Come to the bridal-chamber, Death! Come to the mother, when she feels, For the first time, her first-born's breath; Come when the blessed seals That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke; Come in Consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm; Come when the heart beats high and warm, With banquet-song, and dance, and wine,-- And thou art terrible!--The tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word; And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be. Bozzaris! with the storied brave, Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee--there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. We tell thy doom without a sigh; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's,-- One of the few, the immortal names That were not born to die! F. G. Halleck. CCXXIV. THE AMERICAN FLAG. When freedom, from her mountain height, Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there! She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then, from his mansion in the sun, She called her eagle bearer downy And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land! Majestic monarch of the cloud! Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, And see the lightning's lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm, And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven! Child of the sun! to thee 't is given To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle stroke,-- And bid its blendings shine afar, Like rainbows on the cloud of war,-- The harbingers of victory!