GEMS OF POETRY, FROM FORTY-EIGHT AMERICAN POETS.

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الصفحة 94 - TO A WATERFOWL Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
الصفحة 95 - There is a Power whose care teaches thy way along that pathless coast, the desert and illimitable air — lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, at that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, though the dark night is near.
الصفحة 41 - Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar; — The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with heroes...
الصفحة 48 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the...
الصفحة 163 - Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice In echoing hearts A sound must long remain ; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers.
الصفحة 42 - Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquered knee; — The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea!
الصفحة 17 - Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendors fly In triumph o'er his closing eye.
الصفحة 17 - Flag of the free heart's hope and home, By angel hands to valor given ! Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven. Forever float that standard sheet ! Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ? JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.
الصفحة 19 - That lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp — A moment — and away Back to the pathless forest, Before the peep of day. 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, Forever, from our...
الصفحة 18 - Woe to the English soldiery That little dread us near ! On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear : When, waking to their tents on fire, They grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us Are beat to earth again...

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