And they who fly in terror deem

A mighty host behind,

And hear the tramp of thousands

Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release

From danger and from toil:

We talk the battle over,

And share the battle's spoil.

The woodland rings with laugh and shout,

As if a hunt were up,

And woodland flowers are gathered

To crown the soldier's cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind
That in the pine-top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly
On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads-

The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds.

'Tis life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain; 'Tis life to feel the night-wind

That lifts his tossing mane.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs,
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band
With kindliest welcoming,

With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton,
For ever, from our shore.

THE ARCTIC LOVER.

GONE is the long, long winter night;

Look, my beloved one!

How glorious, through his depths of light,

Rolls the majestic sun!

The willows, waked from winter's death,

Give out a fragrance like thy breath

The summer is begun!

Ay, 'tis the long bright summer day:
Hark, to that mighty crash!

The loosened ice-ridge breaks away

The smitten waters flash.

Seaward the glittering mountain rides,

While, down its green translucent sides,

The foamy torrents dash.

See, love, my boat is moored for thee,

By ocean's weedy floor

The petrel does not skim the sea

More swiftly than my oar.

We'll go, where, on the rocky isles,

Her eggs the screaming sea-fowl piles
Beside the pebbly shore.

Or, bide thou where the poppy blows,
With wind-flowers frail and fair,
While I, upon his isle of snows,

Seek and defy the bear.

Fierce though he be, and huge of frame, This arm his savage strength shall tame,

And drag him from his lair.

When crimson sky and flamy cloud
Bespeak the summer o'er,

And the dead valleys wear a shroud

Of snows that melt no more,

I'll build of ice thy winter home,

With glistening walls and glassy dome, And spread with skins the floor.

The white fox by thy couch shall play;
And, from the frozen skies,
The meteors of a mimic day

Shall flash upon thine eyes.

And I-for such thy vow-meanwhile Shall hear thy voice and see thy smile,

Till that long midnight flies.

THE JOURNEY OF LIFE.

BENEATH the waning moon I walk at night,
And muse on human life-for all around
Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight,
And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground,

And broken gleams of brightness, here and there,
Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like air.

The trampled earth returns a sound of fear-
A hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs;
And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear
Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms.
A mournful wind across the landscape flies,
And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs.

And I, with faltering footsteps, journey on,
Watching the stars that roll the hours away,
Till the faint light that guides me now is gone,
And, like another life, the glorious day
Shall open o'er me from the empyreal height,

With warinth, and certainty, and boundless light.