THE REVOLUTIONARY RISING Out of the North the wild news came, Far flashing on its wings of flame, Swift as the boreal light which flies At midnight through the startled skies. And there was tumult in the air

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, And through the wide land everywhere The answering tread of hurrying feet; While the first oath of Freedom's gun Came on the blast from Lexington; And Concord roused, no longer tame, Forgot her old baptismal name, Made bare her patriot arm of power, And swelled the discord of the hour.

The pastor came; his snowy locks
Hallowed his brow of thought and care;
And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks,
He led into the house of prayer.

Then soon he rose; the prayer was strong;
The psalm was warrior David's song;
The text, a few short words of might,-
"The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!"
He spoke of wrongs too long endured,
Of sacred rights to be secured;
Then from his patriot tongue of flame
The startling words for Freedom came.
The stirring sentences he spake
Compelled the heart to glow or quake,

And, rising on his theme's broad wing,
And grasping in his nervous hand
The imaginary battle-brand,
In face of death he dared to fling
Defiance to a tyrant king.

And now before the

open

door

The warrior priest had ordered so-
The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar
Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er,
Its long reverberating blow,

So loud and clear, it seemed the ear
Of dusty death must wake and hear.
And there the startling drum and fife
Fired the living with fiercer life;
While overhead, with wild increase,
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace,

The great bell swung as ne'er before:
It seemed as it would never cease;

And every word its ardor flung

From off its jubilant iron tongue
Was, "War! War! War!"

"Who dares? ". -this was the patriot's cry,
As striding from the desk he came,-
"Come out with me, in Freedom's name,
For her to live, for her to die?"

A hundred hands flung up reply,

A hundred voices answered, "I."

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

By permission, Read, POEMS, J. B. Lippincott Company.

THE DEFENSE OF THE ALAMO

(March 6, 1836)

Santa Ana came storming, as a storm might come; There was rumble of cannon; there was rattle of blade; There was cavalry, infantry, bugle and drum,—

Full seven thousand, in pomp and parade,

The chivalry, flower of Mexico;

And a gaunt two hundred in the Alamo!

And thirty lay sick, and some were shot through;
For the siege had been bitter, and bloody, and long.
"Surrender or die!"-" Men, what will you do?"
And Travis, great Travis, drew sword, quick and

I die with my wounded, in the Alamo."

Then Bowie gasped, "Lead me over that line!"

Then Crockett, one hand to the sick, one hand to his

gun,

Crossed with him; then never a word or a sign

Till all, sick or well-all, all save but one,

One man. Then a woman stepped, praying, and slow Across, to die at her post in the Alamo.

Then that one coward fled, in the night, in that night When all men silently prayed and thought

Of home; of to-morrow; of God and the right,

Till dawn: and with dawn came Travis's cannon-shot,

In answer to insolent Mexico,

From the old bell-tower of the Alamo.

AS HE WILL BE REMEMBERED

Reproduced by permission, The New York Times, January 12, 1919.