COLUMBIA. Columbia. Written during the author's service as an army chaplain, 1777-78. COLUMBIA, Columbia, to glory arise, The queen of the world, and the child of Thy genius commands thee; with rapture While ages on ages thy splendor unfold! name, Be freedom, and science, and virtue thy fame. To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire; skies. Fair science her gates to thy sons shall unbar, And the east see the morn hide the beams of her star. New bards, and new sages, unrivalled shall soar bring Their incense, more fragrant than odors of spring. Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend, refined, And virtue's bright image, instamped on the mind, With peace and soft rapture shall teach life to glow, And light up a smile in the aspect of woe. Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display, Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, and gold. COLUMBIA. As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendor shall flow, And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow; While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurled, Hush the tumult of war and give peace to the world. Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'erspread, From war's dread confusion I pensively strayed, The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired; The winds ceased to murmur; the thunders expired; Perfumes as of Eden flowed sweetly along, And a voice as of angels enchantingly sung : "Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, The queen of the world, and the child of the skies." Timothy Dwight. Song of Marion's Men. UR band is few, but true and tried, OUR Our leader frank and bold; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our tent the cypress-tree; As seamen know the sea; Within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery SONG OF MARION'S MEN. And hear the tramp of thousands 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. 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. A moment in the British camp, — and away A moment, |