Over the dark brown furrows. All at once A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my dream, And I am in the wilderness alone. SONG OF MARION'S MEN. OUR band is few but true and tried, When Marion's name is told. Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery They grasp their arms in vain, A mighty host behind, And hear the tramp of thousands 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 On beds of oaken leaves. Well knows the fair and friendly moon The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steeds. That lifts his tossing mane. Before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee, 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, Forever, from our shore. THE ARCTIC LOVER. GONE is the long, long winter night; How glorious, through his depths of light, The willows, waked from winter's death, Give out a fragrance like thy breath- Ay, 'tis the long bright summer day: Seaward the glittering mountain rides, See, love, my boat is moored for thee, The petrel does not skim the sea More swiftly than my oar. We'll go, where, on the rocky isles, Or, bide thou where the poppy blows, With wind-flowers frail and fair, Seek and defy the bear. Fierce though he be, and huge of frame, This arm his savage strength shall tame, When crimson sky and flamy cloud And the dead valleys wear a shroud The white fox by thy couch shall play; And, from the frozen skies, Shall flash upon thine eyes. And I-for such thy vow-meanwhile THE JOURNEY OF LIFE. BENEATH the waning moon I walk at night, The trampled earth returns a sound of fearA hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs ; And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms. A mournful wind across the landscape flies, And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs. And I, with faltering footsteps, journey on, |