them like a pall. 
    Now deeper roll the maddening drums,
    And the mingling host like ocean heaves;
      While from the midst a horrid wailing comes,
  And high above the fight the lonely bugle grieves!

GRENVILLE MELLEN.

* * * * *

NATHAN HALE.[A]

[Footnote A:  Hanged as a spy by the British, in New York City, September 22, 1776.]

  To drum-beat and heart-beat
    A soldier marches by: 
  There is color in his cheek,
    There is courage in his eye,
  Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat
    In a moment he must die.

  By starlight and moonlight,
    He seeks the Briton’s camp;
  He hears the rustling flag,
    And the armed sentry’s tramp;
  And the starlight and moonlight
    His silent wanderings lamp.

  With slow tread and still tread,
    He scans the tented line;
  And he counts the battery guns
    By the gaunt and shadowy pine;
  And his slow tread and still tread
    Gives no warning sign.

  The dark wave, the plumed wave,
    It meets his eager glance;
  And it sparkles ’neath the stars,
    Like the glimmer of a lance—­
  A dark wave, a plumed wave,
    On an emerald expanse.

  A sharp clang, a steel clang,
    And terror in the sound! 
  For the sentry, falcon-eyed,
    In the camp a spy hath found;
  With a sharp clang, a steel clang,
    The patriot is bound.

  With calm brow, steady brow,
    He listens to his doom;
  In his look there is no fear,
    Nor a shadow-trace of gloom;
  But with calm brow and steady brow
    He robes him for the tomb.

  In the long night, the still night,
    He kneels upon the sod;
  And the brutal guards withhold
    E’en the solemn Word of God! 
  In the long night, the still night,
    He walks where Christ hath trod.

  ’Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn,
    He dies upon the tree;
  And he mourns that he can lose
    But one life for Liberty;
  And in the blue morn, the sunny morn,
    His spirit-wings are free.

  But his last words, his message-words,
    They burn, lest friendly eye
  Should read how proud and calm
    A patriot could die,
  With his last words, his dying words,
    A soldier’s battle-cry.

  From Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf,
    From monument and urn,
  The sad of earth, the glad of heaven,
    His tragic fate shall learn;
  And on Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf
    The name of HALE shall burn!

FRANCIS MILES FINCH.

* * * * *

SONG OF MARION’S MEN.[A]

[Footnote A:  General Francis Marion, of South Carolina, renowned as a daring patriot partisan leader during the Revolutionary War.]