From morning suns and evening dews THE INDIAN BURYING GROUND. In spite of all the learn'd have said, Not so the ancients of these lands- And shares again the joyous feast. His imaged birds, and painted bowl, His bow, for action ready bent, And not the finer essence gone. Thou, Stranger! that shalt come this way, Here still a lofty rock remains, On which the curious eye may trace (Now wasted, half, by wearing rains) The fancies of a ruder race. Here still an agèd elm aspires, Beneath whose far projecting shade (And which the shepherd still admires) The children of the forest play'd! There oft a restless Indian queen (Pale Shebah, with her braided hair) And many a barbarous form is seen To chide the man that lingers there. By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews, In vestments for the chase array'd, The hunter still the deer pursues, The hunter and the deer a shade! And long shall timorous Fancy see JOSEPH HOPKINSON.* Born at Philadelphia 1770-died 1842. HAIL, COLUMBIA! (1798.) HAIL, Columbia! happy land! Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause; Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, And when the storm of war was gone, Enjoy'd the peace your valour won. Let independence be our boast, Immortal patriots! rise once more; Sound, sound the trump of Fame ! Ring through the world with loud applause, Ring through the world with loud applause: Let every clime to Freedom dear Listen with a joyful ear. With equal skill, and godlike power, Of horrid war; or guides, with ease, Behold the chief who now commands, ROBERT TREAT PAINE. Born at Taunton, Massachusetts, 1773-died 1811. ADAMS AND LIBERTY.* YE sons of Columbia, who bravely have fought For those rights, which unstain'd from your sires had descended, May you long taste the blessings your valour has bought, And your sons reap the soil which their fathers defended. 'Mid the reign of mild Peace May your nation increase, With the glory of Rome, and the wisdom of Greece; While the earth bears a plant or the sea rolls its waves. In a clime, whose rich vales feed the marts of the world, Though in thunder array'd, Let your cannon declare the free charter of trade. The fame of our arms, of our laws the mild sway, "Till the dark clouds of faction obscured our young day, Who their country have sold, And barter'd their God for his image in gold, That ne'er will the sons of Columbia be slaves, While France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in blood, And society's base threats with wide dissolution; *See Note 2. May Peace, like the dove who return'd from the Flood, Yet the boon we disclaim, If bought by our sovereignty, justice, or fame. 'Tis the fire of the flint each American warms: To our laws we're allied, No foe can subdue us, no faction divide. For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, Our mountains are crown'd with imperial oak, Whose roots, like our liberties, ages have nourish'd; But long e'er our nation submits to the yoke, Not a tree shall be left on the field where it flourish'd. Should invasion impend, Every grove would descend From the hill-tops they shaded, our shores to defend. Let our patriots destroy Anarch's pestilent worm; Lest our liberty's growth should be check'd by corrosion; Then let clouds thicken round us; we heed not the storm; Our realm fears no shock but the earth's own explosion. Foes assail us in vain, Though their fleets bridge the main, For our altars and laws with our lives we'll maintain. Should the tempest of war overshadow our land, |