They fought as tyrants fight, or slaves;
God gave the dastards to our hands;
Their bones are bleaching on the sands,
Or mouldering slow in shallow graves.
What though we hear about our path
The heavens with howls of vengeance rent;
The venom of their hate is spent;
We need not heed their fangless wrath.
Meantime the stream they strove to chain
Now drinks a thousand springs, and sweeps
With broadening breast, and mightier deeps,
And rushes onward to the main;
While down the swelling current glides
Our ship of state before the blast,
With streamers poured from every mast,
Her thunders roaring from her sides.
Lord! bid the frenzied tempest cease,
Hang out thy rainbow on the sea!
Laugh round her, waves! in silver glee,
And speed her to the ports of peace!
The Fiend Unbound.
Charleston Mercury.
I.
No more, with glad and happy cheer,
And smiling face, doth Christmas come,
But usher'd in with sword and spear,
And beat of the barbarian drum!
No more, with ivy-circled brow,
And mossy beard all snowy white,
He comes to glad the children now,
With sweet and innocent delight.