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Now gather all our Saxon bards, - let harps and hearts be strung,
To celebrate the triumphs of our own good Saxon tongue!
For stronger far than hosts that march, with battle-flags unfurled,
It goes with FREEDOM, THOUGHT and TRUTH, to rouse and rule the

Stout Albion hears its household lays on every surf-worn shore,
And Scotland hears its echoing far as Orkney's breakers roar;
It climbs New England's rocky steeps as victor mounts a throne;
Niagara knows and greets the voice, still mightier than its own.

It spreads where Winter piles deep snows on bleak Canadian plains;
And where, on Essequibo's banks, eternal Summer reigns.
It tracks the loud, swift Oregon, through sunset valleys rolled,
And soars where California brooks wash down their sands of gold.

It kindles realms so far apart, that while its praise you sing,
These may be clad with Autumn's fruits, and those with flowers of

It quickens lands whose meteor lights flame in an Arctic sky,
And lands for which the Southern Cross hangs orbit fires on high.

It goes with all that Prophets told, and righteous Kings desired; With all that great Apostles taught, and glorious Greeks admired; With Shakspeare's deep and wondrous verse, and Milton's lofty mind; With Alfred's laws, and Newton's lore, to cheer and bless mankind.


Mark, as it spreads, how deserts bloom, and Error flees
As vanishes the mist of night before the star of day!
Take heed, then, heirs of Saxon fame,- take heed, nor once disgrace,
With recreant pen or spoiling sword, our noble tongue and race!

Go forth, and jointly speed the time, by good men prayed for long, When Christian States, grown just and wise, will scorn revenge and wrong;

When earth's oppressed and savage tribes shall cease to pine or roam, All taught to prize these English words: - FAITH, FREEDOM, HEAVEN, and HOME.

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Water cooleth the brow, and cooleth the brain,
And maketh the faint one strong again;

It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea,

All freshness, like infant purity;

O, water, bright water, for me, for me!
Give wine, give wine, to the debauchee!

Fill to the brim! fill, fill to the brim;
Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim !
For my hand is steady, my eye is true,
For I, like the flowers, drink nothing but dew.
O, water, bright water 's a mine of wealth,
And the ores which it yieldeth are vigor and health.
So water, pure water, for me, for me!

And wine for the tremulous debauchee!

Fill again to the brim,-again to the brim!
For water strengtheneth life and limb!
To the days of the agéd it addeth length,
To the might of the strong it addeth strength;
It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight,
'T is like quaffing a goblet of morning light!
So, water, I will drink nothing but thee,
Thou parent of health and energy!

When over the hills, like a gladsome bride,
Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride,
And, leading a band of laughing hours,
Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers,
O cheerily then my voice is heard
Mingling with that of the soaring bird,
Who flingeth abroad his matin loud,
As he freshens his wing in the cold, gray cloud.

But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew,
Drowsily flying, and weaving anew

Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea,

How gently, O sleep, fall thy poppies on me!
For I drink water, pure, cold, and bright,
And my dreams are of Heaven the livelong night.
So hurrah for thee, Water! hurrah! hurrah!
Thou art silver and gold, thou art riband and star!
Hurrah for bright water! hurrah! hurrah!

80. THE DAYS THAT ARE GONE. -Charles Mackay.

WHO is it that mourns for the days that are gone,
When a Noble could do as he liked with his own
When his serfs, with their burdens well filled on their backs
Never dared to complain of the weight of a tax?
When his word was a statute, his nod was a law,

And for aught but his "order" he cared not a straw?
When each had his dungeon and racks for the poor,
And a gibbet to hang a refractory boor?

They were days when the sword settled questions of right And Falsehood was first to monopolize might;

When Law never dreamed it was good to relent,
Or thought it less wisdom to kill than prevent;
When Justice herself, taking Law for her guide,
Was never appeased till a victim had died;
And the stealer of sheep and the slayer of men
Were strung up together, again and again.

They were days when the Crowd had no freedom of speech,
And reading and writing were out of its reach;
When Ignorance, stolid and dense, was its doom,
And Bigotry swathed it from cradle to tomb;
When the Few thought the Many mere workers for them,
To use them, and when they had used, to contemn ;
And the Many, poor fools! thought the treatment their due
And crawled in the dust at the feet of the Few!

No! The Present, though clouds o'er her countenance roll,
Has a light in her eyes, and a hope in her soul;
And we are too wise like the Bigots to mourn
For the darkness of days that shall never return.
Worn out and extinct, may their history serve
As a beacon to warn us, whenever we swerve,
To shun the Oppression, the Folly and Crime,
That blacken the page of that Record of Time.
Their chivalry lightened the gloom, it is true,
And Honor and Loyalty dwelt with the Few;
But small was the light, and of little avail,
Compared with the blaze of our Press and our Rail;
Success to that blaze! May it shine over all,
Till Ignorance learn with what grace she may fall,
And fly from the world with the sorrow she wrought,
And leave it to Virtue and Freedom of Thought.

81. THE WORK-SHOP AND THE CAMP. For a Mechanic Celebration

THE Camp has had its day of song:

The sword, the bayonet, the plume,
Have crowded out of rhyme too long

The plough, the anvil, and the loom!
O, not upon our tented fields

Are Freedom's heroes bred alone;
The training of the Work-shop yields

More heroes true than War has known!

Who drives the bolt, who shapes the steel,
May, with a heart as valiant, smite,
As he who sees a foeman reel

In blood before his blow of might!

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The skill that conquers space and time,
That graces life, that lightens toil,
May spring from courage more sublime
Than that which makes a realm its spoil.

Let Labor, then, look up and see

His craft no pith of honor lacks;
The soldier's rifle yet shall be

Less honored than the woodman's axe!
Let Art his own appointment prize;

Nor deem that gold or outward height
Can compensate the worth that lies

In tastes that breed their own delight.

And may the time draw nearer still,

When men this sacred truth shall heed: -
That from the thought and from the will
Must all that raises man proceed!
Though Pride should hold our calling low,
For us shall duty make it good;
And we from truth to truth shall go,

Till life and death are understood.

82. THE WISE MAN'S PRAYER.-Dr. Samuel Johnson.

INQUIRER, cease! petitions yet remain


Which Heaven may hear; - - nor deem religion vain!
Still raise for good the supplicating voice,
But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice:
Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar
The secret ambush of a specious pray'r;
Implore His aid, in His decisions rest,
Secure, whate'er He gives, He gives the best.
Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires,
And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will resigned;
For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill;
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,
Counts death kind Nature's signal for retreat:
These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain ;
These goods He grants who grants the power to gain
With these, celestial Wisdom calms the mind,
And makes the happiness she does not find.



1. SCIPIO TO HIS ARMY. - Abridgment from Livy.

Before the battle of Ticinus, B. C. 218, in which the Carthaginians, under Hannibal, were victorious. The speech of the latter, on the same occasion, follows.

NOT because of their courage, O soldiers, but because an engagement is now inevitable, do the enemy prepare for battle. Two-thirds of their infantry and cavalry have been lost in the passage of the Alps. Those who survive hardly equal in number those who have perished. Should any one say, "Though few, they are stout and irresistible," I reply, Not so! They are the veriest shadows of men; wretches, emaciated with hunger, and benumbed with cold; bruised and enfeebled among the rocks and crags; their joints frost-bitten, their sinews stiffened with the snow, their armor battered and shivered, their horses lame and powerless. Such is the cavalry, such the infantry, against which you have to contend; not enemies, but shreds and remnants of enemies! And I fear nothing more, than that when you have fought Hannibal, the Alps may seem to have been beforehand, and to have robbed you of the renown of a victory. But perhaps it was fitting that the Gods themselves, irrespective of human aid, should commence and carry forward a war against a leader and a people who violate the faith of treaties; and that we, who next to the Gods have been most injured, should complete the contest thus commenced, and nearly finished.

I would, therefore, have you fight, O soldiers, not only with that spirit with which you are wont to encounter other enemies, but with a certain indignation and resentment, such as you might experience if you should see your slaves suddenly taking up arms against you. We might have slain these Carthaginians, when they were shut up in Eryx, by hunger, the most dreadful of human tortures. We might have carried over our victorious fleet to Africa, and, in a few days, have destroyed Carthage, without opposition. We yielded to their prayers for pardon; we released them from the blockade; we made peace with them when conquered; and we afterwards held them under our protection, when they were borne down by the African war. In return for these benefits, they come, under the leadership of a hotbrained youth, to lay waste our country. Ah! would that the contest on your side were now for glory, and not for safety! It is not

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