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FREMONT'S BATTLE-HYMN.

BY JAMES G. CLARK.

Oh, spirits of Washington, Warren, and Wayne!
Oh, shades of the heroes and patriots slain !
Come down from your mountains of emerald and
gold,

And smile on the banner ye cherished of old;
Descend in your glorified ranks to the strife,
Like legions sent forth from the armies of life;
Let us feel your deep presence, as waves feel the
breeze,

When the white fleets, like snowflakes, are drank by the seas.

As the red lightnings run on the black jagged cloud, Ere the thunder-king speaks from his wind-woven shroud,

So gleams the bright steel along valley and shore,
Ere the combat shall startle the land with its roar.
As the veil which conceals the clear starlight is riven,
When clouds strike together, by warring winds driven,
So the blood of the race must be offered like rain,
Ere the stars of our country are ransomed again.

Proud sons of the soil where the Palmetto grows,
Once patriots and brothers, now traitors and foes,
Ye have turned from the path which our forefathers
trod,

And stolen from man the best gift of his God;
Ye have trampled the tendrils of love in the ground,
Ye have scoffed at the law which the Nazarene found,
Till the great wheel of Justice seemed blocked for a
time,

And the eyes of humanity blinded with crime.

The hounds of oppression were howling the knell
Of martyrs and prophets, at gibbet and cell,
While Mercy despaired of the blossoming years
When her harp strings no more should be rusted with

tears.

But God never ceases to strike for the right, And the ring of His anvil came down through the night,

Though the world was asleep, and the nations seemed dead,

And Truth into bondage by Error was led.

Will the banners of morn at your bidding be furled,
When the day-king arises to quicken the world?
Can ye cool the fierce fires of his heat-throbbing

breast,

Or turn him aside from his goal in the West? Ah! sons of the plains where the orange tree blooms,

Ye may come to our pinc-covered mountains for tombs ;

But the light ye would smother was kindled by One
Who gave to the universe planet and sun.

Go, strangle the throat of Niagara's wrath,
Till he utters no sound on his torrent-cut path;
Go, bind his green sinews of rock-wearing waves,
Till he begs at your feet like your own fettered
slaves.

Go, cover his pulses with sods of the ground,
Till he hides from your sight like a hare from the

hound;

Then swarm to our borders and silence the notes That thunder of freedom from millions of throats.

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Come on with your "chattels," all worn, from the soil
Where men receive scourging in payment for toil;
Come, robbers! come, traitors! we welcome you all,
As the leaves of the forest are welcomed by fall.
The birthright of manhood awaits for your slaves,
But prisons and halters are waiting for knaves;
And the blades of our "mud-sills" are longing to rust
With their blood who would bury our stars in the dust.

They die unlamented by people and laws,
Whose lives are but shadows on Liberty's cause;
They slumber unblest by Fraternity star,

Who have blocked up the track of Humanity's car;
Regarded, when dead, by the wise and the good,
As shepherds regard the dead wolf in the wood;
And only unhated when Heaven shall efface
The mem'ry of wrong from the souls of the race.

The streams may forget how they mingled our gore,
And the myrtle entwine on their borders once more;
The song-birds of Peace may return to our glades,
And children join hands where their fathers joined

blades:

Columbia may rise from her trial of fire,

More pure than she came from the hand of her sire;
But Freedom will lift the cold finger of scorn,
When History tells where her Traitors were born.

"MY

MARYLAND."

[WORDS ALTERED.]

BY J. F. WEISHAMPEL, JR.
AIR-"My Normandy."

The traitor's foot is on thy shore,
Maryland, my Maryland !
His touch is on thy Senate door,
Maryland, my Maryland!

Avenge the patriotic gore

That Hecked the streets of Baltimore, When vandal mobs thy banners tore,

Maryland, my Maryland!

Hark to the nation's loud appeal,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Before no perjured traitors kneel,
Maryland, my Maryland!

For life and death, for woe and weal,
Thy patriotic strength reveal,
And gird thy Union host in steel,

Maryland, my Maryland !

Thou shouldst not cower in the dust,

Maryland, my Maryland! Shake off thy sloth, wipe off thy rust, Maryland, my Maryland! Remember Washington's great trust, Preserve it from the foeman's thrust, And hope in God-thy cause is just !

Maryland, my Maryland!

Some months ago, a Secession song, sct to a fine piece of music, and entitled "My Maryland," appeared in Southern papers, and was played and sung with great pleasure by the Secession ladies. The song had a line of real nervo running through it which rendered it very popular; but the sentiment was so false, and founded upon such gross misrepresentations, that it was offensive to any ono not absorbed in the prevailing madness. The song was romodelled-its fire was turned against the enemy-and here we have it, the true utterance of a patriotism that still lives among the people of Maryland-as time will show. See page 93, Poetry and Incidents, vol. 1.

Hark, how the bells of Freedom toll,
Maryland, my Maryland!
And tyrants mock from pole to pole,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Better the ocean over thee roll,
Than sever the Union's kind control,
And slave thy children, body and soul,
Maryland, my Maryland!

I hear the distant thunder hum,
Maryland, my Maryland!
The rebel foes of Freedom come,

Maryland, my Maryland

They menace thee with ball and bomb! Thou art not dead, or deaf, or dumbHuzza! I hear thy fife and drum!

Maryland, my Maryland!

Drum out thy phalanx brave and strong, Maryland, my Maryland!

Drum forth to balance Right and Wrong,
Maryland, my Maryland !
Drum to thy old heroic song,
When forth to fight went Liberty's throng,
And bore the Spangled Banner along,
Maryland, my Maryland!

Dear State! Beware the tyrant's chain,
Maryland, my Maryland!

Behold Virginia's throes of pain,

Maryland, my Maryland!

While rapine stalks her wide domain, Know this, that crime awhile may reign, But God will make all right again,

Maryland, my Maryland!

Our God will make all right again!
Maryland, MY MARYLAND!

October, 1801.

EIGHTY-FIVE YEARS AGO.

A BALLAD FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY.

BY A. J. H. DUGANNE.

Oh, how the past comes over me-
How the Old Days draw nigh!
Tramping along in battalia-
Marching the legions by,

With the drums of the Old Time beating,
And the Old Flag waving high!
And down from the mountain gorges,
And up from woodlands low,
Mustering for Liberty's conflict-
Eighty-five years ago!

Out of the streets of Lexington
I see the red-coats wheel;

And, back from the lines of Bunker,
Where Continentals kneel
And pray, with their iron musketry,
I see the red-coats reel ;

And, reddening all the greensward,

I mark the life-blood flow From the bosom of martyred WarrenEighty-five years ago!

Hearken to Stark, of Hampshire:

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We'll beat them, boys! or Mary Stark

Forests in front of them,

A widow this night shall be!" And then, like a clap of thunder,

He broke upon the foe,

And he won the battle of BenningtonEighty-five years ago!

Down from the wild Green Mountains

Our fearless eagle swooped;
Down on Ticonderoga

Bold Ethan Allen stooped,
And the royal red-cross banner
Beneath his challenge drooped!
And the stout old border fortress
He gained without a blow,

"In the name of the Great Jehovah !" Eighty-five years ago!

Out from the resonant belfry
Of Independence Hall,

Sounded the tongue of a brazen bell,
Bidding good patriots all

To give the oppressed their freedom,
And lessen every thrall;

And the voice of brave John Hancock,
Preached to the people below,
The Gospel of Independence-
Eighty-five years ago!

And out from Sullivan's Island,
From dark palmetto fen,
I hear the roar of cannonry,
And the rifle-shots again;
And the voice of valiant Moultrie,
And the shouts of Marion's men!
And I see our stricken banner

Snatched from the ditch below,
By the hand of Sergeant Jasper-
Eighty-five years ago!

So, the Old Days come over me-
The Past around me rolls;
And the spell of a glorious History
My yearning sense controls,
And I sing of the Grand Example
Of old and loyal souls!
When the land we love lies bleeding,
And we hear her heart's wild throe,
Let us think of the Old, Old Union,-
Eighty-five years ago!

-N. Y. Leader.

THE NINETEEN HUNDRED.

I.

Crossed the deep river,
Marched up the rugged bluffs,
Deployed in the open field-
Right in the field of death,
Stood Nineteen Hundred,
Heard but their leader's cry,
Shouted in glad reply,
Ready to do and die,
Brave Nineteen Hundred !

II.

Behind, the Potomac Gloomily rushed along; Forests to right of them, Forests to left of them,

Filled with the rebel host-
Stormed with the murderous hail;
E'en in the tree-tops
Hung the fell marksmen,
Sending, like lightning-stroke,
Death to the bravest.

Here, in the field of death
Threefold outnumbered,
Stood Nineteen Hundred.

Bravely they fought, and well,
Charging those sons of hell
Full in their ambuscade;
Drowning their savage yell
With cannon that thundered,
Belching forth shot and shell
Where lurked the traitor foe.
Many a fresh ragged glade
Showed the wild work they made,
Ploughing with shot and shell;
Dyeing the leaves below
With no autumnal glow.
So fought the loyal men,
Threefold outnumbered-
Fought Nineteen Hundred.

IV.

Threefold outnumbered, Thinner and thinner grew Ranks without fear and true, Falling where firm they stood, Drenching the earth with blood, Wrapped in the smoke of deathNo more Nineteen Hundred; The river behind them, Forests to right of them, Forests to left of them, Forests in front of them, Filled with the storm of hell, Flashing with death-strokes. Bravely the gunners fell, Facing that storm of hellFighting till all went down ; Then stood the guns alone, Silent their thunders. Still loud their leader's cry Cheered to the onset; Still bravely made reply All that remained yet Of Nineteen Hundred. Towered that noble form, Still aloft that gray head, Beacon 'mid the battle's storm. Dashed by a traitor's hand, Down sunk that beacon light. Crushed by the rushing mass, Threefold outnumbering, Charging on front of them, Charging on flank of them, Borne to the rugged bluffs, Nothing to stay them; Swamped in the crazy boats, Plunged in the roaring flood, Wounded and dying; Pelted by leaden hail, Fierce and unsparing, Making their passage good,

Many bold swimmers;

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Oh, the wild dash they made
Over the river!

Ne'er shall their glory fade;
Massachusetts forever!
Bold Californians!

Sons of St. Tammany!

Joined here your glorious bands
Bravely to do and die.
Far in the distant years,
Still well remembered,

Old men, with gushing tears,
Will tell the proud story,
How, all outnumbered,
The brave Nineteen Hundred
Fought in that field of death,
Fought to their latest breath,
For the Union and glory;

How from their blood there sprang
Thousands to fight again;
How the shout of battle rang
Far over hill and plain,

Till the Stars and Stripes on high,

Like a banner in the sky,
Waved for our victory.

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VI.

Honor the living and dead,
Honor the hoary head-
Him who the battle led;
Honor the granite rocks
Of the old Bay State;
Honor the golden rocks
Of the golden gate,
Breasting the battle shocks;
Honor the Keystone State,
Honor the Empire State,
Ever standing together,
Symbols of Union and strength;
Honor all the brave,

Who dashed o'er the river;

Ne'er can their names be sundered,

Honor the Nineteen Hundred;
By the blood that was shed,

By the souls of the dead,
By the spirit that burns
Unquenched, at their urns,
Swear, sword in hand,
That our country shall stand
United forever!

TO GENERAL BUTLER.

BY "BAY STATE."

Ben. Butler, my boy,
It gives me much joy

Of your brave words and acts to hear;
So prompt and so quick,
You are truly a "brick,"
Knowing not the meaning of fear.

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Each continent now claims a limb;

His heart, cold and chill it has grown,Boys, has grown!

His heart, cold and chill it has grown.

Old Cotton will once more arise,
But not all in his native land;
His right arm, under Afric's skies,
Will stretch to the Indies a hand,-
Boys, a hand!

Will stretch to the Indies a hand.

Old King Cotton's white feet will spring

A line from the central zone,
And Ganges the death-harvest bring
Of him who once ruled alone,-
Boys, alone!

Of him who once ruled alone.

-N. Y. Evening Post, July 18.

GOD PRESERVE THE UNION.

BY JOHN SAVAGE.

"There is no safety for European monarchical Governments, if the progressive spirit of the Democracy of the United States is allowed to succeed. Elect Lincoln, and the first blow to the separation of the United States is effected."-London Morning Chronicle.

"I hold, further, that there is no evil in this country for which the Constitution and laws will not furnish a romedy. Then we must maintain our rights inside of the Union in conformity with the Constitution, and not break up the Union."-Douglas at Memphis, October, 1860.

Brothers, there are times when nations
Must, like battle-worn men,
Leave their proud, self-builded quiet,
To do service once again;
When the banners blessed by Fortune,
And by blood and brain embalmed,
Must re-throb the soul with feelings
That long happiness hath calmed.
Thus the Democratic faith that won
The Nation, now hath need
To raise its ever-stalwart arm,
And save what twice it freed.

So, friends, fill up
The brimming cup
In brotherly communion;

Here's blood and blow
For a foreign foc,

And GOD PRESERVE THE UNION !

There are factions passion-goaded,
There are turbulence and wrath,
And swarthy dogmas bellowing
Around the people's path;
There are false lights in the darkness,
There are black hearts in the light,
And hollow heads are mimicking
The Jove-like people's might.
But ah! the Democratic strength
That smote an empire's brow,
Can with its regnant virtues tame
Mere home-made factions now.
So, friends, let's band
For Fatherland-

In brotherly communion,
Let every mouth

Cry "North and South,"

And GOD PRESERVE THE UNION!

While the young Republic's bosom
Seems with rival passions torn-
Growing from the very freedom
Of the speech within it born:
Europe, in its haggard frenzy
To behold no earthly sod,

Where its white slaves may unbend them,

Or bend but to Freedom's God

Europe madly hails the omen-
Strains its bloodshot eyes to view

A native treason toiling at
The work it strove to do.

So, friends, let's all,
Like a rampart-wall,
In granite-built communion,
Stand firmly proud

'Gainst the kingly crowd,

And GOD PRESERVE THE UNION!

Since that day, when frantic people

Round the State House rose and fell, Like an angry ocean surging

Round some rock-reared citadelWhen the Quaker City trembled

'Neath the arming people's tramp, And the Bell proclaimed to iron men Each house in the land a campDemocracy has kept that Bell

Still pealing sound on sound,
Until its potent energy

Has throbbed the wide earth round.
So let it ring,

So let it bring

Us brotherly communion;

Here's heart and hand!

For life and land!

And GOD PRESERVE THE UNION !

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TO ARMS! TO ARMS!

BY DR. REYNOLDS,

Assistant Surgeon, Twenty-fourth N. Y. Regt., (Oswego.) Respectfully Inscribed to Gen. Van Valkenburgh, the Soldier and the Gentleman.

To arms to arms! Columbia's foe
Their banners flaunt on high;

To arms to arms! and overthrow
The rebel host, or die;

For more than life we freemen prize
The blessings freedom gives;
Each hour the trembling coward dies-
'Tis only courage lives.

CHORUS-TO arms to arms! &c.

Let cravens yield their struggling breath
In agony and tears;

Be ours the warrior's glorious death,
'Midst battle's joys and cheers.
Let others seek a sculptured stone
In consecrated ground;
Our monument be foes o'erthrown
Our martyred corpse around.

CHORUS-To arms! to arms! &c.

Kind Heaven to us in mercy gave
One worthy of all love,-
Great Washington, the wise and brave
A man man's race above;

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