What God in his mercy and wisdom designed, And armed with his weapons of thunder, Not all the earth's despots and factions combined Have the power to conquer or sunder! The union of lakes--the union of lands-- The union of states none can sever-- The union of hearts--the union of hands-- And the Flag of the Union for ever And ever! The Flag of our Union for ever! Oh, keep that flag flying!--The pride of the van! To all other nations display it! The ladies for union are all to a--MAN! But not to the man who'd betray it. Then the union of lakes--the union of lands-- The union of states none can sever-- The union of hearts--the union of hands-- And the Flag of the Union for ever And ever! The Flag of our Union for ever! Lines After the Manner of the Olden Time. O Love! the mischief thou hast done! Thou god of pleasure and of pain!-- None can escape thee--yes there's one-- All others find the effort vain: Thou cause of all my smiles and tears! Thou blight and bloom of all my years! Love bathes him in the morning dews, Reclines him in the lily bells, Reposes in the rainbow hues, And sparkles in the crystal wells, Or hies him to the coral-caves, Where sea-nymphs sport beneath the waves. Love vibrates in the wind-harp's tune-- With fays and oreads lingers he-- Gleams in th' ring of the watery moon, Or treads the pebbles of the sea. Love rules "the court, the camp, the grove"-- Oh, everywhere we meet thee, Love! And everywhere he welcome finds, From cottage-door to palace-porch-- Love enters free as spicy winds, With purple wings and lighted torch, With tripping feet and silvery tongue, And bow and darts behind him slung. He tinkles in the shepherd's bell The village maiden leans to hear-- By lattice high he weaves his spell, For lady fair and cavalier: Like sun-bursts on the mountain snow, Love's genial warmth melts high and low. Then why, ye nymphs Arcadian, why-- Since Love is general as the air-- Why does he not to Lelia fly, And soften the obdurate fair? Scorn nerves her proud, disdainful heart! She scoffs at Love and all his art! Oh, boy-god, Love!--An archer thou!-- Thy utmost skill I fain would test; One arrow aim at Lelia now, And let thy target be her breast! Her heart bind in thy captive train, Or give me back my own again! The Dream of Love. I've had the heart-ache many times, At the mere mention of a name I've never woven in my rhymes, Though from it inspiration came. It is in truth a holy thing, Life-cherished from the world apart-- A dove that never tries its wing, But broods and nestles in the heart. That name of melody recalls Her gentle look and winning ways Whose portrait hangs on memory's walls, In the fond light of other days. In the dream-land of Poetry, Reclining in its leafy bowers, Her bright eyes in the stars I see, And her sweet semblance in the flowers.