Beaufort.

By W. J. Grayson, of South Carolina.

Old home! what blessings late were yours; The gifts of peace, the songs of joy! Now, hostile squadrons seek your shores, To ravage and destroy.

The Northman comes no longer there, With soft address and measured phrase, With bated breath, and sainted air, And simulated praise.

He comes a vulture to his prey; A wolf to raven in your streets: Around on shining stream and bay Gather his bandit fleets.

They steal the pittance of the poor; Pollute the precincts of the dead; Despoil the widow of her store,-- The orphan of his bread.

Crimes like their crimes--of lust and blood, No Christian land has known before; Oh, for some scourge of fire and flood, To sweep them from the shore!

Exiles from home, your people fly, In adverse fortune's hardest school; With swelling breast and flashing eye-- They scorn the tyrant's rule!

Away, from all their joys away, The sports that active youth engage; The scenes where childhood loves to play, The resting-place of age.

Away, from fertile field and farm; The oak-fringed island-homes that seem To sit like swans, with matchless charm, On sea-born sound and stream.

Away, from palm-environed coast, The beach that ocean beats in vain; The Royal Port, your pride and boast, The loud-resounding main.

Away, from orange groves that glow With golden fruit or snowy flowers, Roses that never cease to blow, Myrtle and jasmine bowers.

From these afar, the hoary bead Of feeble age, the timid maid, Mothers and nurslings, all have fled, Of ruthless foes afraid.

But, ready, with avenging hand, By wood and fen, in ambush lie Your sons, a stern, determined band, Intent to do or die.

Whene'er the foe advance to dare The onset, urged by hate and wrath, Still have they found, aghast with fear, A Lion in the path.

Scourged, to their ships they wildly rush, Their shattered ranks to shield and save, And learn how hard a task to crush The spirit of the brave.

Oh, God! Protector of the right, The widows' stay, the orphans' friend, Restrain the rage of lawless might, The wronged and crushed defend!

Be guide and helper, sword and shield! From hill and vale, where'er they roam, Bring back the yeoman to his field, The exile to his home!

Pastors and scattered flocks restore; Their fanes rebuild, their altars raise; And let their quivering lips once more Rejoice in songs of praise!