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Give me of wine! death quenches not
Thirst that consumes the soul.
Cheerily laughs thy sun?—its beams
Thou welcomest, yet I
Of madness floated by.
The worm gnaws on my heart;
THE AMERICAN BANNER.
O’ER the thousand hills of fame,
Peerless banner! wavest thou.
Beam the stars of glory now.
Years have fled since bold hearts high
’Neath the symbol of the free: That proud oath, where storm-clouds curled
They redeemed, and thou unfurled,
Wavest, flag of liberty!
Eyes beheld thee on that field,
In the warrior's stirless sleep.
Immortality to reap.
Standard! float forever thou
Cheering nations-cheering Greece!
Hover, angel-dove of peace. 1825.
WINTER! there are among the race of men,
Strangers to thought who slander thee; Thy frowns appal, thy smiles escape their ken,
Far lovelier the garb thou wear'st to me.
I love thy rocking storms to hear;
Thy blasts, that bid the aged mountains nod, Thy winds are music to mine ear,
To me their murmuring is the voice of God.
Thou of the kindly charities!
'Tis thine to thaw man's heart—the frigid soul, Sterner than frost, is melted, nor denies
Its aid to bid the tempest-tost be whole.
Yea mother! thou art not austere;
Though frozen be thy aspect, bliss is thine Unknown to fairer May. Upon thy shrine
Ever is seen the grateful orphan's tear.
Parent of treasures, thou!
Should I not love thee? O, can aught compare With thy dear fireside joys?—the tranquil brow,
The wife's warm smile and children's kiss are there.
FOURTH OF JULY.
When thy own Israel, God of love,
Forth from Egyptian bondage came,
In thy pavilion car of flame.
To guide and guard the chosen band,
From peril, to the promised land.
So wast thou, Lord! our fathers' shield,
When they were feeble and alone; Thou, from thy war-cloud, on that field
Look’dst, and the vaunting foe was gone. So didst thou guide them, when no more
Flashed banners out and glittering swords; And thou hast blest the sea and shore,
Whose toil and battle were the Lord's.
We worship where those warriors stood,
When drum and trumpet sounded long; And on the soil that drank their blood
In peace we pour the festive song: That soil!-it nourished Freedom's tree,
The plant that freshly bourgeons now; O God, may unborn nations see
Our sons rejoice beneath its bough.
We worship-but where are the Brave
That warred and watched in manhood's bloom? Their locks are hoar, and some do wave
Amid the breezes of the tomb.
Wilt overshadow Freedom's coasts;
Homage to thee, Lord God of Hosts!
ON HIS EXPECTED VISIT TO THE UNITED STATES
WRITTEN IN MAY, 1824.
Thou wilt seek, aged warrior! once more
T'he soil of the grateful and free;
Whose millions will recognize thee,
When arose the Revengeful and Proud: When the storm-burst was heard, and the star
Of freedom looked out from a cloud.
Thou wilt come and exulting survey,
Where that beautiful gem of the night, With splendour that mocks at the day,
Beams out on the field of the fight. Thou wilt come in the autumn of years,
To reap what thy spring-time had sown; To the grave, hoary man! thy compeers
Have descended, and thou art alone.
Thou wilt meet those whose glory and pride,
Whose feeling bid scorn to forget The Man whom adversity tried,
The friend of his species, Fayette ! In their sons live the fathers again,
And each bosom will throb to its core, When thou treadest the hills of the slain,
And the vales fertilized with their gore.