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On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,

Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence

reposes,

What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering

steep,

As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,

In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
'Tis the star-spangled banner! O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore

That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps'

pollution.

No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth

wave

O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

O thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand

Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!

Blest with vic'try and peace, may the heavenrescued land

Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto, "In God is our trust"; And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

HOW'S MY BOY?

By SYDNEY DOBELL

O, sailor of the sea!

"H How's my boy my boy?"

"What's your boy's name, good wife, And in what ship sailed he?"

"My boy John—

He that went to sea

What care I for the ship, sailor?

My boy's my boy to me.

"You come back from the sea,

And not know my John?

I might as well have asked some landsman

Yonder down in the town.

There's not an ass in all the parish

But he knows my John.

"How's my boy-my boy?

And unless you let me know

I'll swear you are no sailor,
Blue jacket or no,

Brass buttons or no, sailor,

Anchor and crown, or no!

Sure his ship was the 'Jolly Briton—””

"Speak low, woman, speak low!"

"And why should I speak low, sailor, About my own boy John?

If I was loud as I am proud
I'd sing him over the town!

Why should I speak low, sailor?" "That good ship went down."

"How's my boy-my boy?
What care I for the ship, sailor,
I was never aboard her.

Be she afloat or be she aground,
Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound
Her owners can afford her!

I say, how's my John?"

"Every man on board went down, Every man aboard her."

"How's my boy-my boy?

What care I for the men, sailor?

I'm not their mother

How's my boy-my boy?

Tell me of him and no other!

How's my boy-my boy?"

O

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM

By THOMAS CAMPBELL

UR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd,

And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground over

power'd,

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 dreamt it again.

Methought from the battlefield's dreadful array Far, far, I had roam'd 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 kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd 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 return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

MAKE WAY FOR LIBERTY!

By JAMES MONTGOMERY

NOTE. In the fourteenth century the Swiss people rose against their Austrian oppressors, and at Sempach they won, on July 9, 1386, a complete victory over an army which greatly exceeded them in numbers. According to tradition, a Swiss hero, Arnold Winkelried, seeing that the Austrian line was well-nigh unbreakable, gathered the spears of several of his enemies in his arms and pressed the points against his breast, thus making a way for his companions. A monument was erected in his honor five centuries after the battle.

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grown;

AKE way for Liberty!"-he cried;

Made way for Liberty, and died!

In arms the Austrian phalanx stood.
A living wall, a human wood!

A wall, where every conscious stone
Seemed to its kindred thousands

A rampart all assaults to bear,

Till time to dust their frames should wear;

A wood, like that enchanted grove

In which with fiends Rinaldo strove,
Where every silent tree possessed
A spirit prisoned in its breast,

Which the first stroke of coming strife
Would startle into hideous life;

So dense, so still, the Austrians stood,
A living wall, a human wood!

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