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480 AMELIA B. WELBY

All these, and more, stir in my bosom
Feelings that make my spirit glad,
Like dew-drops shaken in a blossom;
And, yet there is a something sad
Mix'd with those thoughts, like clouds, that hover
Above us in the quiet air,
Veiling the moon's pale beauty over,
Like a dark spirit brooding there.

But, Sisters! those wild thoughts were never
Yours! ye would not love, like me,
To gaze upon the stars for ever,
To hear the wind's wild melody.
Ye'd rather look on smiling faces,
And linger round a cheerful hearth,
Then mark the stars' bright hiding-places
As they peep out upon the earth.
But, Sisters! as the stars of even
Shrink from day's golden flashing eye,
And, melting in the depths of heaven,
Veil their soft beams within the sky;
So shall we pass, the joyous-hearted,
The fond, the young, like stars that wane,
Till every link of earth be parted,
To form in heaven one mystic chain. 

THE AMERICAN SWORD.

SWORD of our gallant fathers, defender of the brave,
Of Washington upon the field and Perry on the wave!
Well might Columbia's foemen beneath thy death-strokes reel,
For each hand was firm that drew thee, and each heart as true as steel;
There's not a tarnish on thy sheen, a rust upon thy blade,
Though the noble hands that drew thee are in dust and ashes 
laid,

AMELIA B. WELBY 481

Thou'rt still the scourge of tyrants, the safeguard of the free,
And may God desert our banner when we surrender thee!

Sword of a thousand victories! thy splendours led the way,
When our warriors trod the battle-field in terrible array;
Thou wert seen amid the carnage, like an angel in thy wrath;
The vanquish'd and the vanquisher bestrew'd thy gory path;
The life-blood of the haughty foe made red the slippery sod
Where thy crimson blade descended light the lightning glance
of God!
They pour'd their ranks like autumn leave, their life-blood as 
the sea,
But they battled for a tyrant-we battled to be free!

Sword of a thousand heroes, how holy is thy blade, 
So often drawn by Valour's arm, by gentle Pity's stay'd!
The warrior breathes his vow by thee, and seals it with a 
kiss,
He never gives a holier pledge, he asks no more than this;
And, when he girds thee to his side with battle in his face,
He feels within his single arm the strength of all his race;
He shrines thee in his noble breast, with all things bright and 
free;
And may God desert his standard, when he surrenders thee!

Sword of our country's battles! for every mayst thou prove,
Amid Columbia's freemen, the thunderbolt of Jove;
Where like a youthful victress, with her holy flag unfurl'd,
She sits amid the nations, the empress of the world.
Behold the heaven-born goddess, in her glory and increase,
Extending in her lovely hands the olive-branch of peace,
Thy glittering steel is girded on, the safeguard of the free,
And may God desert her standard when she surrenders thee.

41. 2F

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-30 09:30:51