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NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD.
NEW ENGLAND's dead! New England's dead!
On every hill they lie;
On every field of strife, made red
By bloody victory.
Each valley, where the battle pour'd
Beheld the brave New England sword
With slaughter deeply dyed.
The land is holy where they fought,
For by their blood the land was bought,
Then glory to that valiant band,
The honor'd warriors of the land.
O, few and weak their numbers were-
But to their God they gave their prayer,
The GoD of battles heard their cry,
And sent to them the victory.
They left the ploughshare in the mould,
'And where are ye, O fearless men? And where are ye to-day?
I call: the hills reply again
That ye have pass'd away;
That on old Bunker's lonely height,
In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground, The grass grows green, the harvest bright Above each soldier's mound.'
The bugle's wild and warlike blast
An army now might thunder past,
And they heed not its roar.
The starry flag, 'neath which they fought, In many a bloody day,
From their old graves shall rouse them not,
For they have pass'd away.
THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.
WILD was the night; yet a wilder night
A few fond mourners were kneeling by,
They knew by his awful and kingly look,
By the order hastily spoken, (j)
That he dream'd of days when the nations shook, And the nations' hosts were broken.
He dream'd that the Frenchman's sword still slew,
The bearded Russian he scourged again,
Over Egypt's sands, over Alpine snows,
At the pyramids, at the mountain,
Where the wave of the lordly Danube flows, And by the Italian fountain,
On the snowy cliffs, where mountain streams Dash by the Switzer's dwelling,
He led again, in his dying dreams,
His hosts, the broad earth quelling.
Again Marengo's field was won,
Made pale at his cannons' rattle.
He died at the close of that darksome day, A day that shall live in story:
In the rocky land they placed his clay,
'And left him alone in his glory.'
WITH sunny smiles and showery tears
Above the verdurous springing grass,
Thy clear eye swims in liquid light,
Thy checks with healthful beauty glow.
Sweet June! with thy fair forehead bound
Deep in the heart of man, all o'er the earth,
The newly-budded groves repeat thy call
Rejoices in its dim, primeval shades.