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SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

OUR band is few, but true and tried,

Our leader frank and bold;

The British soldier trembles

When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood,

Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us,

As seamen know the sea.

We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,

Its safe and silent islands

Within the dark morass.

Wo to the English soldiery
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear:
When waking to their tents on fire
They grasp their arms in vain,

And they who stand to face us

Are beat to earth again;

And they who fly in terror deem

A mighty host behind,

And hear the tramp of thousands

Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release

From danger and from toil:

We talk the battle over,

And share the battle's spoil.

The woodland rings with laugh and shout,

As if a hunt were up,

And woodland flowers are gathered

To crown the soldier's cup.

With

merry songs we mock the wind

That in the pine-top grieves,

And slumber long and sweetly

On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads-

The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds.

'Tis life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain ; 'Tis life to feel the night-wind

That lifts his tossing mane.

A moment in the British camp—

A moment-and away

Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs,
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.

And lovely ladies greet our band
With kindliest welcoming,

With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.

For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more

Till we have driven the Briton,
For ever, from our shore.

THE ARCTIC LOVER.

GONE is the long, long winter night;

Look, my beloved one!

How glorious, through his depths of light, Rolls the majestic sun!

The willows, waked from winter's death,

Give out a fragrance like thy breath

The summer is begun!

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Ay, 'tis the long bright summer day:
Hark, to that mighty crash!

The loosened ice-ridge breaks away

The smitten waters flash.

Seaward the glittering mountain rides,

While, down its green translucent sides,

The foamy torrents dash.

See, love, my boat is moored for thee,

By ocean's weedy floor

The petrel does not skim the sea

More swiftly than my oar.

We'll go, where, on the rocky isles,
Her eggs the screaming sea-fowl piles
Beside the pebbly shore.

Or, bide thou where the poppy blows,
With wind-flowers frail and fair,
While I, upon his isle of snows,

Seek and defy the bear.

Fierce though he be, and huge of frame, This arm his savage strength shall tame, And drag him from his lair.

When crimson sky and flamy cloud
Bespeak the summer o'er,

And the dead valleys wear a shroud
Of snows that melt no more,

I'll build of ice thy winter home,

With glistening walls and glassy dome, And spread with skins the floor.

The white fox by thy couch shall play; And, from the frozen skies,

The meteors of a mimic day

Shall flash upon thine eyes.

And I-for such thy vow-meanwhile Shall hear thy voice and see thy smile,

Till that long midnight flies.

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