ST. PATRICK'S DAY.

Oн, blest be the days when the green banner floated
Sublime o'er the mountains of free Innisfail,
When her sons, to her glory and freedom devoted,
Defied the invader to tread on her soil,
When back o'er the main they chased the Dane,
And gave to religion and learning their spoil,
When valor and mind together combined.

But wherefore lament o'er the glories departed?
Her star shall shine out with as vivid a ray,

For ne'er had she children more brave and true-hearted Than those she now sees on St. Patrick's Day.

Her sceptre, alas! passed away to the stranger,
And treason surrendered what valor had held;
But true hearts remained amid darkness and danger,
Which, spite of her tyrants, would never be quelled.
Oft, oft, through the night flashed gleams of light,
Which almost the darkness of bondage dispelled;
But a star now is near, her heaven to cheer,

Not like the wild gleams which so fitfully darted,
But long to shine down with its hallowing ray
On daughters as fair and sons as true-hearted
As Erin beholds on St. Patrick's Day.

Oh, blest be the hour when, begirt by her cannon,
And hailed, as it rose, by a nation's applause,
That flag waved aloft o'er the spire of Dungannon,
Asserting for Irishmen, Irish laws!

Once more shall it wave, o'er hearts as brave,

Despite of the dastards who mock at her cause, And like brothers, agreed, whatever their creed, Her children, inspired by those glories departed, No longer in darkness desponding will stay,

But join in her cause like the brave and true-hearted Who rise for their rights on St. Patrick's Day.

M. J. BARRY.

MARSEILLES HYMN.

YE sons of France, awake to glory.

Hark, hark, what myriads bid you rise! Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,— Behold their tears and hear their cries. Shall hateful tyrants mischiefs breeding, With hireling hosts, a ruffian band, Affright and desolate the land, While peace and liberty lie bleeding? Chorus. To arms, to arms, ye brave!

Th' avenging sword unsheathe!

March on, march on, all hearts resolved
On victory or death!

Now, now the dangerous storm is rolling
Which treacherous kings confederate raise;
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo, our walls and cities blaze.
And shall we basely view the ruin,
While lawless force, with guilty stride,

Spreads desolation far and wide,

With crimes and blood his hands imbruing? Chorus.

With luxury and pride surrounded,
The vile, insatiate despots dare,

Their thirst of gold and power unbounded,
To mete and vend the light and air.
Like beasts of burden would they load us,
Like gods, would bid their slaves adore;
But man is man, and who is more?
Then, shall they longer lash and goad us?
Chorus.

O Liberty, can man resign thee,

Once having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee?
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?

Too long the world has wept, bewailing
That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield,-
But freedom is our sword and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.
Chorus.

ROUGET DE LISLE.

THE SPANISH PATRIOTS' SONG.

HARK! hear ye the sounds that the winds, on their pinions,
Exultingly roll from the shore to the sea,

With a voice that resounds through her boundless dominions? 'Tis Columbia calls on her sons to be free!

Behold, on yon summits, where Heaven has throned her,
How she starts from her proud, inaccessible seat,
With nature's impregnable ramparts around her,
And the cataract's thunder and foam at her feet!

In the breeze of her mountains her loose locks are shaken,
While the soul-stirring notes of her warrior-song,

From the rock to the valley, re-echo, "Awaken!
Awaken, ye hearts that have slumbered too long!"

Yes, despots! too long did your tyranny hold us

In a vassalage vile, ere its weakness was known,—

Till we learned that the links of the chain that controlled us Were forged by the fears of its captive alone.

That spell is destroyed, and no longer availing.
Despised as detested, pause well ere ye dare
To cope with a people whose spirits and feeling

Are roused by remembrance and steeled by despair.

Go, tame the wild torrent, or stem with a straw

The proud surges that sweep o'er the strand that confined them;

But presume not again to give freemen a law,

Nor think with the chains they have broken to bind them.

To heights by the beacons of Liberty lightened,

They're a scorn who come up her young eagles to tame; And to swords, that her sons for the battle have brightened, The hosts of a king are as flax to a flame.

ANONYMOUS.

VIVA ITALIA! VIVA IL RE!

(Written on the departure of the Austrians from Italy, and the entry of the Italian king, Victor Emmanuel, into Venice, November 7, 1866.)

HASTE! open the lattice, Giulia,

And wheel me my chair where the sun
May fall on my face while I welcome
The sound of the life-giving gun!
The Austrian leaves with the morning,
And Venice hath freedom to-day,-
"Viva! e Viva Italia!

Viva il Re !"

Would God that I only were younger,
To stand with the rest on the street,
To fling up my cap on the mola,

And the tricolor banner to greet!
The gondolas, girl,-they are passing!
And what do the gondoliers say?-
"Viva e Viva Italia!

Viva il Re !"

Oh, cursed be these years and this weakness
That shackle me here in my chair,

When the people's loud clamor is rending
The chains that once made their despair!

Not these were the cries when our fathers

The gonfalon gave to the breeze,
When doges sate solemn in council,
And Dandolo harried the seas!
But the years of the future are ours,
To humble the pride of the gray,—
"Viva! e Viva Italia!

Viva il Re !"

Bring, girl, from the dust of yon closet
The sword that your ancestor bore
When Genoa's prowess was humbled,
Her galleys beat back from our shore !
O great Contarino! your ashes
To Freedom are given to-day!
"Viva! e Viva Italia!

Viva il Re !"

What! tears in your eyes, my Giulia ?
You weep when your country is free?
You mourn for your Austrian lover,
Whose face nevermore you shall see?
Kneel, girl, kneel beside me, and whisper,
While to Heaven for vengeance you pray,
"Viva! e Viva Italia!

Viva il Re!"

Shame, shame on the weakness that held you, And shame on the heart that was won!

No blood of the gonfaloniere

Shall mingle with blood of the Hun!
Swear hate to the name of the spoiler,
Swear lealty to Venice, and say,
"Viva! e Viva Italia!

Viva il Re !"

Hark! heard you the gun from the mola?
And hear you the welcoming cheer?

Our army is coming, Giulia,

The friends of our Venice are near!