Our fortress is the good greenwood,

Our tent the cypress-tree;

We know the forest round us,

As seamen know the sea;

We know its walks of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass
Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.

Woe to the English soldiery
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear;
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again;
And they who fly in terror deem

A mighty host behind,

And hear the tramp of thousands
Upon the hollow wind.

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.
With merry songs we mock the wind
That in the pine-top grieves,
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.
'T is life to guide the fiery barb
Across the moonlight plain;
"T is life to feel the night-wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp-
A moment-and away,
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs;
Their hearts are all with Marion,

For Marion are their prayers.

And lovely ladies greet our band,

With kindest welcoming,

With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.

For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton,
Forever, from our shore.

PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE TO THE MEN OF GHENT.

Of

HENRY TAYLOR.

Sirs, ye have heard these knights discourse to

you

your ill fortunes, telling on their fingers

The worthy leaders ye have lately lost.

True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs;
And ill would it become us to make light
Of the great loss we suffer by their fall
They died like heroes; for no recreant step
Had e'er dishonored them, no stain of fear,
No base despair, no cowardly recoil.
They had the hearts of freemen to the last,
And the free blood that bounded in their veins

Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy.

But had they guessed, or could they but have dreamed,

The great examples which they died to show

Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless here, That men should say, "For liberty these died, Wherefore let us be slaves," had they thought this.

O, then, with what an agony of shame,

Their blushing faces buried in the dust,

Had their great spirits parted hence for Heaven!
What! shall we teach our chroniclers henceforth
To write, that in five bodies were contained
The sole brave hearts of Ghent! which five de-
funct,

The heartless town, by brainless counsel led,
Delivered up her keys, stript off her robes,
And so with all humility besought

Her haughty Lord that he would scourge her lightly?

It shall not be-no, verily! for now,

Thus looking on you as ye stand before me,
Mine eye can single out full many a man
Who lacks but opportunity to shine

As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell.
But, lo! the Earl is "mercifully minded!"

And, surely, if we, rather than revenge

The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame, And fall upon our knees, and say we've sinned, Then will my Lord the Earl have mercy on us, And pardon us our strike for liberty!

O, Sirs! look round you, lest ye be deceived. Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue, Forgiveness may be written with the pen,

But think not that the parchment and mouth pardon

Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart.

There's that betwixt you been which men remember,

Till they forget themselves, till all 's forgot,-
Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed
From which no morrow's mischief rouses them.
There's that betwixt you been which you your-
selves,

Should ye forget, would then not be yourselves;
For must it not be thought some base men's souls
Have ta'en the seats of yours and turned you out,
If, in the coldness of a craven heart,

Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man

For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes!