Impregnable their front appears, Whose polished points before them shine, Bright as the breakers' splendors run Opposed to these, a hovering band Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke And now the work of life and death Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, That line 't were suicide to meet, And perish at their tyrants' feet, How could they rest within their graves, And leave their homes the homes of slaves? Would they not feel their children tread With clanging chains above their head? It must not be: this day, this hour, It did depend on one indeed; Unmarked he stood amid the throng, Till you might see, with sudden grace, Tell where the bolt would strike, and how. But 't was no sooner thought than done, The field was in a moment won: "Make way for Liberty!" he cried, "Make way for Liberty!" he cried; Swift to the breach his comrades fly; Rout, ruin, panic, scattered all; Thus Switzerland again was free; Thus death made way for Liberty! THE OLD CONTINENTALS By GUY HUMPHREYS MCMASTER N their ragged regimentals When the grenadiers were lunging, Cannon-shot; When the files Of the isles, From the smoky night encampment, bore the banner of the rampant Unicorn, And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the roll of the drummer, Through the morn! Then with eyes to the front all, Stood our sires; And the balls whistled deadly, As the roar On the shore, Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green sodded acres Of the plain; And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder, Cracking amain! Now like smiths at their forges Cannoneers; And the "villainous saltpetre" Rung a fierce, discordant metre Round their ears; As the swift Storm-drift, With hot sweeping anger, came the horseguards clangor On our flanks. Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old-fash ioned fire Through the ranks! Then the old-fashioned colonel And his broad sword was swinging Then the blue And the trooper jackets redden at the touch of the leaden Rifle-breath; And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron six-pounder, Hurling death! "A THE PICKET-GUARD By MRS. ETHEL LYNN BEERS LL quiet along the Potomac," they say, "Except now and then a stray picket Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, By a rifleman hid in the thicket. 'Tis nothing: a private or two, now and then, Will not count in the news of the battle; Not an officer lost-only one of the men, • Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle.' All quiet along the Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon, Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. |