naturally awaits those who have
lost, in this manner, their dearest friends and relations.

[_NY Weekly_: On War:

we sally forth, and bear down all mortal opposition. We
scarcely, in our thoughts, survey the disconsolate many we left
behind; who, though concerned, are not engaged, in the murderous
contest. Flushed with the hopes of suspended victory, the insignia
of triumph hanging doubtful over our heads, whole hosts advancing to
dispute with us our martial prowess, we indulge no thoughts about
those who lament the loss of a father, a child, a husband, a
brother, or a friend.

Stunned with the fatal tidings, which mournfully announce the death
of an affectionate father, behold the wretched family, the
disconsolate.... A prey to that incessant grief which naturally
accompanies those to whom the fatal loss happens, the worthy sire,
and the tender matron, lament the eternal exit of their ill-fated
son....]

Thick clouds were darkly pending
Above the battle fray,
And foemen were contending
For the fortune of the day.

And high in air the banner bright,
Waving o'er land and sea,
The potent symbol of their might,
The emblem of the free.

Brave hearts that stood amid the storm
That burst in fury round;
With many a stern and manly form,
Sunk powerless to the ground.

Deep gloom had settled round them,
And darkness veil'd the sky,
When Freedom, with her starry train,
Descended from on high.

When, at her bidding, lo, a chief
Amid the throng appear'd;
When, the goddess halted by his side,
And thus his spirits cheer'd:

"Oh, let not care oppress thee,
But banish far thy fears,
For, in blessing, I will bless thee,
And will wipe away thy tears;

"And a banner thou shalt still retain,
And a hand to lead the brave
To glory and to victory,
Or to the hero's grave."

Then fear not, honoured chieftain,
For yet again shall be,
Your flag shall wave o'er every land,
And float on every sea.

What though in foreign clime it waves,
Careering on the wind,
Whatever shore the ocean laves,
A due respect will find.

And the thunders of your ships of war
Along the deep shall roll,
While the canvas of your merchantmen
Shall sweep from pole to pole.

"And now, oh gallant chief," she cried,
"Hold fast the glorious prize;
The flag with blue and crimson dyed,