came the whirlwind-like the last On came the whirlwind-steel-gleams broke SIR WALTER SCOTT. Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud, Beneath their fire, in full career, And, hurrying as to havoc near, The cohorts' eagles flew. In one dark torrent, broad and strong, The advancing onset rolled along, Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim, That from the shroud of smoke and flame, And on the wounded and the slain Till from their lines scarce spears' lengths three, Helmet, and plume, and panoply— Then waked their fire at once! As when they practise to display Then down went helm and lance, Down rent the eagle-banners sent, Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, Then to the musket knell succeeds GERALD MASSEY. THE BATTLE MARCH. Now glory to our England, As she rises, calm and grand, With the ancient spirit in her eyes,- Was aye to bear the brunt: Ho! brave heart! for one passionate bound, And take thy place in front! Now glory to our England, As she rises, calm and grand, With the ancient spirit in her eyesThe good Sword in her hand! Who would not fight for England? I' the ring, to meet a Tyrant's gage, Her stem is thorny, but doth burst And shall our dear Rose wither? First I' the ring, to meet a Tyrant's gage, To battle goes our England, A merry marriage-day. A weary night she stood to watch And her spirit leaps within, to match To battle goes our England, Now, fair befall our England, On her proud and perilous road; On her proud and perilous road; Now, victory to our England! And where'er she lifts her hand And when the storm has passed away, May she sit down i' the green o' the day, And where'er she lifts her hand LAISSEZ ALLER! No more words: Try it with your swords! FRANKLIN LUSHINGTON. Try it with the arms of your bravest and your best, Try it by the sword. No more Notes: Try it by the throats. Of the cannon that will roar till the earth and air be shaken, For they speak what they mean, and they cannot be mistaken: No more doubt: Come-fight it out. No child's play! Serve out the deadliest weapons that you know, You that in the front Bear the battle's brunt When the sun gleams at dawn on the bayonets abreast, Think of England still asleep beyond the curtain of the west. For love of all you guard, Stand, and strike hard. You that stay at home, Behind the wall of foam Leave not a jot to chance, while you rest in quiet ease: Quick! forge the bolts of death; quick! ship them o'er the seas: If War's feet are lame, Yours will be the blame. You, my lads, abroad, You at home, be the anchor of your host across the wave, Spare no cost, none is lost, that may strengthen or may save: Sloth were sin and shame: Now, play out the game. MY FATHERLAND. Where is the minstrel's fatherland? Where noble spirits beam in light, Where love-wreaths bloom for beauty bright; Of every high and hallowed theme. This was the minstrel's fatherland. How name ye the minstrel's fatherland? Now o'er the corses of children slain, So named we once my fatherland! Why weeps the minstrel's fatherland? She weeps, that for a tyrant still, And that none will list to her vengeful cry. Therefore weeps my fatherland! Whom calls the minstrel's fatherland? She calls upon the God of Heaven, In a voice which vengeance'-self hath given; Thus calls the minstrel's fatherland! KORNER |