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The foe himself recoiled aghast,
When, striking where he strongest lay,
Stormed home the towers of Monterey.
Our banners on those turrets wave,
And there our evening bugles play;
Who fought and fell at Monterey.
We are not many — we who pressed
Beside the brave who fell that day;
Than not have been at Monterey ?
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again.
Methought, from the battle-field's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track; 'Twas autumn,- and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,
And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to
part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, And my
wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. “Stay, stay with us, —rest, thou art weary and worn!”
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay,– But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.
Ye mariners of England,
That guard our native seas,
The battle and the breeze !
To match another foe!
And sweep through the deep,
Shall start from every wave!
And ocean was their grave.
As ye sweep through the deep,
Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep;
Her home is on the deep.
As they roar on the shore,
Shall yet terrific burn;
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors !
To the fame of your name,
SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL.
MIRIAM'S SONG. THOMAS MOORE.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave, — How vain was their boasting! the Lord hath but spoken,
And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! Jehovah has triumphed, - his people are free!
Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord !
Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride ? For the Lord hath looked out from his pillar of glory,
And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! Jehovah hath triumphed, — his people are free !