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.

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.
For ever 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?

OLD TUBAL CAIN-MACKAY.

OLD Tubal Cain was a man of might
In the days when the earth was young;
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright
The strokes of his hammer rung;

And he lifted high his brawny hand

On the iron glowing clear,

Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers
As he fashioned the sword and spear:

And he sang,

"Hurrah for my handiwork!

Hurrah for the spear and sword!

Hurrah for the hand that wields them well,

For he shall be king and lord!"

To Tubal Cain came many a one,

As he wrought by his roaring fire;

And each one prayed for a strong steel blade,
As the crown of his heart's desire.

And he made them weapons sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud for glee,

And gave him gifts of pearl and gold,

And spoils of the forest-tree;

And they sang,

“Hurrah for Tubal Cain,

Who has given us strength anew!

Hurrah for the smith, and hurrah for the fire,
And hurrah for the metal true!"

But a sudden change came o'er his heart
Ere the setting of the sun;

And Tubal Cain was filled with pain

For the evil he had done.

He saw that men, with rage and hate,

Made war upon their kind—

That the land was fed with the blood they shed,
And their lust for carnage blind;

And he said, "Alas! that ever I made,
Or that skill of mine should plan,
The spear and sword for man, whose joy
Is to slay his fellow-man."

And for many a day old Tubal Cain
Sat brooding o'er his woe;

And his hand forbore to smite the ore,
And his furnace smouldered low;
But he rose at last with a cheerful face,
And a bright, courageous eye,

And he bared his strong arm for the work,
While the quick flames mounted high;
And he said, "Hurrah for my handiwork!"
And the fire-sparks lit the air;

"Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made!” And he fashioned the first ploughshare!

And men, taught wisdom from the past,
In friendship joined their hands;

Hung the sword in the hall, and the spear on the wall,

And ploughed the willing lands;

And sang, "Hurrah for Tubal Cain!

Our staunch good friend is he;
And for the ploughshare and the plough

To him our prize shall be!

But when oppression lifts its hand,

Or a tyrant would be lord,

Though we may thank him for the plough,
We'll not forget the sword!"

RIENZI'S ADDRESS.-MITFORD.

FRIENDS: I come not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom ;-we are slaves!

The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beam
Falls on a slave !-not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory, and undying fame;
But base, ignoble slaves-slaves to a horde

Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords,

Rich in some dozen paltry villages—

Strong in some hundred spearsmen-only great

In that strange spell-a name! Each hour, dark fraud, Or open rapine, or protected murder,

Cries out against them. But this very day,

An honest man, my neighbor-there he stands

Was struck-struck like a dog, by one who wore

The badge of Ursini! because, forsooth,
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian! Be we men,
And suffer such dishonor?
The stain away in blood?

Men, and wash not
Such shames are common.

I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to you— I had a brother once-a gracious boy,

Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,

Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance! Rouse, ye Romans! rouse, ye slaves!
Have ye brave sons? Look, in the next fierce brawl,
To see them die! Have ye daughters fair? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonored! and if ye dare call for justice,

Be answered by the lash! Yet this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne
Of beauty, ruled the world! Yet we are Romans !
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman

Was greater than a king!—and once again—
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus !-once again I swear,

The eternal city shall be free! her sons
Shall walk with princes!

THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.-GREENE.

O'ER a low couch the setting sun

Had thrown its latest ray,

Where in his last strong agony
A dying warrior lay,

The stern, old Baron Rudiger,

Whose fame had ne'er been bent
By wasting pain, till time and toil

Its iron strength had spent.

"And what is death? I've dared him oft
Before the Paynim spear,—
Think ye he's entered at my gate,

Has come to seek me here?

I've met him, faced him, scorned him,
When the fight was raging hot,-
I'll try his might—I'll brave his power;
Defy, and fear him not.

A hundred hands were busy then,—
The banquet forth was spread,-
And rung the heavy oaken floor

With many a martial tread,

While from the rich, dark tracery

Along the vaulted wall,

Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear,

O'er the proud, old gothic hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate,

The mailed retainers poured,