Nasturtton. 169 
Pride in the gift of country and of name 
Speaks in the eye and step—. 
He treads his native land 1 
Halleck. 
The patriot! go, to Fame’s proud mount repair, 
The tardy pile, slow rising there, 
With tongueless eloquence shall tell 
Of them who for their country fell. 
Sprague. 
’Ti» home-felt pleasure prompts the patriot’s sigh, 
This makes him wish to live, and dare to die. 
Campbell. 
Land where he learned to lisp a mother’s name, 
The first beloved in life, the last forgot, 
Land of his frolic youth, 
Land of his bridal eve, 
Land of his children—vain your column’s strength, 
Invaders! vain your battles’ steel and fire 1 
Choose ye the morrow’s doom— 
A prison or a grave! 
Halleck. 
My country is my Holy Land. I love her! 
The purest, brightest skies are spread above her, 
And heavenliest verdure covers vale and hill. 
The clearest waters fish did ever swim in 
Are hers. And oh, what words can praise her virtuous 
women ? 
MacKellar. 
