1840-50.] GEORGE W. CUTTER. 309 Though the old Alleghany may tower to heaven, And the Father of waters divide, The links of our destiny cannot be riven While the truth of those words shall abide. Then, O! let them glow on each helmet and brand, Tho' our blood like our rivers should run : Divide as we may in our own native land, To the rest of the world we are one ! Then up with our flag ! Let it stream on the air ! Tho' our fathers are cold in their graves, They had hands that could strike — they had souls that could dare — And their sons were not born to be slaves. Up, up with that banner! Where'er it may call, Our millions shall rally around ; And a nation of freemen that moment shall fall. When its stars shall be trail'd on the ground. BUENA VISTA. BuENA Vista ! thou hast smil'd Like the shores of orient waves, But now thou art a dreary wild — A fearful waste of graves. All blackened is the verdure there Where fell the purple rain ; The vulture sniffs the tainted air, The wolf howls o'er the slain. And where thy hacienda rose, Amidst the linden leaves. The weary pilgrim sought repose Beneath its friendly eaves ; Where the aloe and the orange bloom With fragrance filled the air. The willow and thy cypress gloom Now wave in silence there. No more that hospitable grove In all thy vale is found ; No voice but of the mourning dove, Now breaks the silence round ; The very roof-tree of the hall Is level with the heai'th ; The fragments of thy chapel wall Are strewed upon the earth. We saw thee when the morning spread Her purple wings on high — Beheld at dawn thy mountains dread, Like clouds against the sky ; And we marked thy fairy meadows, And thy streamlet's silver sheen, Beneath their lofty shadows, Along the dark ravine. But ah ! we saw another hue Spread o'er thy lordly dell. When cannon shook thy sky of blue, And war's dread lightning fell ; When darkness clothed the morning ray, And dimmed thy mountains high; When the fire that kindled up the day Went out upon the sky. Upon their arms that weary night Our soldiery had lain. And many dreamed those visions bright They ne'er shall dream again : Of maidens of the snowy brow, Of sisters pale with care, Of wives who for our safety bow Their loveliness in prayer ; Of venerable sires, who stand Beneath the cares of state ; The mothers of our native land; Our children's artless prate: Of quiet vales, of sacred domes, Far o'er the heaving sea ; The cheerful hearts, the happy homes. Our own proud land, of thee ! But sudden on each drowsy ear, O'er thy dark caverns roU'd
