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POEMS OF PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM.

BREATHES THERE THE MAN

In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of love and graces lie;
Arown her knees domestic (luties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
“Where shall that land, that spot of earth be

found ?"
Art thou a man? -- a patriot ? - look around;
O, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home !

BREATIES there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land ! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned

From wandering on a foreign strand ! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his tuiles, proud his name, Bomdless his wealth as wish can claim, Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentrel all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and using.

Man, through all ages of revolving time, Unchanging man, in every varying clime, Deems his own land of every land the pride, Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; His home the spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE

MY COUNTRY.

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blessed ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

There is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside,
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And mililer moons imparadise the night;
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth :
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
View's not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Vor breathes the spirit of a purer air.
In every clime, the magnet of his soul,
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ;
For in this land of Heaven's peculiar race,
The heritage of nature's noblest grace,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
A clearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
While in his softened looks benignly len
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend.
Here woman reigns; the mother, danghter, wife,
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life :

By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ;
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hiermit there!

WILLIAM COLLINS.

THE BRAVE AT HOME.

I.

The maid who binds her warrior's sash

With smile that well her pain dissembles, The while beneath her drooping lash

One starry tear-lrop hangs and trembles,

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THE DEATH OF LEONIDAS.

But down swept all his power, with chariot and

with charge ; It was the wild midnight, a storm was on the Down poured the arrows' shower, till sank the sky;

Spartan targe. The lightning gave its light, and the thunder Thus fought the Greek of old ! thus will he fight echoed by.

again! The torrent swept the glen, the ocean lashed the Shall not the selfsame mould bring forth the selfshore ;

same men ? Then rose the Spartan men, to make their bed in

GEORGE CROLY.

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