Volume Ii Part 13 (1/2)

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 to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain; 'Tis life to feel the night wind That lifts his tossing mane.

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 h.o.a.ry 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, Forever, from our sh.o.r.e.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

STARS.

They glide upon their endless way, Forever calm, forever bright; No blind hurry, no delay, Mark the Daughters of the Night; They follow in the track of Day, In divine delight.

s.h.i.+ne on, sweet-orbed Souls for aye, Forever calm, forever bright; We ask not whither lies your way, Nor whence ye came, nor what your light.

Be--still a dream throughout the day, A blessing through the night.

BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (BARRY CORNWALL).

NIGHT.

The sun descendeth in the west, The evening star does s.h.i.+ne; The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine.

The moon, like a flower, In heaven's high bower, With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy groves, Where flocks have ta'en delight; Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves The feet of angels bright; Unseen, they pour blessing, And joy without ceasing, On each bud and blossom, And each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest, Where birds are covered warm, They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm.

If they see any weeping That should have been sleeping, They pour sleep on their head, And sit down by their bed.

WILLIAM BLAKE.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.