But, Virginians, don't do it! for I tell you that the

flagon,

Filled with blood of Old Brown's offspring, was first

poured by Southern hands;

And each drop from Old Brown's life-veins, like the red gore of the dragon,

May spring up a vengeful Fury, hissing through your slave-worn lands!

And Old Brown,

Ossawattomie Brown,

May trouble you more than ever, when you 've nailed his coffin down!

Edmund Clarence Stedman.

Hatteras, the Cape, N. C.

HATTERAS.

N fathoms five the anchor gone;

IN

While here we furl the sail,

No longer vainly laboring on

Against the western gale:

While here thy bare and barren cliffs,

O Hatteras, I survey,

And shallow grounds and broken reefs,

What shall console my stay!

The dangerous shoal, that breaks the wave
In columns to the sky;

The tempests black, that hourly rave,

Portend all danger nigh:

Sad are my dreams on ocean's verge!
The Atlantic round me flows,

Upon whose ancient angry surge
No traveller finds repose!

The pilot comes! - from yonder sands
He shoves his bark, so frail,
And hurrying on, with busy hands,
Employs both oar and sail.

Beneath this rude unsettled sky
Condemned to pass his years,
No other shores delight his eye,
No foe alarms his fears.

In depths of woods his hut he builds,
Devoted to repose,

And, blooming, in the barren wilds

His little garden grows:

His wedded nymph, of sallow hue,

No mingled colors grace,

For her he toils, to her is true,

The captive of her face.

Kind Nature here, to make him blest,

No quiet harbor planned;

And poverty-his constant guest

Restrains the pirate band:

His hopes are all in yonder flock,
Or some few hives of bees,
Except, when bound for Ocracock,
Some gliding bark he sees.

His Catharine then he quits with grief,
And spreads his tottering sails,
While, waving high her handkerchief,
Her commodore she hails :

She grieves, and fears to see no more
The sail that now forsakes,

From Hatteras' sands to banks of Core

Such tedious journeys takes!

Fond nymph! your sighs are heaved in vain;
Restrain those idle fears:

Can you, that should relieve his pain,
Thus kill him with your tears!

Can absence thus beget regard,
Or does it only seem ?

He comes to meet a wandering bard
That steers for Ashley's stream.

Though disappointed in his views,
Not joyless will we part;

Nor shall the God of mirth refuse
The balsam of the heart:

No niggard key shall lock up joy,
I'll give him half my store,
Will he but half his skill employ
To guard us from your shore.

Should eastern gales once more awake,

No safety will be here:

Alack! I see the billows break,
Wild tempests hovering near:

Before the bellowing seas begin

Their conflict with the land,
Go, pilot, go, — your Catharine join,
That waits on yonder sand.

Philip Freneau.

CAPE HATTERAS.

HE Wind King from the North came down,

Nor stopped by river, mount, or town;
But, like a boisterous god at play,
Resistless bounding on his way,

He shook the lake and tore the wood,
And flapped his wings in merry mood,
Nor furled them, till he spied afar

The white caps flash on Hatteras bar,
Where fierce Atlantic landward bowls
O'er treacherous sands and hidden shoals.

He paused, then wreathed his horn of cloud,
And blew defiance long and loud:

"Come up! come up, thou torrid god,
That rul'st the Southern sea!
Ho! lightning-eyed and thunder-shod,
Come wrestle here with me!
As tossest thou the tangled cane,
I'll hurl thee o'er the boiling main!

"Come up! come up, thou torrid god,

Thou lightning-eyed and thunder-shod,

And wrestle here with me!"

"T was heard and answered: "Lo! I come

From azure Carribee,

LIBRARY OF

To drive thee cowering to thy home,
And melt its walls of frozen foam."
From every isle and mountain dell,
From plains of pathless chaparral,

From tide-built bars, where sea-birds dwell,
He drew his lurid legions forth,

And sprang to meet the white-plumed North.

Can moral tongue in song convey
The fury of that fearful fray?

How ships were splintered at a blow,
Sails shivered into shreds of snow,
And seamen hurled to death below!
Two gods commingling, bolt and blast,
The huge waves on each other cast,
And bellowed o'er the raging waste;
Then sped,ke harnessed steeds, afar,
That drag shattered battle-car
Amid the midnight din of war!

L

False Hatteras! when the cyclone came,
Thy waves leapt up with hoarse acclaim
ran and wrecked yon argosy!
Fore'er nine sank! that lone hulk stands
Embedded in thy yellow sands,

An hundred hearts in death there stilled,
And yet its ribs, with corpses filled,
Are now caressed by thee!

Yon lipless skull shall speak for me,
"This is the Golgotha of the sea!