To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells—
Bells, bells, bells-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
A NERVOUS old gentleman, tired of trade,
By which, though, it seems, he a fortune had madeTook a house 'twixt two sheds, at the skirts of the town, Which he meant, at his leisure, to buy, and pull down.
This thought struck his mind when he viewed the estate;
But, alas! when he entered he found it too late;
For in each dwelt a smith ;-
;-a more hard-working two
Never doctored a patient or put on a shoe.
At six in the morning, their anvils, at work,
Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk.
"These fellows," he cried, "such a clattering keep,
That I never can get above eight hours of sleep."
From morning till night they keep thumping away—
No sound but the anvil the whole of the day;
His afternoon's nap and his daughter's new song
Were banished and spoiled by their hammers' ding-dong.
He offered each Vulcan to purchase his shop;
But, no! they were stubborn, determined to stop;
At length (both his spirits and health to improve),
He cried, "I'll give each fifty guineas to move."
"Agreed!" said the pair; "that will make us amends.” "Then come to my house, and let us part friends; You shall dine; and we'll drink on this joyful occasion, That each may live long in his new habitation."
gave the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale; He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale;
So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest
Would take from him noise, and restore him to rest.
"And now," said he, "tell me, where mean you to move?
I hope to some spot where your trade will improve."
Why, sir," replied one, with a grin on his phiz,
"Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his!"
ARNOLD WINKELRIED.-MONTGOMERY.
In the battle of Sempach, in the fourteenth century, this martyrpatriot, perceiving that there was no other means of breaking the heavyarmed lines of the Austrians than by gathering as many of their spears as he could grasp together, opened, by this means, a passage for his fellow-combatants, who, with hammers and hatchets, hewed down the mailed men-at-arms, and won the victory.
"MAKE way for liberty!" he cried—
Made way for liberty, and died!
In arms the Austrian phalanx stood,
A living wall, a human wood;
Impregnable their front appears,
All horrent with projected spears.
Opposed to these, a hovering band
Contended for their fatherland,
Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke
From manly necks the ignoble yoke;
Marshalled once more at Freedom's call,
They came to conquer or to fall.
And now the work of life and death
Hung on the passing of a breath;
The fire of conflict burned within;
The battle trembled to begin;
Yet, while the Austrians held their ground,
Point for assault was nowhere found;
Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed,
The unbroken line of lances blazed;
That line 't were suicide to meet,
And perish at their tyrants' feet.
How could they rest within their graves,
To leave their homes the haunts of slaves?
Would they not feel their children tread,
With clanking chains, above their head?
It must not be; this day, this hour,
Annihilates the invader's power!
All Switzerland is in the field-
She will not fly; she cannot yield;
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast,
But
every freeman was a host,
And felt as 't were a secret known
That one should turn the scale alone,
While each unto himself was he
On whose sole arm hung victory.
It did depend on one, indeed;
Behold him-Arnold Winkelried!
There sounds not to the trump of Fame
The echo of a nobler name.
Unmarked, he stood amid the throng,
In rumination deep and long,
Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face;
And, by the motion of his form,
Anticipate the bursting storm;
And, by the uplifting of his brow,
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.
But 't was no sooner thought than doneThe field was in a moment won!
"Make way for liberty!" he cried,
with arms extended wide,
As if his dearest friend to clasp;
Ten spears he swept within his grasp.
"Make way for liberty!" he cried;
Their keen points crossed from side to side;
He bowed among them, like a tree,
And thus made way for liberty.
Swift to the breach his comrades fly-
"Make way for liberty!" they cry,
And through the Austrian phalanx dart,
As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart,
While, instantaneous as his fall,
Rout, ruin, panic seized them all.
An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.
Thus Switzerland again was free—
Thus death made way for liberty!
THE AMERICAN FLAG.-DRAKE.
WHEN Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there;
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white
With streakings of the morning light;
Then from his mansion in the sun
She called her eagle-bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand.
The symbol of her chosen land..
Majestic monarch of the cloud!
Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud,
And see the lightning lances driven,
When strive the warriors of the storm,
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven-
Child of the sun! to thee 't is given
To guard the banner of the free,
To hover in the sulphur-smoke,
To ward away the battle-stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbingers of victory!
Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high,
When speaks the signal trumpet-tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on;
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn
To where thy sky-born glories burn;
And as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And when the cannon-mouthings loud
Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud,
And gory
sabres rise and fall
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall,
Then shall thy meteor glances glow,
And cowering foes shall sink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
The lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas! on ocean wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
|