LANDER.

Take him, New England, now his work is done.
He fought the good fight valiantly and won.
Speak of his daring. This man held his blood
Cheaper than water for the nation's good.

163

Rich Mountain, Fairfax, Romney, — he was there. Speak of him gently, of his mien, his air;

How true he was, how his strong heart could bend With sorrow, like a woman's, for a friend: Intolerant of every mean desire :

Ice where he liked not; where he loved, all fire.

Take him, New England, gently.

Other days,

Peaceful and prosperous, shall give him praise.

How will our children's children breathe his name,
Bright on the shadowy muster-roll of fame!

Take him, New England, gently; you can fold
No purer patriot in your soft brown mould.

So, on New England's bosom, let him lie,
Sleeping awhile-- as if the Good could die!

164

GENTLY! GENTLY!

GENTLY! GENTLY!

Among the wounded was a young soldier whose limbs were fearfully shattered. Though evidently in intense pain, he uttered no cry; but, as the carriers raised the "stretcher" he was on, he whispered, "Gently! gently!"

THO

THOUGH he neither sighs nor groans,
Death is busy with his bones:

Bear him o'er the jutting stones

Gently gently!

Sisters, faithful to your vow,

Swathe his limbs and cool his brow:

Peace! his soul is passing now
Gently! gently!

He has fallen in the strife!

Tell it to his widowed wife,

And to her who gave him life,

Gently gently!

Loudly praise the brave who gem
With their blood our diadem:

And their faults-oh, speak of them

Gently! gently!

The

NOT YET.

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

COUNTRY, marvel of the earth!
O realm to sudden greatness grown !
age that gloried in thy birth,
Shall it behold thee overthrown?
Shall traitors lay that greatness low?
No, Land of Hope and Blessing, No!

And we who wear thy glorious name,
Shall we, like cravens, stand apart,
When those whom thou hast trusted aim
The death-blow at thy generous heart?
Forth goes the battle-cry, and lo!
Hosts rise in harness, shouting, No!

And they who founded, in our land,
The power that rules from sea to sea,
Bled they in vain, or vainly planned
To leave their country great and free?
Their sleeping ashes, from below,
Send up the thrilling murmur, No!

Knit they the gentle ties which long

These sister States were proud to wear,

And forged the kindly links so strong
For idle hands in sport to tear,
For scornful hands aside to throw ?
No, by our fathers' memory, No!

Our humming marts, our iron ways,

Our wind-tossed woods on mountain crest,

The hoarse Atlantic, with his bays,

The calm, broad Ocean of the West,

And Mississippi's torrent flow,

And loud Niagara, answer, No!

Not yet the hour is nigh, when they
Who deep in Eld's dim twilight sit,
Earth's ancient kings, shall rise and say,
"Proud country, welcome to the pit!
So soon art thou, like us, brought low?"
No, sullen groups of shadows, No!

For now, behold the arm that gave
The victory in our fathers' day,
Strong, as of old, to guard and save,

That mighty arm which none can stay,
On clouds above and fields below,
Writes, in men's sight, the answer, No!

MARCH ALONG.

167

MARCH ALONG.

BY GEORGE H. BOKER.

SOLDIERS are we from the mountain and valley,

Soldiers are we from the hill and the plain;

Under the flag of our fathers we rally;
Death, for its sake, is but living again.

Then march along, gay and strong,
March to battle with a song!

March, march along!

We have a history told of our nation,
We have a name that must never go down;
Heroes achieved it through toil and privation;
Bear it on, bright with its ancient renown!
Then march along, etc.

Who that shall dare say the flag waving o'er us, Which floated in glory from Texas to Maine, Must fall, where our ancestors bore it before us, Writes his own fate on the roll of the slain. Then march along, etc.

Look at it, traitors, and blush to behold it!
Quail as it flashes its stars in the sun!