A PSALM OF THE HEART. What are these that crash the trees far in the waving rear? Fight on, thou young hero! there's help upon the way! The light horse are coming, the great guns are coming, The Highlanders are coming;-good God give us the day! Hurrah for the brave and the leal! Hurrah for the strong and the true! Hurrah for the helmets of steel! Hurrah for the bonnets o' blue! A run and a cheer, the Highlanders are here! a gallop and a cheer, the light horse are here! A rattle and a cheer, the great guns are here! With a cheer they wheel round and face the foe! As the troopers wheel about, their long swords are out, With a trumpet and a shout, in they go! Like a yawning ocean green, the huge host gulfs them in, But high o'er the rolling of the flood, Their sabres you may see like lights upon the sea When the red sun is going down in blood. Again, again, again! And the lights are on the wane! Ah, Christ! I see them sink, light by light, As the gleams go one by one when the great sun is down, And the sea rocks in foam beneath the night. Ay, the great sun is low, and the waves of battle flow O'er his honored head; but, oh, we mourn not he is down, For to-morrow he shall rise to fill his country's eyes, As he sails up the skies of renown! Now, tyrant, hold thine own! blare the trumpet, peal the drum ! From yonder hillside dark, the storm is on you! Hark! Swift as lightning, loud as thunder, down they come! As on some Scottish shore, with mountains frowning o'er, The sudden tempests roar from the glen, And roll the tumbling sea in billows to the lee, Came the charge of the gallant Highlandmen! And as one beholds the sea though the wind he cannot see, But by the waves that flee knows its might, So I tracked the Highland blast by the sudden tide that passed O'er the wild and rolling vast of the fight. Yes, glory be to God! they have stemmed the foremost flood! I lay me on the sod and breathe again! In the precious moments won, the bugle-call has gone To the tents where it never rang in vain, And lo, the landscape wide is red from side to side, And all the might of England loads the plain! Like a hot and bloody dawn, across the horizon drawn, 547 While the host of darkness holds the misty vale, As glowing and as grand our bannered legions stand, And England's flag unfolds upon the gale! At that great sign unfurled, as morn moves o'er the world When God lifts his standard of light, With a tumult and a voice, and a rushing mighty noise, Our long line moves forward to the fight. Clarion and clarion defying, Sounding, resounding, replying, Trumpets braying, pipers playing, chargers neighing, Near and far The to-and-fro storm of the never-done hurrahing, Through the bright weather banner and feather rising and falling, bugle and fife Calling, recalling-for death or for life- Was blown from line to line near and far, Come beaming, gleaming, streaming, Beaming, gleaming, streaming, to the war! Trumpets braying, pipers playing, chargers neighing, Near and far The to-and-fro storm of the never-done hurrahing, Through the bright weather, banner and feather A PSALM OF THE HEART. SCOURGE us as Thou wilt, O Lord God of Hosts; Victory, victory! O Lord, victory! Lift Thy wrath up from the day of battle, Victory, victory! O Lord, victory! Let the strong arm be as the flag o' the river, The withered flag that flappeth o'er the river, When all the flood is dried out of the river! Let the brave heart be as a drunkard's bosom, When the thick fume is frozen in the bosom, And the bare sin lies shivering in the bosom! Let the bold eye be sick and crazed with midnight, Strained and cracked with aching days of midnight, Swarmed and foul with creeping shapes of midnight! So Thou return upon the day of battle, Shame us not, O Lord, before the wicked! Strung to the twang of torture; let the stench Weevils, and rots, and cankers! But, O Lord, Though Thou shouldst glorify us above measure, Be Thou her armor in the day of battle, Oh, lead her in the glory of her beauty, The flood of sorrow through the veins of joy. Let her soul look out of her eyes of glory, That comes and goes about a leprous king. Victory, victory! O Lord, victory! Sight of home, if Thou wilt; kiss of love, If Thou wilt; parents weeping in the door Pangs if Thou wilt, O Lord! Death if Thou wilt! Labor and famine, frost and fire and storm, Consider, Lord, the oppressions of the oppressor, The tyrant sitteth on his golden throne The meeting winds blow good from all the world. Who hath undone the mountain where he locks His captains? From the number of his hosts The serf is in his hut; the unsacred sire womb Doth shape his ignorant shame, and whose young slave In some far field thickens a knouted hide Steam in the stye of plenty; their rude tongues, The captive straineth at the dungeon-grate. AFLOAT AND ASHORE. The clasped whiteness of his praying hands Like to a runnel in a savage wood, Sweet through the horror of the hollow dark He sings the song of home in the strange land. How long, O Lord of thunder? Victory! Lord God of vengeance, give us victory! Victory, victory! O Lord, victory! O Lord, victory! Lord, Lord, victory! AFLOAT AND ASHORE. TUMBLE and rumble, and grumble and snort, Like a whale to starboard, a whale to port; Tumble and rumble, and grumble and snort, And the steamer steams through the sea, love! I see the ship on the sea, love, I stand alone On this rock, The sea does not shock The stone; The waters around it are swirled, But under my feet I feel it go down To where the hemispheres meet At the adamant heart of the world. Oh, that the rock would move! Oh, that the rock would roll To meet thee over the sea, love! Should fill it like a soul, And it should bear me to thee, love; Guns are thundering, seas are sundering, crowds are wondering, Low on our lee, love. Over and over the cannon-clouds cover brother and lover, but over and over The whirl-wheels trundle the sea, love, The great ship is going to thee, love; I have come down to thee coming to me, love. I stand, I stand On the solid sand, I see thee coming to me, love; The sea runs up to me on the sand, 549 I'm through the breakers! I'm on the shore! I see thee waiting for me, love! A sudden storm In my bosom a thousand cries, "SHE TOUCHES A SAD STRING OF SOFT RECALL." RETURN, return! all night my lamp is burning, All night, like it, my wide eyes watch and burn; Like it, I fade and pale, when day returning Like it, I lessen with a lengthening sadness, Like it, like it, whene'er the east wind sings, Fly in out of the dark, to fall and burn- Like it, the very flame whereby I pine I start 't is as if thou hadst stretched thine Return, return! all night I see it burn, hand And touched me through the sea, love. I feel as if I must die, For there's something longs to fly, Fly and fly, to thee, love. As the blood of the flower ere she blows Is beating up to the sun, And her roots do hold her down, And it blushes and breaks undone So my blood is beating in me, love! All night it prays like me, and lifts a twin Still through the splendid load uplifts the thin Return, return! lest haply, love, or e'er Thou touch the lamp the light have ceased to burn, And thou, who through the window didst dis cern The wonted flame, shalt reach the topmost stair Its last of lingering life to light thy late return, AMERICA. NOR force nor fraud shall sunder us! O ye GOOD-NIGHT IN WAR-TIME. TO ALEXANDER SMITH. THE stars we saw arise are high above, Lean toward each other. Ay, for Man is one; The general motion. The well-tuned array ISABEL. In the most early morn I rise from a damp pillow, tempest-tost, To seek the sun with silent gaze forlorn, That early hour I meet The daily vigil of my life to keep, |