“Our fathers crossed the ocean’s wave
      To seek this shore;
  They left behind the coward slave
  To welter in his living grave;
  With hearts unbent, and spirits brave,
      They sternly bore
  Such toils as meaner souls had quelled;
  But souls like these such toils impelled
      To soar.

  “Hail to the morn when first they stood
      On Bunker’s height,
  And, fearless, stemmed the invading flood,
  And wrote our dearest rights in blood,
  And mowed in ranks the hireling brood,
      In desperate fight! 
  O, ’twas a proud, exulting day,
  For e’en our fallen fortunes lay
      In light!

  “There is no other land like thee,
      No dearer shore;
  Thou art the shelter of the free;
  The home, the port, of liberty
  Thou hast been, and shall for ever be,
      Till time is o’er. 
  Ere I forget to think upon
  My land, shall mother curse the son
      She bore.

  “Thou art the firm, unshaken rock
      On which we rest;
  And, rising from thy hardy stock,
  Thy sons the tyrant’s power shall mock,
  And slavery’s galling chains unlock,
      And free the oppressed;
  All who the wreath of freedom twine
  Beneath the shadow of their vine
      Are blest.

  “We love thy rude and rocky shore,
      And here we stand. 
  Let foreign navies hasten o’er,
  And on our heads their fury pour,
  And peal their cannon’s loudest roar,
      And storm our land;
  They still shall find our lives are given
  To die for home,—­and leant on heaven
      Our hand.”

Did you think that a real Yankee could be so proud of living out of Virginia?  I am sure those we have seen appear to be half ashamed of their country,—­and to be sure it is not as good as ours; but I could not help liking this boy’s warm, honest love of his native soil.  Even Clarendon admired it, and, when he had done repeating his favorite lines, handed him a silver dollar, saying,—­“There! buy yourself a book of just such poetry, if you choose, and if you can find any in praise of the Old Dominion, read it for my sake.”

I knew that brother meant to do a gracious thing; but still there was something about David’s appearance which would have made me afraid to give him money, and I was not surprised at the indignant flush which rose to his cheek, or the scornful way in which he threw the poor dollar over the rock into the sea.

“I am Captain Cobb’s son, Sir,” he said very proudly, “and must tell you, that, though a New England boy is not ashamed of earning money in any honest way, he never takes it as a gift from strangers.  I should have pocketed your silver with great pleasure if I had sold you its worth in fish, or taken you out in the skiff for a day’s excursion; but my mother would scorn me if I had taken alms like a beggar-boy.”