120

THE HUNTER'S SERENADE.

The forest's leaping panther,
Fierce, beautiful, and fleet,
Shall yield his spotted hide to be
A carpet for thy feet.

I know, for thou hast told me,
Thy maiden love of flowers;
Ah, those that deck thy gardens
Are pale compared with ours.
When our wide woods and mighty lawns
Bloom to the April skies,

The earth has no more gorgeous sight
To show to human eyes.

In meadows red with blossoms,
All summer long, the bee

Murmurs, and loads his yellow thighs,
For thee, my love, and me.

Or wouldst thou gaze at tokens
Of ages long ago-

Our old oaks stream with mosses,
And sprout with mistletoe ;

And mighty vines, like serpents, climb

The giant sycamore;

And trunks, o'erthrown for centuries,

Cumber the forest floor;

And in the great savanna

The solitary mound,

Built by the elder world, o'erlooks

The loneliness around.

THE HUNTER S SERENADE.

121

Come, thou hast not forgotten

Thy pledge and promise quite,
With many blushes murmured,
Beneath the evening light.

Come, the young violets crowd my door,
Thy earliest look to win,
And at my silent window-sill

The jessamine peeps in.
All day the red-bird warbles,

Upon the mulberry near,

And the night-sparrow trills her song,

All night, with none to hear.

11

SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

OUR band is few, but true and tried,

Our leader frank and bold;

The British soldier trembles

When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good green wood,
Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us,

As seamen know the sea.

We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,

Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.

Wo to the English soldiery
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear :
When waking to their tents on fire
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again;

SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

123

And they who fly in terror deem

A mighty host behind,

And hear the tramp of thousands

Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release

From danger and from toil :

We talk the battle over,

And share the battle's spoil.

The woodland rings with laugh and shout,

As if a hunt were up,

And woodland flowers are gathered

To crown the soldier's cup.

With merry songs we mock the wind

That in the pine-top grieves,

And slumber long and sweetly,
On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads-

The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb
Across the moonlight plain;
'Tis life to feel the night-wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp-
A moment-and away
Back to the pathless forest,

Before the peep of day.

124

SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs,
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band,
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton,

For ever, from our shore.