"At an iron-barred turret, a lady fair "Knelt at the close of the vesper-chime: "Her beads she numbered in silent prayer "For one far away, whom to love was her crime. "Love," sang the troubadour, "love was a crime, "When fathers were stern, in the olden time. "The warder had spurned from the castle gate "The minstrel who wooed her in flowing rhyme-- "He came back from battle in regal estate-- "The bard was a prince of the olden time. "Love," sand the troubadour, "listened to rhyme, "And welcomed the bard of the olden time. "The prince in disguise had the lady sought; "To chapel they hied in their rosy prime: "Thus worth won a jewel that wealth never bought, "A fair lady's heart of the olden time. "The moral," the troubadour sang, "of my rhyme, "Was well understood in the olden time." Champions of Liberty. [See Notes] The pride of all our chivalry, The name of Worth will stand, While throbs the pulse of liberty Within his native land: The wreath his brow was formed to wear, A nation's tears will freshen there. The young companion of his fame, In war and peace allied, With garlands woven round his name, Reposes at his side: Duncan, whose deeds for evermore Will live amid his cannon's roar. Gates, in his country's quarrel bold, When she to arms appealed, Sought like the Christian knights of old, His laurels on the field: Where victory rent the welkin-dome, He earned--a sepulchre at home. The drum-beat of the bannered brave, The requiem and the knell, The volley o'er the soldier's grave, His comrades' last farewell, Are tributes rendered to the dead, And sermons to the living read. But there's a glory brighter far Than all that earth has given; A beacon, like the index-star, That points the way to heaven: It is a life well spent--its close The cloudless sundown of repose. That such was theirs for whom we mourn, These obsequies attest; And though in sorrow they are borne Unto their final rest, A guide will their example be To future champions of the free. The Hunter's Carol. A merry life does the hunter lead! He wakes with the dawn of day; He whistles his dog--he mounts his steed, And scuds to he woods away! The lightsome tramp of the deer he'll mark, As they troop in herds along; And his rifle startles the cheerful lark As he carols his morning song! The hunter's life is the life for me!-- That is the life for a man! Let others sing of a home on the sea, But match me the woods if you can! Then give me a gun--I've an eye to mark The deer as they bound along!-- My steed, dog, and gun, and the cheerful lark To carol my morning song! Washington's Monument. A monument to Washington? A tablet graven with his name?-- Green be the mound it stands upon, And everlasting as his fame! His glory fills the land--the plain, The moor, the mountain, and the mart! More firm than column, urn, or fane, His monument--the human heart.