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 the 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.

Dec. 26, 1776.

BATTLE OF TRENTON.

This is an anonymous contemporary poem on the crossing of the Delaware amid the ice, and the capture of the Hessian Troops in Trenton.

N Christmas-day in seventy-six,

ΟΝ

Our ragged troops with bayonets fixed,
For Trenton marched away.

The Delaware see! the boats below!

The light obscured by hail and snow!
But no signs of dismay.

Our object was the Hessian band,

That dared invade fair freedom's land,

And quarter in that place.

Great Washington he led us on,

Whose streaming flag, in storm or sun,

Had never known disgrace.

In silent march we passed the night,
Each soldier panting for the fight,

Though quite benumbed with frost.
Greene, on the left, at six began,
The right was led by Sullivan,
Who ne'er a moment lost.

The pickets stormed, the alarm was spread, The rebels risen from the dead

Were marching into town.

Some scampered here, some scampered there, And some for action did prepare;

But soon their arms laid down.

Twelve hundred servile miscreants,
With all their colors, guns, and tents,
Were trophies of the day.

The frolic o'er, the bright canteen

In centre, front, and rear was seen

Driving fatigue away.

Now, brothers of the patriot bands,

Let's sing deliverance from the hands.

Of arbitrary sway.

And as our life is but a span,

Let's touch the tankard while we can,

In memory of that day.