The Volunteers! the Volunteers!
I dream, as in the by-gone years,
I hear again their stirring cheers,
And see their banners shine,
What time the yet unconquered North
Pours to the wars her legions forth,
For many a wrong to strike a blow
With mailed hand at Mexico.

The Volunteers! Ah, where are they
Who bade the hostile surges stay,
When the black forts of Monterey
Frowned on their dauntless line?
When, undismayed amid the shock
Of war, like Cerro Gordo's rock,
They stood, or rushed more madly on
Than tropic tempest o'er San Juan?

Upon the breast of stolid earth
This immemorial stone,
A jewel of Golconda's worth,
In sovran beauty shone.

My lady for a moment bore
The gem upon her brow,
A moment on her bosom wore—
'Tis worth the Orient now.

C HLOE the Wonder of the latter Age,
Tho' antiquated does our Hearts engage;
With such an Art affects the Wits and Beaus!
How like good Wine? by Time she stronger grows.

Lord, for the names that light
The path of Truth and Right
And Freedom's way;
For all whose life doth prove
The might of Faith, Hope, Love
The souls of men to move,
Be praise to-day!

Praise for the hearts of love,
Kin to thine own above,
Tender and brave;
Steadfast in pain and loss,
Counting earth's glory dross,
Bearing anew the cross,
To bless and save!

May their dear memory be
Motive and guide to thee,
With saints of yore!
The truth of God they taught,
The good for man they wrought,
The joy to earth they brought,

To cheer our minds
Such crowds and kinds
Of charms all round us are;
That if we were
All eye or ear
Each sense would have full share.

Birds in the spring
Do chirp and sing,
With clear, shrill, and sweet throats:
Some hop, some fly,
Some soar on high,
Each of them knows its notes.

With bills and breasts
They build their nests,
Then lay and hatch their young;
They feed them too,
All this they do,
And spare some time for song.

Hear you a lark?
Tell me what clerk
Can match her! He that beats
The next thorn bush,

The goddess slept. About her where she lay
Dead pansies, fragrant still, and the myriad rose:
Adream 'mid the fallen drift, she woke one day,
And the blooms stirred, seeing her eyes unclose.

The oaks and beeches stood in disarray,
Gaunt, spectral, dark, in dismal phantom rows;
She smiled, and there was a shimmer 'mid the grey
And sudden fall of the first winter-snows.

But when, tired with the icy blossoms of the air,
She slept once more, and all the snow was over,
She dreamed of Spring and saw his sunlit hair,

When Tom to Cambridge first was sent,
A plain brown bob he wore;
Read much, and look'd as though he meant
To be a fop no more.

See him to Lincoln's-Inn repair,
His resolution flag;
He cherishes a length of hair,
And tucks it in a bag.

Nor Coke nor Salkeld he regards,
But gets into the House,
And soon a judge's rank rewards
His pliant votes and bows.

Adieu, ye bobs! ye bags! give place;
Full bottoms come instead;
Good L—d! to see the various ways
Of dressing—a calf's head!

Ah! poor Matilda, cou'd thy fate,
But reach the fickle fair,
Whom transient pomp and fortune wait,
Mere phantoms, light as air.

Perhaps a tear they'd willing pay
Of pity, ere they doom'd
Too harsh a sentence on thy clay,
For sweeter flow'r ne'er bloom'd.

The fame of fair Matilda's charms
The lofty dome has rung;
And while they courted to their arms,
Thy praise has nobles sung.

By flatt'ry lull'd, by peers caress'd
How swift the minutes flew;
In various forms was pleasure dress'd,
To wait a while on you.

Begone , ye sighs! begone, ye tears!
Begone, ye jealousies and fears!
Celinda swears she never lov'd;
Celinda swears none ever mov'd
Her heart, but I: If this be true,
Shall I keep company with you?
What though a senseless rival swore
She said as much to him before?
What though I saw him in her bed?
I'll trust not what I saw, but what she said.
Curse on the prudent and the wise,
Who ne'er believe such pleasing lies.
I grant she only does deceive;
I grant 'tis folly to believe;
But by this folly I vast pleasures gain,