When, lifting high each sword of flame,
They call'd on ev'ry sacred name,
And swore, beside those dashing waves,
They never, never would be slaves!

And oh that oath was nobly kept,
From morn to setting sun,
Did desperation urge the fight
Which valour had begun ;

Till, torrent-like, the stream of blood
Ran down and mingled with the flood,
And all, from mountain cliff to wave,
Was Freedom's, Valour's, Glory's grave.

Oh, yes, that oath was nobly kept,
Which nobly had been sworn,
And proudly did each gallant heart
The foeman's fetters spurn;
And firmly was the fight maintain'd,
And amply was the triumph gain'd;
They fought, fair Liberty, for thee:
They fell-TO DIE IS TO BE FREE.

THE WATERS OF MARAH.

"And Moses cried unto the LORD, and the LORD showed him a tree, which, when he had cast into the waters, the waters were made sweet."

By Marah's stream of bitterness,

When Moses stood and cried,
JEHOVAH heard his fervent pray'r,
And instant help supplied:

The Prophet sought the precious tree
With prompt, obedient feet;

"Twas cast into the fount, and made
The bitter waters sweet.

Whene'er affliction o'er thee sheds
Its influence malign,

Then, suff'rer, be the Prophet's pray'r,
And prompt obedience, thine:
"Tis but a Marah's fount, ordain'd
Thy faith in God to prove,

And pray'r and resignation shall
Its bitterness remove

LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY.

INDIAN NAMES.

"How can the red men be forgotten, while so many of our states and territories, bays, lakes, and rivers, are indelibly stamped by names of their giving?"

YE say they all have pass'd away,

That noble race and brave,

That their light canoes have vanish'd

From off the crested wave.

That, mid the forests where they roam'd,

There rings no hunter's shout;

But their name is on your waters,

Ye may not wash it out.

"Tis where Ontario's billow

Like ocean's surge is curl'd,

Where strong Niagara's thunders wake

The echo of the world,

Where red Missouri bringeth

Rich tribute from the west,

And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps
On green Virginia's breast.

Ye say their conelike cabins,

That cluster'd o'er the vale,

Have disappear'd, as wither'd leaves
Before the autumn's gale;

But their memory liveth on your hills,
Their baptism on your shore,
Your everlasting rivers speak

Their dialect of yore.

Old Massachusetts wears it
Within her lordly crown,
And broad Ohio bears it

Amid his young renown.
Connecticut hath wreath'd it

Where her quiet foliage waves,
And bold Kentucky breathes it hoarse
Through all her ancient caves.

Wachusett hides its lingering voice
Within his rocky heart,
And Alleghany graves its tone
Throughout his lofty chart.
Monadnock, on his forehead hoar,
Doth seal the sacred trust,
Your mountains build their monument,
Though ye destroy their dust.

CONTENTMENT.

THINK'ST thou the steed that restless roves
O'er rocks and mountains, fields and groves,
With wild, unbridled bound,
Finds fresher pasture than the bee,
On thymy bank or vernal tree,
Intent to store her industry

Within her waxen round?

Think'st thou the fountain forced to turn
Through marble vase or sculptured urn,
Affords a sweeter draught

Than that which, in its native sphere,
Perennial, undisturb'd and clear,
Flows, the lone traveller's thirst to cheer,
And wake his grateful thought?

Think'st thou the man whose mansions hold
The worldling's pomp and miser's gold,
Obtains a richer prize

Than he who, in his cot at rest,
Finds heavenly peace, a willing guest,
And bears the promise in his breast
Of treasure in the skies?

THE WESTERN EMIGRANT.

AN ax rang sharply mid those forest shades
Which from creation towards the skies had tower'd
In unshorn beauty. There, with vigorous arm,
Wrought a bold emigrant, and by his side

His little son, with question and response,
Beguiled the toil.

"Boy, thou hast never seen

Such glorious trees. Hark, when their giant trunks
Fall, how the firm earth groans. Rememberest thou
The mighty river, on whose breast we sail'd,
So many days, on towards the setting sun?
Our own Connecticut, compared to that,

Was but a creeping stream."

"Father, the brook

That by our door went singing, where I launch'd
My tiny boat, with my young playmates round
When school was o'er, is dearer far to me
Than all these bold, broad waters. To my eye
They are as strangers. And those little trees
My mother nurtured in the garden bound

Of our first home, from whence the fragrant peach
Hung in its ripening gold, were fairer, sure,
Than this dark forest, shutting out the day."
"What, ho! my little girl," and with light step
A fairy creature hasted towards her sire,
And, setting down the basket that contain'd

His noon repast, look'd upward to his face
With sweet, confiding smile.

"See, dearest, see,
That bright-wing'd paroquet, and hear the song
Of yon gay redbird, echoing through the trees,
Making rich music. Didst thou ever hear,
In far New-England, such a mellow tone?"
"I had a robin that did take the crumbs
Each night and morning, and his chirping voice
Did make me joyful as I went to tend

My snowdrops. I was always laughing then
In that first home. I should be happier now,
Methinks, if I could find among these dells
The same fresh violets."

Slow night drew on,

And round the rude hut of the emigrant
The wrathful spirit of the rising storm

Spake bitter things. His weary children slept,
And he, with head declined, sat listening long
To the swoln waters of the Illinois,

Dashing against their shores.

Starting, he spake : "Wife! did I see thee brush away a tear? 'Twas even so. Thy heart was with the halls Of thy nativity. Their sparkling lights, Carpets, and sofas, and admiring guests, Befit thee better than these rugged walls Of shapeless logs, and this lone, hermit home." "No, no. All was so still around, methought Upon mine ear that echoed hymn did steal, Which, mid the church where erst we paid our vows, So tuneful peal'd. But tenderly thy voice Dissolved the illusion."

And the gentle smile

Lighting her brow, the fond caress that sooth'd

Her waking infant, reassured his soul

That, wheresoe'er our best affections dwell,

R