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For love's electric thrill

Still kept the starry flag;
"To arms!" replied the plains,

The hot blood throbbing through the veins,
For millions rallied with the vow,

"We strike for freedom surely now;

In heaven's great name the damning wrong shall bow!"

"She lives!" the freeman cried;
"She lives!" my heart replied;
"She lives!" rolled o'er the plain,
And thrilled the waking land,
That caught it back again

From mountains old and grand;
And starry banners waved

From peak, and dome, and spire,

The flag of love and peace,

And glory's quenchless fire.

O toiling millions on the Old World's shore!
Look up, rejoicing, for she is not dead!
The soul is living as it lived before,

When sainted heroes spurned the tyrants tread;
The strife is earnest, and the day wears on,
And angels tremble at the mighty blow-
Beyond the conflict is a glorious dawn,

A rapturous birth of Freedom out of woe;
The clouds may gather, and the storm be long,
And lightnings leap across the darkened sky,
But Freedom lives to triumph over wrong—
It still will live, for Truth shall never die!

Wm. Oland Bourne, abridged.

THE GONFALON OF VENICE.

The flag of Venice, which was torn, and divided among the soldiers in 1849, was in 1961 reunited, and presented by a deputation of Venetian patriots to Victor Emanuel.

The Queenly City was again by tyrant feet polluted ;

The stately lion of St. Mark was crowned again with shame; The Austrian in our ducal halls his hireling hosts recruited, And taunted with his grinning guns our ancient pride and fame!

Oppression's judges in our courts proclaimed our laws illegal, And plunged us from starvation into slavery that was

worse;

While from our captured citadel the great two-headed eagle Flew scornfully, and flapped his wings above us like a curse;

We tore into a thousand shreds the great Venetian banner, And every soldier took an oath upon the shred he bore,. To wear it safely on his heart, till God's own time and man

ner

Should come, to wake our Fatherland to Liberty once more.

We swore upon the tattered flag, no morsel to surrender,
Unless we lay on dying bed and placed it in the hand
Of son or daughter, wife or friend, or patriot defender,
To bear it safe until the Lord gave Freedom to the land.

We took the solemn oath with tears, and each embraced his brother,

Then parted on our several ways, to exile or to death, Or daily martyrdom at home;—yet, true to one another, To wear our ragged Gonfalon until our latest breath!

Who died, resigned the sacred charge unto his sworn succes

sor;

Who wandered, left all other things, but kept this pledge alone;

We bore it far in other lands: and many a proud oppressor We smote to earth, lamenting that we could not smite our

own.

King Victor, by the grace of God and by the nation's choosing!

We hail in you the morning star that tells our dawning

day;

And joyfully we can unroll-all faded with the using-
The Gonfalon of Venice, to the earliest golden ray!

'Tis seamed and old; but it has felt a thousand warm hearts beating;

"Tis writ upon in blood and tears with prayers and hopes of man ;

And where the hosts of Liberty the battle-shock are meeting, The Gonfalon of Venice shall be always in the van!

With the White Cross of Savoia here we mark it as a token; And beneath its folds to victory we'll steadfastly march

on;

But we charge you by our weary years of patient hope un

broken,

To plant once more in Venice our glorious Gonfalon!

R. W. R.

THE AMERICAN STRUGGLE.

WEEP, weep, Columbia, from thy banner fair
The stars are falling through the darkening air;
Sullied thy greatness, quenched thy pomp and pride,
In which thou deck'st thyself a noble bride;
Fallen thy sons, betrayed thy holy trust;
Thine eagle's pinions drooping to the dust;
From soft Pacific to Atlantic's sweep,

The thundering cannon echoes o'er the deep,

While martial columns tread, and blood-stained banners wave, Throughout the glorious land thy sons would die to save.

Thy homes are desolate, for traitorous hands,
Accurst and red, have snapped the Union bands
That bound thee, many in one. Oh! sad to tell
Of those who fought, of those who fighting fell;
Of loved ones left, who never, never more
Shall hear the well-known footsteps at the door.
No more a mother's hand in blessing rest

Upon the head she pillowed on her breast,

No more the father grasp with joy the boy's strong hand That left the pruning hook and plough for war's red brand.

Where vultures cry, and loathsome adders creep
'Midst the rank grass, in bloody mounds they sleep,
In dismal swamps, where Chickahominy

Rolls his ensanguined waters to the sea.

On hills all battle-crowned with smoke, and red
With kindred blood, they rest among the dead.
Unfurl the starry banner o'er the clay

Which gained a patriot's name and passed away,

And not in vain have passed; no more the slaves shall cry, For white-winged liberty, serene, stands smiling by.

England, thy mighty mother o'er the main,
Hears thy distress, thy loud and deep refrain
Of sorrow; and her giant heart throbs high
When stormy mists of battle cloud the sky-
Then heed not those who, Judas-like, again
Would stain with blood the strong and filial chain
Which binds thee to her side. Oh, heed them not.
Her Prince's welcome she has not forgot.

Her transatlantic child, in war or peace be thine
To emulate her high renown in this far western clime.

On the sea islands, 'mid the snowy bloom
Of cotton flowers, ere long will cease at noon,

And night, the driver's cry; through tangled forests drear
No more may bloodhound's bay fall on the ear,
In swift pursuit of those who panting fly
To lose their chains beneath a freer sky.
Then haste, Columbia, haste, the field prepare;
Be thine the warrior's deeds to do and dare,

Wipe slavery's foul blot from thy escutcheon now,

And win a conqueror's wreath to grace thy youthful brow.

Lead on the embattled hosts; before thy face
The foes shall flee and find no resting place,
Treason and anarchy shall pass away,

And blessed peace from sea to sea hold sway.
Thine eagle's eye, now dim, shall brighter grow,
His blood-stained pinions glisten as the snow,

His wounded feet and dust-clogged wings shall rise
Glorious, exultant in his native skies,

Emblem of thy proud state; then doubt and danger past,
Shalt thou in freedom's eyrie rest in peace at last.

Mary Alice Sewell.

THE GIFT OF GREEN CORN.

You shall hear how Hiawatha
Prayed and fasted in the forest,—
Not for greater skill in hunting,
Not for greater craft in fishing,
Not for triumphs in the battle,
And renown among the warriors;
But for profit of the people,
For advantage of the nations.

On the fourth day of his fasting
In his lodge he lay exhausted;
From his couch of leaves and branches
Gazing with half-open eyelids,

Full of shadowy dreams and visions,
On the dizzy, swimming landscape,
On the gleaming of the water,
On the splendor of the sunset,-

And he saw a youth approaching
Dressed in garments green and yellow,
Coming through the purple twilight,
Through the splendor of the sunset;
Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead,
And his hair was soft and golden.
Standing at the open doorway,
Long he looked at Hiawatha,
Looked with pity and compassion
On his wasted form and features,
And, in accents like the sighing
Of the south-wind in the tree-tops,
Said he, "O, my Hiawatha!
All your prayers are heard in heaven.
"From the Master of Life descending,

I, the friend of man, Mondamin,
Come to warn you and instruct you,
How by struggle and by labor

You shall gain what you have prayed for.
Rise up from your bed of branches,
Rise, Ô youth, and wrestle with me!
You will conquer and o'ercome me;
Make a bed for me to lie in,
Where the rain may fall upon me,
Where the sun may come and warm me;
Strip these garments, green and yellow,
Strip this nodding plumage from me,
Lay me in the earth, and make it
Soft and loose and light above me,
"Let no hand disturb my slumber,
Let no weed nor worm molest me,
Let not Kahgahgee, the raven,
Come to haunt me and molest me;
Only come yourself to watch me
Till I wake, and start and quicken,
Till I leap into the sunshine.
Rise, and stoutly wrestle with me!"
Faint with famine, Hiawatha

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