By the driven snow-white and the living blood-red Of my bars and their heaven of stars overhead — By the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast, As I float from the steeple or flap at the mast, 5 Or droop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod, My name is as old as the glory of God.

. . . So I came by the name of Old Glory.

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220

A Life Lesson

There! little girl; don't cry!

They have broken your doll, I know;
And your tea-set blue,

And your play-house, too,

Are things of the long ago;

But childish troubles will soon pass by.

There! little girl; don't cry!

There! little girl; don't cry!

They have broken your slate, I know;
And the glad, wild ways

Of your school-girl days

Are things of the long ago;

But life and love will soon come by.

There! little girl; don't cry!

There! little girl; don't cry!

They have broken your heart, I know;

LOVE'S PRAYER

And the rainbow gleams

Of your youthful dreams

Are things of the long ago;

But Heaven holds all for which you sigh.
There! little girl; don't cry!

Love's Prayer

Dear Lord! kind Lord!

Gracious Lord! I pray

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BAYARD TAYLOR

AMERICA, 1825-1878

The Song of the Camp

"Give us a song!" the soldiers cried,
The outer trenches guarding,
When the heated guns of the camps

Grew weary of bombarding.

The dark Redan, in silent scoff,

allied

Lay, grim and threatening, under;
And the tawny mound of the Malakoff
No longer belched its thunder.

There was a pause. A guardsman said:

"We storm the forts to-morrow;

Sing while we may, another day
Will bring enough of sorrow."

They lay along the battery's side,

Below the smoking cannon,

Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde,
And from the banks of Shannon.

They sang of love, and not of fame;
Forgot was Britain's glory;

Each heart recalled a different name,
But all sang "Annie Laurie."

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THE SONG OF THE CAMP

Voice after voice caught up the song,
Until its tender passion

Rose like an anthem rich and strong, -
Their battle eve confession.

Dear girl! her name he dared not speak;

But as the song grew louder, Something upon the soldier's cheek

Washed off the stains of powder.

Beyond the darkening ocean burned

The bloody sunset's embers,

While the Crimean valleys learned
How English love remembers.

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And once again a fire of hell

Rained on the Russian quarters,

With scream of shot and burst of shell,
And bellowing of the mortars!

And Irish Nora's eyes are dim
For a singer dumb and gory;
And English Mary mourns for him
Who sang of "Annie Laurie."

Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest
Your truth and valor wearing;
The bravest are the tenderest,

The loving are the daring.

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HENRY VAN DYKE

AMERICA, 1852

The Angler's Reveille

What time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night,

And all the drowsy little stars have fallen asleep in

light;

'Tis then a wandering mind awakens, and runs from tree to tree,

And borrows words from all the birds to sound the

reveille.

This is the carol the Robin throws

Over the edge of the valley;

Listen how boldly it flows,

Sally on sally:

Tirra lirra,

Down the river,
Laughing water
All a-quiver.

Day is near,
Clear, clear.

Fish are breaking.

Tup, tup, tup!
Do you hear?

All clear

Wake up!