THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY. HAT flower is this that greets the morn, Its hues from Heaven so freshly born? With burning star and flaming band It kindles all the sunset land: O tell us what its name may be, Is this the Flower of Liberty? It is the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty! In savage Nature's far abode Its tender seed our fathers sowed; The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud, Then hail the banner of the free, Behold its streaming rays unite, Then hail the banner of the free, The blades of heroes fence it round, It makes the land as ocean free, Then hail the banner of the free, Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom's flower, In blackening frost or crimson dew, - THE SWEET LITTLE MAN. DEDICATED TO THE STAY-AT-HOME RANGERS. OW, while our soldiers are fighting our battles, Each at his post to do all that he can, Down among rebels and contraband chattels, All the brave boys under canvas are sleeping, All of them pressing to march with the van, Far from the home where their sweethearts are weeping; What are you waiting for, sweet little man? You with the terrible warlike moustaches, Fit for a colonel or chief of a clan, You with the waist made for sword-belts and sashes, Where are your shoulder-straps, sweet little man?, Bring him the buttonless garment of woman! Muster the Apron-string Guards on the Common, Give him for escort a file of young misses, All the fair maidens about him shall cluster, Pluck the white feathers from bonnet and fan, Make him a plume like a turkey-wing duster, That is the crest for the sweet little man! - O, but the Apron-string Guards are the fellows! Drilling each day since our troubles began, "Handle your walking-sticks!" "Shoulder um brellas!" That is the style for the sweet little man. Have we a nation to save? In the first place Surely the spot where there's shooting 's the worst place Where I can stand, says the sweet little man. Catch me confiding my person with strangers! Such was the stuff of the Malakoff-takers, Such were the soldiers that scaled the Redan; Truculent housemaids and bloodthirsty Quakers, Brave not the wrath of the sweet little man! Yield him the sidewalk, ye nursery maidens ! When the red flails of the battle-field's threshers When the brown soldiers come back from the borders, How will he look while his features they scan? How will he feel when he gets marching orders, Signed by his lady love? sweet little man! Fear not for him, though the rebels expect him, Life is too precious to shorten its span ; Woman her broomstick shall raise to protect him, Will she not fight for the sweet little man! Now then, nine cheers for the Stay-at-home Ranger! Blow the great fish-horn and beat the big pan! First in the field that is farthest from danger, Take your white-feather plume, sweet little man! VIVE LA FRANCE! A SENTIMENT OFFERED AT THE DINNER TO H. I. H. THE PRINCE NAPOLEON, AT THE REVERE HOUSE, SEPTEMBER 25, 1861. HE land of sunshine and of song! Whose breasts have poured its wine; Our trusty friend, our true ally Through varied change and chance: Above our hosts in triple folds Sister in trial! who shall count |