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HAIL COLUMBIA.

BAIL Columbia, happy land.

Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band!
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
And when the storm of war was gone
Enjoyed the peace your valor won.

Let independence be our boast,
Ever mindful what it cost;
Ever grateful for the prize,
Let its altar reach the skies.
Firm, united let us be,
Rallying round our Liberty;
As a band of brothers joined,
Peace and safety we shall find.

Immortal patriots! rise once more:
Defend your rights, defend your shore;
Let no rude foe with impious hand,
Let no rude foe with impious hand,
Invade the shrine where sacred lies
Of toil and blood the well-earned prize.
While offering peace sincere and just,
In Heaven we place a manly trust,

That truth and justice will prevail,

And every scheme of bondage fail.

Sound, sound the trump of Fame!
Let Washington's great name

Ring through the world with loud applause, Ring through the world with loud applause; Let every clime to Freedom dear

Listen with a joyful ear!

With equal skill and godlike power,

He governed in the fearful hour
Of horrid war; or guides with ease
The happier times of honest peace.
Behold the chief who now commands,
Once more to serve his country stands—

The rock on which the storm will beat;
The rock on which the storm will beat;
But, armed in virtue firm and true,
His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you.
When hope was sinking in dismay,
And glooms obscured Columbia's day,
His steady mind, from changes free,
Resolved on death or liberty.

JOSEPH HOPKINSON.

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

HEN Freedom, from her mountain height,
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,

And set the stars of glory there!
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white
With streakings of the morning light.
Then, from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land!

Majestic monarch of the cloud!

Who rears't aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, And see the lightning lances driven,

When strive the warriors of the storm, And rolls the thunder-drum of Heaven,Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle stroke, And bid its blendings shine afar, Like rainbows on the cloud of war, The harbingers of victory!

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high!
When speaks the signal-trumpet tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on,
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn
To where thy sky-born glories burn,
And as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And when the cannon-mouthings loud
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall,
Then shall thy meteor glances glow,

And cowering foes shall shrink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death.

Flag of the seas! on ocean wave
Thy star shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rushed wildly back
Before the broadsides' reeling rack,

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HEN Britain first, at Heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main,
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sung this strain:
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

The nations not so blessed as thee

Must in their turns to tyrants fall; While thou shalt flourish great and free, The dread and envy of them all.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,

More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the loud blast that tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame: All their attempts to bend thee down

Will but arouse thy generous flame, But work their woe and thy renown.

To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine:
All thine shall be the subject main:
And every shore it circles thine.

The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair;
Blessed isle! with matchless beauty crowned,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.
JAMES THOMPSON.

FRENCH NATIONAL HYMN.

E sons of Freedom, wake to glory:

Hark, hark, what myriads bid you rise; Your children, wives, and grandsires hoaryBehold their tears and hear their cries! Shall hateful tyrants mischief breeding, With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,

Affright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty lie bleeding?
To arms, to arms, ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath!
March on! March on!

All hearts resolved on Victory or death!

Now, now the dangerous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous kings confederate raise;
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo! our walls and cities blaze!
And shall we basely view the ruin,

While lawless force, with guilty stride,
Spreads desolation far and wide,
With crimes and blood his hands imbruing?
To arms, to arms, ye brave!

Th' avenging sword unsheath!

March on! March on!

All hearts resolved on Victory or death!

With luxury and pride surrounded,

The vile insatiate despots dare, Their thirst of gold and power unbounded, To mete and vend the light and air! Like beasts of burden they would load us, Like gods, would bid their slaves adore; But man is man, and who is more?

Then shall they longer lash and goad us?
To arms, to arms, ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath!

March on! March on!

All hearts resolved on Victory or death!

O Liberty! can man resign thee,

Once having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeon's bolts and bars confine thee,
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
Too long the world has wept, bewailing
That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield;
But Freedom is our sword and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.

To arms, to arms, ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath!
March on! March on!

All hearts resolved on Victory or death!
[FROM THE FRENCH OF ROGET DE LISLE.]

PRUSSIAN NATIONAL ANTHEM.

AM a Prussian! see my colors gleaming

The black-white standard floats before me free; For Freedom's rights, my father's heart-blood

streaming,

Such, mark ye, mean the black and white to me! Shall I then prove a coward? I'll e'er be to the toward! Though day be dull, though sun shine bright on me, I am a Prussian, will a Prussian be!

Before the throne with love and faith I'm bending, Whence, mildly good, I hear a parent's tone; With filial heart, obedient ear I'm lending;

The father trusts-the son defends the throne! Affection's ties are stronger-live, O my country, longer!

The King's high call o'erflows my breast so free; I am a Prussian, will a Prussian be!

Not every day hath sunny light of glory;

A cloud, a shower, sometimes dulls the lea; Let none believe my face can tell the story, That every wish unfruitful is to me.

How many far and nearer would think exchange much dearer?

Their Freedom's naught-how then compare with me!

I am a Prussian, will a Prussian be!

And if the angry elements exploding,

The lightnings flash, the thunders loudly roar, Hath not the world oft witnessed such foreboding? No Prussian's courage can be tested more. Should rock and oak be riven, to terror I'm not driven;

Be storm and din, let flashes gleam so free

I am a Prussian, will a Prussian be!

Where love and faith so round the monarch cluster, Where Prince and People so clasp firm their hands, "T is there alone true happiness can muster,

Thus showing clear how firm the nation's bands, Again confirm the lealty! the honest, noble lealty! Be strong the bond, strike hands, dear hearts, with me;

Is not this Prussia? Let us Prussians be!

[FROM THE GERMAN.]

X

THE GERMAN'S FATHERLAND.

HERE is the German's Fatherland?

Is't Prussia? Swabia? Is't the strand Where grows the vine, where flows the Rhine?

Is't where the gull skims Baltic's brine? No!-yet more great and far more grand Must be the German's Fatherland!

How call they then the German's land?
Bavaria? Brunswick? Hast thou scanned

It where the Zuyder Zee extends?
Where Styrian toil the iron bends?—
No, brother; no!-thou has not spanned
The German's genuine Fatherland.

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HALLOWED GROUND.

HAT'S hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker meant not should be trod
By man, the image of his God,
Erect and free,

Unscourged by Superstition's rod

To bow the knee?

That's hallowed ground where, mourned and missed,

The lips repose our love has kissed;

But where's their memory's mansion? Is 't
Yon churchyard's bowers?

No! in ourselves their souls exist,

A part of ours.

A kiss can consecrate the ground
Where mated hearts are mutual bound:

The spot where love's first links were wound,
That ne'er are riven,

Is hallowed down to earth's profound,
And up to heaven!

For time makes all but true love old;
The burning thoughts that then were told
Run molten still in memory's mould;
And will not cool

Until the heart itself be cold

In Lethe's pool.

What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
"T is not the sculptured piles you heap!
In dews that heavens far distant weep
Their turf may bloom;

Or Genii twine beneath the deep
Their coral tomb.

But strew his ashes to the wind

Whose sword or voice has served mankind,—
And is he dead, whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high? -

To live in hearts we leave behind
'Is not to die.

Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right?
He's dead alone that lacks her light!
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight
The sword he draws:-

What can alone ennoble fight?
A noble cause!

Give that, and welcome War to brace
Her drums, and rend heaven's reeking space!
The colors planted face to face,

The charging cheer,

Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, Shall still be dear.

And place our trophies where men kneel
To Heaven!-but Heaven rebukes my zeal!
The cause of Truth and human weal,
O God above!

Transfer it from the sword's appeal
To Peace and Love.

Peace, Love! the cherubim, that join
Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shrine,
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine,
Where they are not,-

The heart alone can make divine
Religion's spot.

To incantations dost thou trust,
And pompous rites in domes august!
See mouldering stones and metal's rust
Belie the vaunt,

That man can bless one pile of dust
With chime or chant..

The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man!
Thy temples,-creeds themselves grow wan!
But there's a dome of nobler span,
A temple given

Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban-
Its space is heaven!

Its roof, star-pictured Nature's ceiling,
Where, trancing the rapt spirit's feeling,
And God himself to man revealing,
The harmonious spheres

Make music, though unheard their pealing
By mortal ears.

Fair stars! are not your beings pure?
Can sin, can death, your worlds obscure?
Else why so swell the thoughts at your
Aspect above?

Ye must be heavens that make us sure
Of heavenly love!

And in your harmony sublime

I read the doom of distant time;

That man's regenerate soul from crime

Shall yet be drawn,

And reason on his mortal clime

Immortal dawn.

What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!-
Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth

Earth's compass round;

And your high-priesthood shall make earth All hallowed ground.

THOMAS CAmpbell.

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