fications, till at last among the groves of masts which people its harbor, it catches a glimpse of the star spangled banner, in whose folds float the honor, the majesty, and the power of your country. Your tongue is motionless, but your streaming eyes and heaving bosom will tell more eloquently than words how much you love your country.

It was this deep and overpowering sentiment that first found utterance through poetry. The first song, of which we have any record, was chanted upon the shores of the Red Sea, after a great national deliverance. Standing as the Hebrews did in safety, and surveying the sea through which they had passed, covered with the wrecks of their enemies, human nature could not keep silence. The voice of joy and gratitude broke forth, and it spoke in poetry.

"And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and dances, and Miriam answered them,"

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Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously,

The horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea."

Or as another poetess of our own times has rendered it into modern verse;

"Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea, Jehovah hath triumphed, his people are free.”

At a later period Hebrew patriotism spake once more through poetry, but it was in another strain. It was when the glorious ages of the nation were over, and had become a tale of other times. It was when the daughter of Zion, plucked up from her native seats, was borne away into captivity. It was when she paused in her journey to slavery, and with streaming hair and dust upon her head sat down by the rivers of Babylon.

"By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, Yea, we wept when we remembered Zion.

We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof;

For they that carried us away captive required of

us a song,

And they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion,

How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land? If I forget thee, O Jerusalem,

Let my right hand forget her cunning!

If I do not remember thee,

Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth!
If I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy!"

In the same manner it was patriotism that first kindled poetry among the Greeks. It was love of country which led Homer to sing the exploits of the heroes of Greece before the walls of Troy, and thus to become the first spark in kindling the intellect of that wonderful people. Of Athens, the oldest poetic fragment we have is a sort of hymn, composed in celebration of the assassination of a tyrant. It was the standing dinner song for centuries to the whole people; and it has been said by one who knew human nature well, that if Brutus could have composed as good a one on the death of Cæsar, Rome would never have relapsed under the tyranny of the emperors. Soon after the establishment of the Athenian republic by Solon, Pisistratus a demagogue, by a mean flattery of the people, usurped the government, and made himself the tyrant of Athens. But though a usurper, his government was on the whole mild and liberal, and he was permitted to die in possession of the supreme

authority. His sons, Hippias and Hipparchus, attempted to tread in his footsteps, but in vain. They inherited all their father's tyranny with none of his virtues. A conspiracy was formed to rid the city of them, and re-establish a free government. Two noble youths, Harmodius and Aristogiton, undertook the task, and approaching the tyrants with their swords concealed in myrtle boughs, succeeded in putting one of them to death. Their plan however, on the whole, miscarried for the time, and both were seized and slain. But their blood was the seed of liberty. In three years the other brother was expelled, and Athens again was free. That event was celebrated by the following ode, which became inexpressibly dear to every Athenian heart.

Verdant myrtle's branchy pride
Shall my thirsty blade entwine;
Such, Harmodius, deck'd thy side,
Such, Aristogiton, thine.

Noblest youths! in islands blest,

Not like recreant idlers dead;

You with fleet Pelides rest,

And with godlike Diomed.

Myrtle shall our brows entwine
While the muse your fame shall tell;
'Twas at Pallas' sacred shrine,

At your feet the tyrant fell.

Then in Athens all was peace,
Equal laws and liberty;
Nurse of arts and eye of Greece,

People valiant, firm and free!"

It was an ardent patriotism, thus cherished, thus expressed, and thus inculcated, which made Greece what she afterwards became. It breathed that indomitable energy into her armies, before which the millions of Asia fled in dismay on the plains of Marathon and Platea, and made her by turns, small as she appeared upon the map of the earth, alternately the admiration and the terror of the world.

There is, beside the love of country, a sentiment deep rooted within us, of sympathy with our kind, which cannot perhaps, be better denominated than by the name of humanity. The best expression which this sentiment has ever found was by a Roman, himself a poet. "I am a man, and nothing which concerns humanity fails deeply to move my heart." It is this secret sympathy, which is one of the