Then he arose, with puzzled air,
And gazed upon the pictures there,

Marvelling much that such things were,
All so alive, and yet no stir:

And now he climbed into the niche

Where stood the suit of armor rich,
With golden tracery embossed,

And gazed on it in wonder lost,
From head to foot, with searching scan,
Surveyed the marvellous iron man;
Then, with a hand that nothing feared,
The visor carefully upreared,-

While Berkley saw, with a shudder of dread,

The horrid yawn of that iron head,—
Looked calmly in, and nothing saw,

Then closed it, having felt no awe.

Methinks to the angel of Peace 'twould be
A charmed and sacred sight to see
A child by an offcast coat of war,

Who dreamed not what 'twas fashioned for.
Heaven send the time when bloody Mars
Shall only be known among the stars,
And his armor, with its thousand scars,
In a niche, as a curious thing, be bound,
And peered into, and nothing found!

Oh, would some sweet bird of the South(2)
Might build in every cannon's mouth,

Till the only sound from its rusty throat
Should be the wren's or the bluebird's note,
That doves might find a safe resort
In the embrasures of every fort!

Again to the harp the urchin passed,
And sat him down, subdued and tame,
And seeming overweighed at last,

He leaned against the golden frame;
His black hair drooped along the strings,
Like a fainting night-bird's wings;
A long sigh heaved his tired breast,
And slumber soothed him into rest.

There, like a spirit bright and good,
The guardian moon above him stood:
She kissed his cheeks, caressed his hair,
And filled with happy dreams the air,
Till the smile which o'er his features strayed
The pleasure at his heart betrayed.`

Sir Hugh approached the sleeping child,

And stood with wondering thoughts beguiled.

How beautiful the picture there!—

The gold harp propping the weary head, The flashing cords, the shadowy hair, And over all the moonshine shed!

That slumbering face, it touched his heart,
And bade the puzzled memories start;
He had seen it in a dream before,—
A dream long gone to come no more.

To keep the weary sleeper warm,

He spread a mantle where he lay, And pressed it softly round his form,

Then turned with noiseless feet away, And left him there to dream at large, The shadows' and the white moon's charge.

VI.

THE RISING.

OUT of the North the wild news came,
Far flashing on its wings of flame,

Swift as the boreal light which flies
At midnight through the startled skies.

And there was tumult in the air,

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, And through the wide land everywhere The answering tread of hurrying feet, While the first oath of Freedom's gun Came on the blast from Lexington. And Concord, roused, no longer tame, Forgot her old baptismal name, Made bare her patriot arm of power, And swelled the discord of the hour.

82

The strife was loud, the time was wild, When from the sky Heaven's favorite child, Sweet Liberty, in joy descended;

A veil of lightning round her clung, Whereon the stars of morning hung, While o'er her head Jove's eagle swung, With all his thunderbolts attended.

She came with Victory hand in hand, Whose flashing eyes and streaming hair And gleaming robes and flaming brand Shot splendor through the dusky air, And gladdened the awakening land.

Wild was the night; but wilder still
The day which saw those sisters bright,
In all their beauty and their might,
Hanging above the battle-stroke,
Waving like banners through the smoke
That veiled the heights of Bunker Hill.
The field was wellnigh won, when, lo!
From the enraged and reeling foe

Another charge, another blow,

That reached and smote the patriot chief.

Pale Liberty recoiled a pace,

And for a moment veiled her face;