The Execution of Nathan Hale

Photogravure after the engraving by A. H. Ritchie

was dispersed. All the tents, artillery, and stores fell into the hands of the Americans. The garrison, sallying forth, pursued St. Leger for a while, but the faithless Indians, enjoying his discomfiture, and willing to curry favor with the stronger party, kept up the chase nearly all the way to Oswego, laying ambushes every night, and diligently murdering the stragglers, until hardly a remnant of an army was left to embark with its crestfallen leader for Montreal.

NATHAN HALE.

BY FRANCIS MILES FINCH.

[Born in Ithaca, N. Y., June 9, 1827; is a judge of the U. S. District Court. The following lyric and "The Blue and the Gray" establish his poetic reputation.]

To drum beat and heart beat,

A soldier marches by:
There is color in his cheek,

There is courage in his eye,
Yet to drum beat and heart beat
In a moment he must die.

By starlight and moonlight,
He seeks the Briton's camp;

He hears the rustling flag,

And the armèd sentry's tramp;
And the starlight and moonlight
His silent wanderings lamp.

With slow tread and still tread,
He scans the tented line;
And he counts the battery guns

By the gaunt and shadowy pine;
And his slow tread and still tread
Gives no warning sign.

The dark wave, the plumed wave,
It meets his eager glance;
And it sparkles 'neath the stars,
Like the glimmer of a lance-

A dark wave, a plumed wave,
On an emerald expanse.

A sharp clang, a steel clang,
And terror in the sound!
For the sentry, falcon-eyed,

In the camp a spy hath found;
With a sharp clang, a steel clang,
The patriot is bound.

With calm brow, steady brow,
He listens to his doom;
In his look there is no fear,

Nor a shadow trace of gloom;
But with calm brow and steady brow,
He robes him for the tomb.

In the long night, the still night,
He kneels upon the sod;
And the brutal guards withhold
E'en the solemn word of God!
In the long night, the still night,
He walks where Christ hath trod.

'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn, He dies upon the tree;

And he mourns that he can lose

But one life for Liberty;

And in the blue morn, the sunny morn,

His spirit wings are free.

But his last words, his message words, They burn, lest friendly eye

Should read how proud and calm

A patriot could die,

With his last words, his dying words, A soldier's battle cry.

From Fame leaf and Angel leaf,

From monument and urn,

The sad of earth, the glad of heaven,
His tragic fate shall learn;

And on Fame leaf and Angel leaf

The name of HALE shall burn!