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The blades of heroes fence it round;
Where'er it springs is holy ground;
From tower and dome its glories spread;
It waves where lonely sentries tread;
It makes the land as ocean free,
And plants an empire on the sea!

Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom's flower,
Shall ever float on dome and tower,
To all their heavenly colors true,
In blackening frost or crimson dew, -
And God love us as we love thee,
Thrice holy Flower of Liberty!

Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

O. W. Holmes.

CCCXXXIX.

AN APPEAL.

LISTEN, young heroes! your country is calling!

Time strikes the hour for the brave and the true!

Now, while the foremost are fighting and falling,
Fill up the ranks that have opened for you!

You whom the fathers made free and defended,
Stain not the scroll that emblazons their fame!

You whose fair heritage spotless descended,

Leave not your children a birthright of shame!

Stay not for questions while Freedom stands gasping!
Wait not till Honor lies wrapped in his pall!
Brief the lips' meeting be, swift the hands' clasping, -
"Off for the Wars!" is enough for them all.

Break from the arms that would fondly caress you!
Hark! 't is the bugle-blast, sabres are drawn!

Mothers shall pray for you, fathers shall bless you,
Maidens shall weep for you when you are gone!

Never or now! cries the blood of a nation,

Poured on the turf where the red rose should bloom; Now is the day and the hour of salvation,Never or now! peals the trumpet of doom!

Never or now! roars the hoarse-throated cannon
Through the black canopy blotting the skies;
Never or now! flaps the shell-blasted pennon

O'er the deep ooze where the Cumberland lies!

From the foul dens where our brothers are dying,
Aliens and foes in the land of their birth,
From the rank swamps where our martyrs are lying
Pleading in vain for a handful of earth, ·

From the hot plains where they perish outnumbered, Furrowed and ridged by the battle-field's plough, Comes the loud summons; too long you have slumbered, Hear the last Angel-trump-Never or Now!

O. W. Holmes.

CCCXL.

THE LAST CHARGE.

OW, men of the North! will you join in the strife

Now,

For country, for freedom, for honor, for life?

The giant grows blind in his fury and spite,
One blow on his forehead will settle the fight!

Flash full in his eyes the blue lightning of steel,
And stun him with cannon-bolts peal upon peal!
Mount, troopers, and follow your game to its lair,
As the hound tracks the wolf and the beagle the hare!

Blow, trumpets, your summons, till sluggards awake!
Beat, drums, till the roofs of the fainthearted shake!

Yet, yet, ere the signet is stamped on the scroll,

Their names may be traced on the blood-sprinkled roll!

Trust not the false herald that painted your shield:
True honor to-day must be sought on the field!
Her scutcheon shows white with a blazon of red, –
The life-drops of crimson for liberty shed!

The hour is at hand, and the moment draws nigh!
The dog-star of treason grows dim in the sky!
Shine forth from the battle-cloud, light of the morn,
Call back the bright hour when the Nation was born!

The rivers of peace through our valleys shall run,
As the glaciers of tyranny melt in the sun;

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Smite, smite the proud parricide down from his throne, His sceptre once broken, the world is our own!

O. W. Holmes.

CCCXLI.

VOYAGE OF THE GOOD SHIP UNION.

'TIS

IS midnight: through my troubled dream
Loud wails the tempest's cry;

Before the gale, with tattered sail,

A ship goes plunging by.

What name? Where bound? The rocks around

Repeat the loud halloo.

The good ship Union, Southward bound:

God help her and her crew!

And is the old flag flying still

That o'er your fathers flew,

With bands of white and rosy light,

And field of starry blue?

-Ay! look aloft! its folds full oft

Have braved the roaring blast,

And still shall fly when from the sky
This black typhoon has past!

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The bark sails on; the Pilgrim's cape
Lies low along her lee,

Whose headland crooks its anchor-flukes

To lock the shore and sea.

No treason here! it cost too dear

To win this barren realm!

And true and free the hands must be
That hold the whaler's helm.

Still on! Manhattan's narrowing bay

No Rebel cruiser scars;
Her waters feel no pirate's keel

That flaunts the fallen stars!

But watch the light on yonder height,

Ay, pilot, have a care!

Some lingering cloud in mist may shroud
The capes of Delaware!

Say, pilot, what this fort may be,

Whose sentinels look down

From moated walls that show the sea

Their deep embrasures' frown?

The Rebel host claims all the coast,
But these are friends, we know,

Whose footprints spoil the "sacred soil,"
And this is? - Fort Monroe !

The breakers roar, - how bears the shore? -The traitorous wreckers' hands

Have quenched the blaze that poured its rays Along the Hatteras sands.

Ha! say not so! I see its glow!

Again the shoals display

The beacon light that shines by night,

The Union Stars by day!

The good ship flies to milder skies,
The wave more gently flows;
The softening breeze wafts o'er the seas
The breath of Beaufort's rose.
What fold is this the sweet winds kiss,
Fair-striped and many-starred,
Whose shadow palls these orphaned walls,
The twins of Beauregard ?

What! heard you not Port Royal's doom?
How the black war-ships came

And turned the Beaufort roses' bloom

To redder wreaths of flame?
How from Rebellion's broken reed
We saw his emblem fall,

As soon his curséd poison-weed
Shall drop from Sumter's wall?

On! on!

Pulaski's iron hail

Falls harmless on Tybee!

Her topsails feel the freshening gale,

She strikes the open sea;

She rounds the point, she threads the Keys
That guard the Land of Flowers,

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