I. The Flower OF L IBERTY .

There is no land so fair and bright
As this, where first I drew the light:
There is no land so dear to me
As this, that bears the strong and free,
The cradle-home of liberty!
Here blooms a sweeter flower,
Than aught in orient bower.
The flower of freedom, fair and bright,
Here spreads its leaves of roseate light.
Yes, freedom's flower here, fair and bright,
Unfolds its leaves of roseate light!

Though far around the world I roam,
My heart still lingers for its home;
And even where Spring for ever dwells
Each flower I meet but only tells
Of that for which my bosom swells.
The flower that graces free
Thy temple, Liberty!
Though far away my steps may roam,
That flower still wins me back to home.
Yes, far away my steps may roam, —
That flower still wins me back to home.


O, there are links that bind us,
Of magic power, —
The links, that softly twined us
In Eden's hour.
Joy wreathes his flowers around them,
And love with silk has bound them.
O, there 's a charm, no tongue can tell;
But still the heart, with hidden swell,
Can speak it well!

That chain, — the freeman wears it
With generous pride:
That chain, — the hero bears it,
With haughty stride.
Yes, lion hearts receive it,
As fairy fingers weave it.
Subdued by love, they still can dare
The battle-field, and fearless there
Its dangers share!


Who loves his country, firm will stand
To meet the fierce in vader;
Will lift his sword, with earnest hand,
To aid her.
He knows no fear, when danger calls
The patriot to his country's walls:
When danger forth the patriot calls,
Fearless he fights, and willing falls.

So stood our fathers, side by side,
In freedom's cause victorious,
When back recoiled the invading tide,
And when our country calls again,
O, be her voice noTheard in vain!
When loud our country calls again,
Our home shall be the tented plain!


Not for gold, and not for splendor;
Not for crown or throne; —
No, never will my soul surrender
What it holds its own.
They may dote on piles of treasure, —
They may swim in streams of pleasure, —
Poor their gain!
Poor their gain!
Poor, ah! poor beyond all measure!
Vain, O, vain!
Only slavery's chain.

Not for all that wealth can offer
Would I check my soul, —
No, not for regal bounty, suffer
Slavery's base control.
Ever in my own dominion,
I would mount on eagle's pinion,
Free as light!
Free as light!
Far above the tyrant's minion,
Wing my flight,
Nerved with strong delight.


Cheerful glows the festive chamber;
In the circle pleasure smiles:
Mounts the flame, like wreaths of amber;
Bright as love its warmth beguiles.
Glad the heart with joy is lighted;
Hand with hand, in faith, is plighted,
As around the goblet flows.
Fill, — fill, — fill, and quaff the liquid rose!
Bright it glows, —
O, how bright the bosom glows!

Pure as light our social meeting:
Here no passion dares invade.
Joys we know, not light and fleeting;
Flowers we twine that never fade.
Ours are links, not time can sever:
Brighter still they glow for ever, —
Glow in yon eternal day.
No, — no, — no, ye will not pass away
Ye will stay, —
Social joys, for ever stay!


The vine may glow, with purple clusters bending,
Where proudly flows the Rhine,
Or, richer pomp to classic ruins lending,
Round tower and temple twine.

We need no vine our country's hills to brighten:
We need no boasted wine.
Be ours the sails, that o'er the ocean whiten,
Around the masted pine.

Be ours the nervy hands that spread and furl them,
With gallanThearts to dare, —
Ours freedom's bolts, with sinewy arms to hurl them,
When threatening comes the war.

Mild as the morn, in peace, our starry splendor
Afar shall light the main.
That flag may perish, — never shall surrender
To boastful pride again!


Fill, fill your glasses, — brim them over!
We drink a health of high renown!
No patriot brow shall glory ever
With brighter wreaths of honor crown!
Our country's Sire! — with fond emotion,
With firm resolve, and deep devotion,
Around our Union's altar-flame,
Here we invoke his sacred name!

That name shall be our watchword ever
When danger threats, or foe is nigh.
Cursed be the hand that dare dissever
The holy bond we prize so high.
Do thou, blest shade! this Union cherish;
Thy memory here shall never perish.
Long as thy deeds shall here remain.
O, bind us in thy golden chain!


Beneath our country's flag we stand,
And give our hearts to thee,
Bright power, who steel'st and nerv'st our hand,
Thou first born, Liberty!
Here, on our swords, we swear to give
Our willing lives, that thou mayst live!

For thee, the Spartan youth of old,
To death devoted, fell;
Thy spirit made the Roman bold,
And fired the patriot Tell.
Our sires, on Bunker, fought for thee, —
Undaunted fought, and we are free!

Run up our starry flag on high!
No storm shall rend its folds;
On, like a meteor, through the sky,
Its steady course it holds.
Thus high in heaven our flag unfurled,
Go, bear it, Freedom, round the world!


Loud rings the golden cup of joy,
Amid the banquet halls,
And manhood, light as sportful boy,
For mirth and music calls.
Give loose to pleasure! send it free, —
O, send it free,
To roam in wildest liberty!


Our hearts are free!
They mount in wildest liberty!

As bird on pinion swift and strong,
In airy flight we play,
And as a bird's, our festive song,
Full echoing, floats away.
Joy crowns the banquet! We are free!
O, we are free!
But pure and high our liberty!


Yes, we are free;
But pure and high our liberty!


The Spring, the Spring is coming;
The birds are merrily singing:
The Spring, the Spring is coming;
We hear the nightingale, —
In shade of rose, at evening,
We hear the nightingale.

The yellow buds are breaking;
The flowers in meadow are blowing;
And gentle winds are playing
Along the grassy vale,
Around the airy mountain,
And down the grassy vale.

The Spring, the Spring is with us,
And light the swallow is flitting;
The Spring, the Spring is with us, —
It brings the nightingale, —
In cool of shady evening,
It brings the nightingale.


The Spring is gone,
And, one by one,
The blossoms are withered and faded:
The Summer, too,
Is almost through,
And thinner the fountain is shaded.
Come, Autumn, come!
Thou lead'st me home:
The birds of the Summer are flying.
Thou wilt not stay,
But steal'st away,
And Winter behind thee is sighing.

The stars are bright,
This winter night:
The lake is merrily ringing.
The skater there,
To the frosty air,
His open bosom is flinging.
But Spring again
Shall wake the plain,
And showers the blossoms sprinkle.
As through the vale
Light blows the gale,
The lake shall curl and crinkle.

And Summer, thou,
With dripping brow,
Shalt plunge in the shady river,
When golden day
Is on his way,
And field and meadow quiver.
But, Autumn, come!
I welcome home
Fallen leaves and faded flowers.
Thy sky is blue,
And soft as dew
Thy still and gentle hours.

XII. The Boatmen OF THE R HINE .

A joyous life, like Paradise,
We lead along the Rhine,
From where it springs 'mid glacier ice,
To where it meets the brine.
By mountain farm, and moated tower,
By ancient town, we glide:
By vine-clad hill, and fabled bower,
By castled rock, we ride.

'Mid Alpine song we float along;
Through field and meadow stray:
Where grows the vine, in purple twine,
We win our easy way.
We left the free, brave Tell, with thee,
Their earliest rights to keep:
Now through a realm, that once was free,
We hasten to the deep.


Joyous rings the goblet's chime,
In our merry meeting;
And our cheerful hearts keep time,
As the hours are fleeting.
Wake the echoes round us!
Friendship's chain has bound us!
Only love can wound us!
Fill your glasses, — fill them o'er!
Drink, and care shall vex no more!

Joy ascends on purple wings,
Golden clouds around him:
Lightly to the wind he flings
Every chain that bound him.
From his heaven descending,
See him o'er us bending,
Brightest influence lending!
Fill your glasses, — fill them high!
Quick as light, the minutes fly.


Roses strewed along my way,
Round me songs of gladness,
On I speed in youthful play;
Mine nor care nor sadness.
By me pleasure trips along,
Maid with eye bright glancing;
Round the woods repeaTher song,
As their leaves are dancing.

Gayly thus we trip it on,
Frolic youth and pleasure,
Gayly, as the moments run
By, in lightest measure.
While the spring of life is new,
Fresh its roses blowing,
So its early joys pursue, —
Quick the stream is flowing.


The vines are deeply blushing;
The vintage is nigh;
And plenty is gushing,
In showers, from the sky.
Bright spirits are fleeting,
On white clouds, along;
And glad hearts are greeting
Their presence with song.

The youth and the maiden
Now haste to the vine;
The choicest of clusters
They gracefully twine:
With music and dances,
They bear them away;
Their toil is but pastime,
Their labor is play.

O'er hill, and o'er valley,
Is calm and repose;
The voice of the fountain
Is hushed as it flows;
The lake, too, is sleeping,
Unruffled its breast:
All nature is keeping
A Sabbath of rest.

The vintage is gathered;
The harvest is in;
The fruitage of autumn
Is piled in its bin:
The swallows are flitting
To sunnier shore;
We care not for Winter, —
We 've plenty in store.


Mirth is shouting, joy is singing,
Far o'er hill, o'er vale and plain!
Love his merry flight is winging
Through the flowery groves again.
Even the secret forest feeleth,
Trembling deep, his magic power.
Round the hill, at evening, stealeth
Music, gentle as the hour.

Spring is with us, — flowers are blowing;
Round their leaves the west-wind plays:
As afar their breath is flowing,
To their couch he hastes, and stays.
Every sound, that nature utters,
Blends in harmony with all, —
Bee that hums, and leaf that flutters,
Whispering wind, and waterfall.


Evening o'er the vales descending,
Fresh the wind from mountain blows;
And the stars, their influence lending,
Win the laborer to repose.
Night resumes her silent reign, —
Shadowy coolness soothes again!


Blessings on her gentle reign!
Coolness soothes our hearts again.

Dimly o'er the mountain fading,
Sunset glories die away.
Night, each hue of beauty shading,
Robes the earth in dun array.
But she brings us still repose, —
Soft our wearied eyelids close!


Grateful is her still repose, —
Pressed by sleep, our eyelids close!


Hope! thou art my only friend.
When the light that shone around me
All has fled, and grief has bound me,
Though not love his influence lend,
Thou, O Hope! art still my friend.

All the flowers of life may wither,
Friend and lover, glory, gold, —
All may fly, we know not whither,
But thy arms shall still enfold.

Hope! thou ever art my friend.
Though my dearest joys should leave me,
Fate of all I loved bereave me,
Thou a cheering light wilt send,
Still, O Hope! my only friend.

All that wins the heart is fleeting;
Ere 't is known, it flits away,
Ever from our grasp retreating:
Thou, O Hope! alone wilt stay.
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