"Take thy banner! May it wave Proudly o'er the good and brave; "Take thy banner! and, beneath God will prosper thee! In the dark and trying hour, In the breaking forth of power, "Take thy banner! But, when night Spare him! he our love hath shared! "Take thy banner! - and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, And the muffled drum should beat The warrior took that banner proud, And it was his martial cloak and shroud! SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. I STOOD upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch The clouds were far beneath me; - bathed in light, They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, Like hosts in battle overthrown, As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, And rocking on the cliff was left The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. The veil of cloud was lifted, and below Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow I heard the distant waters dash, And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, The music of the village bell Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills; And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, Was ringing to the merry shout, That faint and far the glen sent out, Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke. If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,' Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. THERE is a quiet spirit in these woods, That dwells where'er the gentle south wind blows; And, babbling low amid the tangled woods, Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter. And frequent, on the everlasting hills, Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself In all the dark embroidery of the storm, And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid The silent majesty of these deep woods, Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards For them there was an eloquent voice in all - Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in, Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale, The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees, In many a lazy syllable, repeating Their old poetic legends to the wind. And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill As a bright image of the light and beauty That dwell in nature, - of the heavenly forms That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds The heaven of April, with its changing light, Her hair Is like the summer tresses of the trees, When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, It is so like the gentle air of Spring, As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it comes Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy To have it round us, and her silver voice Is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. ON sunny slope and beechen swell, Far upward in the mellow light Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, Around a far uplifted cone, In the warm blush of evening shone; An image of the silver lakes, By which the Indian's soul awakes. But soon a funeral hymn was heard Where the soft breath of evening stirred The tall, gray forest; and a band Of stern in heart, and strong in hand, Came winding down beside the wave, To lay the red chief in his grave. They sang, that by his native bowers A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin |