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 are the foes 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 hath washed out their foul footstep's 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! Blessed with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued 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!

F. S. KEY.

XXXVIII. — THE CHAMOIS* HUNTER.

NIGHT gloomed apace, and dark on high
The thousand banners of the sky

Their awful width unfurled,
Veiling Mont Blanc's majestic brow,
That seemed, among its cloud-wrapt snow,
The ghost of some dead world,-

When Pierre, the hunter, cheerly went
To scale the Catton's battlement

Before the peep of day.

He took his rifle, pole, and rope-
His heart and eyes alight with hope,
He hasted on his way.

* Pronounced sham'o-a; the last a broad, as in fall.

And now he nears the chasmed ice;
He stoops to leap, and in a trice

His foot hath slipped!-O, heaven! ·
He hath leaped in, and down he falls
Between those blue, tremendous walls,
Standing asunder riven !

But quick his clutching, nervous grasp
Contrives a jutting crag to clasp,
And thus he hangs in air;-
O, moment of exulting bliss!
Yet hope, so nearly hopeless, is
Twin-brother to despair.

He looked beneath, - a horrible doom!
Some thousand yards of deepening gloom
Where he must drop to die!
He looked above, and many a rood
Upright the frozen ramparts stood,
Around a speck of sky.

There two long dreadful hours he hung,
And often, by strong breezes swung,
His fainting body twists;

Scarce can he cling one moment more
His half-dead hands are ice, and sore
His burning, bursting wrists.

His head grows dizzy
He half resolves;

he must drop: but stop, O, stop!

Hold on to the last spasm!
Never in life give up your hope:
Behold! behold! a friendly rope
Is dropping down the chasm!

They call thee, Pierre! See, see them here;
Thy gathered neighbors far and near:

Be cool, man -hold on fast!

337

And so from out that terrible place,
With death's pale hue upon his face,
They drew him up at last.

And home he went, an altered man,
For many harrowing terrors ran
Through his poor heart that day:

He thought how all through life, though young,
Upon a thread, a hair, he hung,

Over a gulf midway:

He thought what fear it were to fall
Into the pit that swallows all,

Unwinged with hope and love:
And when the succor came, at last,
O, then he learnt how firm and fast
Was his best Friend above.

M. F. TUPPER.

- ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.

XXXIX.

SEPTEMBER, 1782.

TOLL for the brave! the brave that are no more!
All sunk beneath the wave, fast by their native shore!
Eight hundred of the brave, whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel, and laid her on her side.
A land-breeze shook the shrouds, and she was overset;
Down went the Royal George, with all her crew complete!

-

Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His last sea-fight is fought his work of glory done.
It was not in the battle; no tempest gave the shock ;
She sprang no fatal leak; she ran upon no rock.
His sword was in his sheath, his fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down with twice four hundred men.

Weigh the vessel up, once dreaded by our foes,

And mingle with our cup the tear that England owes !
Her timbers yet are sound, and she may float again,

Full charged with England's thunder, and plow the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone, his victories are o'er;

And he and his eight hundred shall plow the wave no more.

COWPER.

When o'er that bark the loud waves roared,
And blasts went howling round her,
Those Hebrews roused their wearied Lord, -
"Lord! help us, or we founder! "
He said, "Ye waters, peace, be still!"
The chafed waves sank reposing,
As wild herds rest on field and hill,
When clear, calm days are closing.

And, turning to the startled men
Who watched that surge subsiding,
He spoke in mournful accents then
These words of righteous chiding:
"O, ye, who thus fear wreck and death,
As if by Heaven forsaken,

How is it that ye have no faith,

Or faith so quickly shaken?"

Then, then those doubters saw with dread
The wondrous scene before them;
Their limbs waxed faint, their boldness fled,
Strange awe stole creeping o'er them:
"This, this," they said, "is Judah's Lord,
For powers divine array him;
Behold! he does but speak the word,
And winds and waves obey him!

339

REV. J. G. LYONS.

XLI.THE FLIGHT OF XERXES.

I SAW him on the battle-eve,

When like a king he bore him;
Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave,
And prouder chiefs, before him.

The warrior and the warrior's deeds,
The morrow and the morrow's meeds, -
No daunting thought came o'er him;
He looked around him, and his eye
Defiance flashed to earth and sky.

He looked on ocean, its broad breast
Was covered with his fleet:

On earth, and saw from East to West
His bannered millions meet;

While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast,
Shook with the war-cry of that host,
The thunder of their feet!

He heard the imperial echoes ring,
He heard, and felt himself a king.

I saw him next alone:

nor camp

Nor chief his steps attended;
Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp
With war-cries proudly blended.
He stood alone, whom Fortune high
So lately seemed to deify;

He, who with Heaven contended,
Fled like a fugitive and slave!—
Behind, the foe; before, the wave!

He stood-fleet, army, treasure, gone-
Alone, and in despair!

But wave and wind swept ruthless on,
For they were monarchs there;
And Xerxes, in a single bark,

Where late his thousand ships were dark,

Must all their fury dare.

What a revenge, a trophy, this,

For thee, immortal Salamis !

MISS JEWSBURY.

XLII.-TRUE AND FALSE VALOR.

TRUE valor springs from reason,
And tends to perfect honesty. The scope
Is always honor and the public good.
Valor in private quarrels is no valor;
No, not for reputation! That's man's idol
Set up 'gainst God's, the maker of all laws,