And Fame shall proclaim

When the battle-storm shall blow,
The pride and splendour of your name,
When the battle-storm shall blow.

Columbia needs no navies,

No bulwark but the sea;

Her strength is in a million hearts,
Determined to be free:

With the mountain-arms of Freedom
We'll crush the haughty foe,
As they pour to our shore

When the battle-storm shall blow,

When the clanging trumpet sounds the charge,
And the battle-storm shall blow.

Wave! wave, my gallant heroes,

Your banners to the sky!

And every man march on, resolved
To conquer or to die!
The spirit of great Washington
Shall lead us to the foe;

And Glory, in her story,

When the storm has ceased to blow,

Your names the world through shall resound,
When the storm has ceased to blow;

When Peace shall from the heavens descend,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

141

PEACE.-1815.

Song, on the restoration of Peace, by a gentleman of Baltimore.

BRAVE Sons of Columbia, by valour inspired,
The empire of law you have nobly defended;

Secured are the rights which your fathers acquired, And like theirs, through the world your renown has extended.

On the land and the main, every effort was vain,
In the circle of glory your course to restrain.

For no right would you yield, not an inch would retire;

Were your charter consumed, in its flames you'd expire.

Heaven arm'd your brave chiefs, though but striplings in war,

From the portals of Freedom triumphantly thunder'd; The climes of the east heard the sound from afar,

And at deeds so transcendent exultingly wonder'd; Every bolt that was hurl'd, every flame as it curl'd, From the chains of the ocean enfranchised the world, And no right, &c.

You've a clime in which Nature delights to expand,
And the range of the mind boasts co-equal extension;
The broad beams of science illumine your land,
And the arts into life make each useful invention.
No intolerance degrades, no bigotry shades,
No vile superstition your temples invades,

And no right will you yield, not an inch will retire; If your charter's consumed, in its flames you'll expire. Your union's a knot no intrigue can untie,

A band which the sword of no tyrant can sever; Chased by Reason, the shades of Opinion shall fly,

And the murmurs of Faction be silenced forever, From the father to son, every blessing you've won, Unimpair'd to the last generation shall run;

For no right, &c.

Now 'tis yours in the shade of mild peace to repose; May your shores form a couch to the heart-broken stranger;

Bright Liberty's balm heal Humanity's woes,

And the broad shield of law case the exile from danger. In each year as it flies, may new blessings arise, And grateful your vows ever mount to the skies, That no right, &c.

142 THE AMERICAN VOLUNTEER.

The trum-pet sounds, my coun - try

calls, A

can-non balls, And dye in blood my battle blade.

And

Ma - ry, gentle and sincere, Weep not, I

pray, when thus we part, Drive from thine eye the fall-ing

tear, And

ba - nish sorrow from thy heart.

For, should I, coward-like, await

The foes' approach in martial pride,
And see them force our farm-house gate,
With lust and rapine by their side,
I could not bear the keen rebuke

Thy screams would speak in that dread hour; I could not bear thy helpless look,

When struggling with a ruffian's power.

No! get my war-horse, I'll away

And meet the invader on the strand,
And they shall surely rue the day
They dared upon our coast to land.
And weep not, Mary, if I fall,

Nor heave thy bosom with a sigh-
Death is the common lot of all,
"Tis for my country I shall die.

And teach our little darling boy
That life is not with slavery wed;
Teach him to yield it up with joy,

At Freedom's call, on Honour's bed.
Tell him 'twas thus our heroes fought;
And, Mary, be thou sure to tell
Our little one, that thus he ought
To fight for thus his father fell.

143

THE RELICS OF WASHINGTON.

BY SILAS S. STEELE.
Tune-"Meeting of the Waters."

WHERE thy bright wave, Potomac, by fair Vernon

sweeps,

There, shrouded in glory, great Washington sleeps;

There the spirits of freedom exultingly roam,
Their blessings to breathe on the patriot's tomb.
No proud marble rears its high crest o'er his dust,
For Glory's hand lights up the grave of the just;
And the sun of his valour, which brighter still glows,
Shall hallow the spot where his relics repose.

While the genius of Freedom the earth shall illume,
His deeds shall light forth her brave sons to his tomb;
And his name's hallow'd splendour a watchword
shall be

For millions who yet shall resolve to be free.

144 THE YANKEE VOLUNTEER.

Tune-"The Poachers."

THE days of seventy-six, my boys,

We ever must revere:

Our fathers took their muskets then,
To fight for freedom dear.

Upon the plains of Lexington,
They made the foe look queer.

O, 'tis great delight to march and fight
As a Yankee volunteer.

The next, on famous Bunker hill,

Our standard they did rear;

'Twas there our gallant Warren fell

I tell it with a tear.

But, for their victory that day,

The foe did pay full dear:

O, 'tis great delight to march and fight

As a Yankee volunteer.