Or tossing o'er Marengo's dead,
Or curling on the towers
Where Austria's eagle quivers yet,
And suns the ruffled plumage, wet
With battle's crimson showers!

"Qui vive?" And is the sentry's cry,--
The sleepless soldier's hand,--
Are these--the painted folds that fly
And lift their emblems, printed high
On morning mist and sunset sky--
The guardians of a land?
No! If the patriot's pulses sleep,
How vain the watch that hirelings keep,
The idle flag that waves,
When Conquest, with his iron heel,
Treads down the standards and the steel
That belt the soil of slaves!






NOTES.

Page 6. "They're as safe as Dan'l Malcolm."
The following epitaph is still to be read on a tall grave-stone standing
as yet undisturbed among the transplanted monuments of the dead in Copp's
Hill Burial-Ground, one of the three city cemeteries which have been