Why
trembled
wife and maid ?
Warner - World's Best Literature - v28 - Songs, Hymns, Lyrics
Davy is Welsh you may hear by his tones,
For a regular Welsher is Davy Jones.
Whenever a fish gets drowned, he moans
So tender-hearted is Davy Jones.
Thousands of ships the old man owns,
But none go a-sailing for Davy Jones.
ONE, Two, Three
I
SAW three witches as the wind blew cold
In a red light to the lee;
Bold they were and over-bold
As they sailed over the sea,
Calling for One, Two, Three!
Calling for One, Two, Three!
And I think I can hear
It a-ringing in my ear,
A-howling for their One, Two, Three!
And clouds came over the sky,
And the wind it blew hard and free,
And the waves grew bold and over-bold
As we sailed over the sea -
Howling for One, Two, Three!
Howling for their One, Two, Three!
Oh I think I can hear
It a-ringing in my ear,
A-howling for their One, Two, Three!
And the storm came roaring on,
Such a storm as I never did see,
And the storm it was bold and over-bold,
And as bad as a storm could be -
## p. 16549 (#249) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16549
A-roaring for its One, Two, Three!
A-howling for its One, Two, Three!
Oh I think I can hear
It a-howling in my ear,
A-growling for its One, Two, Three!
And a wave came over the deck,
As big as a wave could be,
And it took away the captain and the mate and a man:
It had got the One, Two, Three!
And it went with the One, Two, Three!
Oh I think I can hear
It a-rolling in my ear,
As it went with the One, Two, Three.
THE BEAUTIFUL WITCH
A
PRETTY witch was bathing
By the beach one summer day:
There came a boat with pirates
Who carried her away.
The ship had a breeze behind her,
Over the waves went she!
« O signor capitano,
O captain of the sea!
I'll give you a hundred ducats
If you will set me free! »
“I will not take a hundred, -
You're worth much more, you know;
I'll sell you to the Sultan
For a thousand golden sequins:
You put yourself far too low. "
<< You will not take a hundred ?
Very well then, let them be!
But I have a constant lover,
Who, as you may discover,
Will never abandon me. ”
On the deck, before the rover,
The witch began to sing –
“Oh come to me, my lover! ”
And the wind as it stole over
Began to howl and ring.
## p. 16550 (#250) ##########################################
16550
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Louder and ever louder
Became the tempest's roar.
The captain in a passion
Thus at the lady swore:-
“I believe that your windy lover
Is the Devil and nothing more! ”
Wilder and ever wilder
The tempest raged and rang.
« There are rocks ahead, and the wind dead aft
Thank you, my love! ” the lady laughed
As unto the wind she sang.
“Oh, go with your cursed lover
To inferno to sing for me! ”
So cried the angry captain,
And threw the lady over
To sink in the stormy sea.
But changing into a sea-gull,
Over the waves she fiew.
“O captain, captain bold,” sang she,
« 'Tis true you've missed the gallows-tree,
But now you'll drown in the foaming sea:
O captain, forever adieu! ”
TIME FOR US TO GO
WH
ITH sails let fall and sheeted home, and clear of the ground
were we,
We passed the bank, stood round the light, and sailed away
to sea;
The wind was fair and the coast was clear, and the brig was noways
slow,
For she was built in Baltimore, and 'twas time for us to go.
Time for us to go,
Time for us to go,
For she was built in Baltimore, and 'twas time for us to go.
A quick run to the west we had, and when we made the Bight,
We kept the offing all day long, and crossed the bar at night.
Six hundred niggers in the hold, and seventy we did stow;
And when we'd clapped the hatches on, 'twas time for us to go.
We hadn't been three days at sea before we saw a sail:
So we clapped on every inch she'd stand, although it blew a gale,
## p. 16551 (#251) ##########################################
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16551
And we walked along full fourteen knots; for the barkie she did
know,
As well as ever a soul on board, 'twas time for us to go.
((
We carried away the royal yards, and the stun’s'l boom was gone.
Says the skipper, “They may go or stand, I'm darned if I don't
crook on.
So the weather braces we'll round in, and the trysil set also,
And we'll keep the brig three p'ints away, for it's time for us to go. ”
Oh, yard-arm under she did plunge in the trough of the deep seas,
And her masts they thrashed about like whips as she bowled before
the breeze,
And every yard did buckle up like to a bending bow;
But her spars were tough as whalebone, and 'twas time for us to go.
We dropped the cruiser in the night, and our cargo landed we,
And ashore we went, with our pockets full of dollars, on the spree.
And when the liquor it is out, and the locker it is low,
Then to sea again, in the ebony trade, 'twill be time for us to go:
Time for us to go,
Time for us to go,
Then to sea again, in the ebony trade, 'twill be time for us to go.
THE LOVER TO THE SAILOR
Nºw
ow tell me this, my sailor boy,
As sure as you love your wine,-
Oh, did you ever see a ship
As trim as that girl of mine ?
And you who've been in many a gale,
And stood on many a deck,
Oh, did you ever see a sail
As white as my true love's neck ?
And you who have been where the red rose blows
In many a Southern place,
Oh, did you ever see a rose
Like those in my sweetheart's face?
Here's a cheer for the women with jet-black curls,
Of Spain or of Portugal!
And seven for the Yankee and English girls,
The prettiest of them all!
CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.
.
## p. 16552 (#252) ##########################################
16552
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE ROCK AND THE SEA
The Rock
I
AM the Rock, presumptuous Sea!
I am set to encounter thee.
Angry and loud, or gentle and still,
I am set here to limit thy power, and I will –
I am the Rock!
I am the Rock.
From age to age
I scorn thy fury and dare thy rage.
Scarred by frost and worn by time,
Brown with weed and green with slime,
Thou mayst drench and defile me and spit in my face,
But while I am here thou keep'st thy place!
I am the Rock!
I am the Rock, beguiling Sea!
I know thou art fair as fair can be,
With golden glitter and silver sheen,
And bosom of blue and garments of green.
Thou mayst pat my cheek with baby hands,
And lap my feet in diamond sands,
And play before me as children play;
But plead as thou wilt, I bar the way!
I am the Rock!
I am the Rock. Black midnight falls;
The terrible breakers rise like walls;
With curling lips and gleaming teeth
They plunge and tear at my bones beneath.
Year upon year they grind and beat
In storms of thunder and storms of sleet-
Grind and beat and wrestle and tear,
But the rock they beat on is always there!
I am the Rock!
THE SEA
I am the Sea. I hold the land
As one holds an apple in his hand.
Hold it fast with sleepless eyes,
Watching the continents sink and rise.
Out of my bosom the mountains grow,
Back its depths they crumble slow:
## p. 16553 (#253) ##########################################
1
1
1
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16553
The earth is a helpless child to me
I am the Sea!
.
I am the Sea. When I draw back
Blossom and verdure follow my track,
And the land I leave grows proud and fair,
For the wonderful race of man is there;
And the winds of heaven wail and cry
While the nations rise and reign and die-
Living and dying in folly and pain,
While the laws of the universe thunder in vain.
What is the folly of man to me?
I am the Sea!
I am the Sea.
The earth I sway;
Granite to me is potter's clay;
Under the touch of my careless waves
It rises in turrets and sinks in caves;
The iron cliffs that edge the land
I grind to pebbles and sift to sand,
And beach-grass bloweth and children play
In what were the rocks of yesterday;
It is but a moment of sport to me -
I am the Sea!
I am the Sea. In my bosom deep
Wealth and Wonder and Beauty sleep;
Wealth and Wonder and Beauty rise
In changing splendor of sunset skies,
And comfort the earth with rains and snows
Till waves the harvest and laughs the rose.
Flower and forest and child of breath
With me have life — without me, death.
What if the ships go down in me? -
I am the Sea !
CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON.
THE HUNGRY SEA
He fierce wind drove o'er hedgerow and lea,
It bowed the grasses, it broke the tree,-
It shivered the topmost branch of the tree!
And it buried my love in the deep, deep sea,
T"
## p. 16554 (#254) ##########################################
16554
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
In the dark lone grave of the hungry sea, -
Woe is me!
The bonnie white daisy closed her e'e,
And bent to the blast that swept the lea.
Blossom and grass bowed low on the lea,
But white sails dipped and sank in the sea;
They dipped and sank in the pitiless sea!
Woe is me!
'Neath the mother's breast in the leafy tree
Nestled and crept her birdies wee,
Nor heeded the blast, though weak and wee.
But no mother can save on the stormy sea;
Deaf to her cry is the merciless sea!
Woe is me!
Oh, well for the fishers of Galilee,
When they left their nets by that inland sea,
To follow Him who walked on the sea;
At whose word the pitiless waves did flee —
The hungry, insatiate waves did flee,
And left them free!
Golden the light on flower and tree
In the land where my sailor waits for me. -
The country of heaven that has no sea —
No ruthless, moaning, terrible sea;
There is the haven where I would be.
FRANCES FREELING BRODERIP.
(Daughter of Thomas Hood. )
DRIFT
A
SHIP went sailing from the shore,
And vanished in the gleaming west,
Where purple clouds a lining bore
Of gold and amethyst.
Poised in the air, a sea-gull flashed
His white wings in the sun's last ray;
A moment hung, then downward dashed
To revel in the spray.
## p. 16555 (#255) ##########################################
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16555
The fishers drew their long nets in
With careful eye and steady hand,
Till olive back and silvery fin
Strewed all the tawny sand.
Again I trod the shore: again
The sea-gull circled high in air;
Again the sturdy fishermen
Drew in their nets with care.
The sunset's gold and amethyst
Shone fairly, as I paced the shore,
But back from out the gleaming west
The ship came
nevermore!
*
*
A flood of sunlight through a rift
Between two mounds of yellow sand;
Three sea-gulls on a bit of drift
Slow surging inward toward the land;
An old dumb-beacon all awry,
With drabbled seaweed round its feet;
A star-like sail against the sky,
Where sapphire heaven and ocean meet;-
This, with the waters swirling o'er
A shifting stretch of land and shell,
Will make, for him who loves the shore,
A picture that may please him well.
*
O cool, green waves that ebb and flow,
Reflecting calm blue skies above,
How gently now ye come and go,
Since ye have drowned my love!
**
The breakers come and the breakers go
Along the silvery sand,
With a changing line of feathery snow
Between the water and land.
Seaweeds gleam in the sunset light,
On the ledges of wave-worn stone;
Orange and crimson, purple and white,
In regular windrows strown.
## p. 16556 (#256) ##########################################
16556
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
1
The waves grow calm in the dusk of eve,
When the wind goes down with the sun;
So fade the smiles of those who deceive,
When the coveted heart is won.
GEORGE ARNOLD.
LONDON
A"
THWART the sky a lowly sigh
From west to east the sweet wind carried:
The sun stood still on Primrose Hill;
His light in all the city tarried:
The clouds on viewless columns bloomed
Like smoldering lilies unconsumed.
«o 'sweetheart, see! how shadowy,
Of some occult magician's rearing,
Or swung in space of heaven's grace
Dissolving, dimly reappearing,
Afloat upon ethereal tides
St. Paul's above the city rides! ”
1
A rumor broke through the thin smoke
Enwreathing abbey, tower, and palace,
The parks, the squares, the thoroughfares,
The million-peopled lanes and alleys,
An ever-muttering prisoned storm, -
The heart of London beating warm.
John DavidsON.
IN THE DOCKS
WE
THERE the bales thunder till the day is done,
And the wild sounds with wilder odors cope;
Where over crouching sail and coiling rope,
Lascar and Moor along the gangway run;
Where stifled Thames spreads in the pallid sun
A hive of anarchy from slope to slope;-
Flag of my birth, my liberty, my hope,
I see thee at the masthead, joyous one!
O thou good guest! So oft as, young and warm,
## p. 16557 (#257) ##########################################
T
.
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16557
To the home-wind thy hoisted colors bound,
Away, away from this too thoughtful ground,
Sated with human trespass and despair,
Thee only, from the desert, from the storm,
A sick mind follows into Eden air.
LOUISE I MOGEN GUINEY.
THE MOUNTAINEER
0"
H, At the eagle's height
To lie i’ the sweet of the sun,
While veil after veil takes flight,
And God and the world are one.
Oh, the night on the steep!
All that his eyes saw dim
Grows light in the dusky deep,
And God is alone with him.
1
“A. E. ” (GEORGE WM. RUSSELL. )
THE SETTLER
H"
is echoing axe the settler swung
Amid the sea-like solitude,
And rushing, thundering, down were flung
The Titans of the wood;
Loud shrieked the eagle, as he dashed
From out his mossy nest, which crashed
With its supporting bough,
And the first sunlight, leaping, flashed
On the wolf's haunt below.
His roof adorned a pleasant spot;
Mid the black logs green glowed the grain,
And herbs and plants the woods knew not
Throve in the sun and rain.
The smoke-wreath curling o'er the dell,
The low, the bleat, the tinkling bell, —
All made a landscape strange,
Which was the living chronicle
Of deeds that wrought the change.
## p. 16558 (#258) ##########################################
16558
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
The violet sprung at spring's first tinge,
The rose of summer spread its glow,
The maize hung out its autumn fringe,
Rude winter brought his snow;
And still the lone one labored there,
His shout and whistle broke the air,
As cheerily he plied
His garden-spade, or drove his share
Along the hillock's side.
He marked the fire-storm's blazing food
Roar crackling on its path,
And scorching earth, and melting wood,
Beneath its greedy wrath;
He marked the rapid whirlwind shoot,
Trampling the pine-tree with its foot,
And darkening thick the day
With streaming bough and severed root,
Hurled whizzing on its way.
+
2
1
His gaunt hound yelled, his rifle flashed,
The grim bear hushed his savage growl;
In blood and foam the panther gnashed
His fangs with dying howl;
The fleet deer ceased its flying bound,
And with its moaning cry
The beaver sank beneath the wound
Its pond-built Venice by.
Humble the lot, yet his the race,
When Liberty sent forth her cry,
Who thronged in conflict's deadliest place,
To fight – to bleed — to die!
Who cumbered Bunker's height of red,
By hope through weary years were led,
And witnessed Yorktown's sun
Blaze on a nation's banner spread,
A nation's freedom won.
ALFRED B. STREET.
## p. 16559 (#259) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16559
THE WINTER PINE
D
OST think the heart of winter hard ?
Her soul without its love?
Attune thine ear to yonder pine
Musing the summer song.
New England's heart is wintry cold?
Her soul without a love?
Unstop thy stranger ear; and hear
Her summer song of pines.
CHARLES WELLINGTON STONE.
THE VIRGINIANS OF THE VALLEY
TH
He knightliest of the knightly race
That since the days of old
Have kept the lamp of chivalry
Alight in hearts of gold;
The kindliest of the kindly band
That, rarely hating ease,
Yet rode with Spotswood round the land,
And Raleigh round the seas;
Who climbed the blue Virginian hills
Against embattled foes,
And planted there, in valleys fair,
The lily and the rose;
Whose fragrance lives in many lands,
Whose beauty stars the earth,
And lights the hearths of happy homes
With loveliness and worth.
We thought they slept ! - the sons who kept
The names of noble sires,
And slumbered while the darkness crept
Around their vigil fires;
But aye the Golden Horseshoe” knights
Their Old Dominion keep,
Whose foes have found enchanted ground,
But not a knight asleep.
FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR.
## p. 16560 (#260) ##########################################
16560
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
T
MY MARYLAND
THE
despot's heel is on thy shore,
Maryland!
His torch is at thy temple door,
Maryland!
Avenge the patriotic gore
That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
And be the battle queen of yore,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Hark to thy wandering son's appeal,
Maryland!
My mother State, to thee I kneel,
Maryland!
For life and death, for woe and weal,
Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Thou wilt not cower in the dust,
Maryland!
Thy beaming sword shall never rust,
Maryland!
Remember Carroll's sacred trust,
Remember Howard's warlike thrust,
And all thy slumberers with the just,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Come, 'tis the red dawn of the day,
Maryland!
Come with thy panoplied array,
Maryland!
With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,
With Watson's blood at Monterey,
With fearless Lowe and dashing May,
Maryland, My Maryland !
Dear mother, burst the tyrant's chain,
Maryland!
Virginia should not call in vain,
Maryland!
She meets her sisters on the plain:
“Sic semper! ” 'tis the proud refrain
(
## p. 16561 (#261) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16561
That baffles minions back amain,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Come, for thy shield is bright and strong,
Maryland!
Come, for thy dalliance does thee wrong,
Maryland!
Come to thine own heroic throng,
That stalks with liberty along,
And give a new key to thy song,
Maryland, My Maryland!
I see 'the blush upon thy cheek,
Maryland!
But thou wast ever bravely meek,
Maryland!
But lo! there surges forth a shriek
From hill to hill, from creek to creek;
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,
Maryland, My Maryland!
Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,
Maryland!
Thou wilt not crook to his control,
Maryland!
Better the fire upon thee roll,
Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,
Than crucifixion of the soul,
Maryland, My Maryland!
I hear the distant thunder hum,
Maryland!
The Old Line's bugle, fife, and drum,
Maryland!
She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb-
Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum;
She breathes, she burns - she'll come! she'll come!
Maryland, My Maryland!
James R. RANDALL.
XXVIII-1036
## p. 16562 (#262) ##########################################
16562
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE GREAT BELL ROLAND *
SUGGESTED BY THE PRESIDENT'S FIRST CALL FOR VOLUNTEERS
T°
OLL, Roland, toll!
In old St. Bavon's tower,
At midnight hour,
The great Bell Roland spoke!
All souls that slept in Ghent awoke!
What meant the thunder-stroke?
Why trembled wife and maid ?
Why caught each man his blade ?
Why echoed every street
With tramp of thronging feet,
All flying to the city's wall?
It was the warning call
That Freedom stood in peril of a foe!
And even timid hearts grew bold
Whenever Roland tolled,
And every hand a sword could hold!
So acted men
Like patriots then-
Three hundred years ago!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Bell never yet was hung,
Between whose lips there swung
So grand a tongue!
If men be patriots still,
At thy first sound
True hearts will bound,
Great souls will thrill!
Then toll and strike the test
Through each man's breast,
Till loyal hearts shall stand confest, -
And may God's wrath smite all the rest!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Not now in old St. Bavon's tower
Not now at midnight hour –
Not now from River Scheldt to Zuyder Zee,-
But here, this side the sea!
Toll here, in broad, bright day!
* The famous bell Roland, of Ghent, was an object of great affection to
the people because it rang to arm them when liberty was in danger.
## p. 16563 (#263) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16563
For not by night awaits
A noble foe without the gates,
But perjured friends within betray,
And do the deed at noon!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Thy sound is not too soon!
To arms! Ring out the Leader's call!
Re-echo it from East to West
Till every hero's breast
Shall swell beneath a soldier's crest!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Till cottager from cottage wall
Snatch pouch and powder-horn and gun!
The sire bequeathed them to the son
When only half their work was done!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Till swords from scabbards leap!
Toll, Roland, toll!
What tears can widows weep
Less bitter than when brave men fall!
Toll, Roland, toll!
In shadowed hut and hall
Shall lie the soldier's pall,
And hearts shall break while graves are filled!
Amen! So God hath willed!
And may his grace anoint us all!
Toll, Roland, toll!
The Dragon on thy tower
Stands sentry to this hour,
And Freedom so stands safe in Ghent !
And merrier bells now ring,
And in the land's serene content
Men shout “God save the King! ”
Until the skies are rent!
So let it be!
A kingly king is he
Who keeps his people free!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Ring out across the sea!
No longer They but We
Have now such need of thee!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Nor ever may thy throat
Keep dumb its warning note
## p. 16564 (#264) ##########################################
16564
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Till Freedom's perils be outbraved!
Toll, Roland, toll!
Till Freedom's flag, wherever waved,
Shall shadow not a man enslaved!
Toll, Roland, toll!
From Northern lake to Southern strand,
Toll, Roland, toll!
Till friend and foe, at thy command,
Once more shall clasp each other's hand,
And shout, one-voiced, “God save the land! )
And love the land that God hath saved!
Toll, Roland, toll!
(
THEODORE TILTON.
THE DRAFT RIOT
IN THE UNIVERSITY TOWER: NEW YORK, JULY 1863
s it the wind, the many-tongued, the weird,
That cries in sharp distress about the eaves ?
Is it the wind whose gathering shout is heard
With voice of peoples myriad like the leaves ?
Is it the wind ? Fly to the casement, quick,
And when the roar comes thick,
Fling wide the sash,
Await the crash!
Nothing. Some various solitary cries,-
Some sauntering woman's short hard laugh,
Or honester, a dog's bark,—these arise
From lamplit street up to this free flagstaff:
Nothing remains of that low threatening sound;
The wind raves not the eaves around.
Clasp casement to, -
You heard not true.
Hark there again! a roar that holds a shriek!
But not without - no, from below it comes:
What pulses up from solid earth to wreak
A vengeful word on towers and lofty domes ?
What angry booming doth the trembling ear,
Glued to the stone wall, hear -
So deep, no air
Its weight can bear?
## p. 16565 (#265) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16565
Grieve! 'tis the voice of ignorance and vice,-
The rage of slaves who fancy they are free:
Men who would keep men slaves at any price,
Too blind their own black manacles to see.
Grieve! 'tis that grisly spectre with a torch,
Riot — that bloodies every porch,
Hurls justice down
And burns the town.
CHARLES DE KAY.
CIVIL WAR
IFLEMAN,
"R". Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;
'
Ring me a ball in the glittering spot
That shines on his breast like an amulet ! »
“Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead:
There's music around when my barrel's in tune!
Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped,
And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.
(
“Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch
From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood, -
A button, a loop, or that luminous patch
That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!
"O captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track,
When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette!
For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,
That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.
“But I snatched off the trinket, — this locket of gold;
An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,
Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,
Of a beautiful lady in bridal array. ”
“Ha! rifleman, Aling me the locket ! - 'tis she,
My brother's young bride — and the fallen dragoon
Was her husband Hush, soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree;-
We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!
“But hark! the far bugles their warnings unite!
War is a virtue, weakness a sin:
There's a lurking and loping around us to-night;-
Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!
CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY.
## p. 16566 (#266) ##########################################
16566
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
AT THE BREACH
AL
LL over for me,
The struggle, and possible glory!
All swept past,
In the rush of my own brigade.
Will charges instead,
And fills up my place in the story;
Well, - 'tis well,
By the merry old games we played.
There's a fellow asleep, the lout! in the shade of the hillock yonder;
What a dog it must be, to drowse in the midst of a time like this!
Why, the horses might neigh contempt at him ; — what is he like, I
wonder ?
If the smoke would but clear away, I have strength in me yet to
hiss.
Will, comrade and friend,
We parted in hurry of battle;
All I heard
Was your sonorous “Up, my men! )
Soon conquering pæans
Shall cover the cannonade's rattle;
Then, home bells,–
Will you think of me sometimes, then ?
1
1
1
How that rascal enjoys his snooze! Would he wake to the touch of
powder ?
A reveillé of broken bones, or a prick of the sword, might do.
Hi, man! the general wants you;- if I could but for once call louder!
There is something infectious here, for my eyelids are drooping
too.
Will, can you recall
The time we were lost on the Bright Down ?
Coming home late in the day,
As Susie was kneeling to pray,
Little blue eyes and white night-gown,
Saying, “Our Father, who art
Art what? ” so she stayed with a start.
“In Heaven,” your mother said softly.
And Susie sighed, “So far away! ”
'Tis nearer, Will, now to us all.
(C
»
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"Tis strange how that fellow sleeps! stranger still that his sleep
should haunt me, -
If I could but command his face, to make sure of the lesser ill!
I will crawl to his side and see, for what should there be to daunt
me ?
What there? what there? O Father in Heaven, not Will!
Will, dead Will!
Lying here, I could not feel you!
Will, brave Will!
Oh, alas for the noble end!
Will, dear Will!
Since no love nor remorse could heal you,
Will, good Will!
Let me die on your breast, old friend!
SARAH WILLIAMS.
MUSIC IN CAMP
T"
wo armies covered hill and plain,
Where Rappahannock's waters
Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain
Of battle's recent slaughters.
The summer clouds lay pitched like tents
In meads of heavenly azure;
And each dread gun of the elements
Slept in its hid embrasure.
The breeze so softly blew, it made
No forest leaf to quiver,
And the smoke of the random cannonade
Rolled slowly from the river.
And now, where circling hills looked down
With cannon grimly planted,
O'er listless camp and silent town
The golden sunset slanted :
When on the fervid air there came
A strain— now rich, now tender;
The music seemed itself aflame
With day's departing splendor.
A Federal band, which, eve and morn,
Played measures brave and nimble.
## p. 16568 (#268) ##########################################
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SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Had just struck up, with flute and horr.
And lively clash of cymbal.
Down flocked the soldiers to the banks,
Till, margined by its pebbles,
One wooded shore was blue with «Yanks,
And one was gray with “Rebels. ”
Then all was still, and then the band,
With movement light and tricksy,
Made stream and forest, hill and strand,
Reverberate with Dixie. )
i
The conscious stream with burnished glow
Slipped proudly o'er its pebbles,
But thrilled throughout its deepest flow
With yelling of the Rebels.
.
Again a pause, and then again
The trumpets pealed sonorous,
And (Yankee Doodle) was the strain
To which the shore gave chorus.
The laughing ripple shoreward flew,
To kiss the shining pebbles; •
Loud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue
Defiance to the Rebels.
And yet once more the bugles sang
Above the stormy riot;
No shout upon the evening rang,-
There reigned a holy quiet.
The sad, slow stream its noiseless flood
Poured o'er the glistening pebbles;
And silent now the Yankees stood,
And silent stood the Rebels.
No unresponsive soul had heard
That plaintive note's appealing,
So deeply (Home, Sweet Home) had stirred
The hidden founts of feeling.
Or Blue or Gray, the soldier sees,
As by the wand of fairy,
The cottage 'neath the live-oak trees,
The cabin by the prairie.
## p. 16569 (#269) ##########################################
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16569
Or cold or warm, his native skies
Bend in their beauty o'er him;
Seen through the tear-mist in his eyes,
His loved ones stand before him.
As fades the iris after rain
In April's tearful weather,
The vision vanished, as the strain
And daylight died together.
But memory, waked by music's art,
Expressed in simplest numbers,
Subdued the sternest Yankee's heart,
Made light the Rebel's slumbers.
And fair the form of Music shines,-
That bright, celestial creature,
Who still, 'mid war's embattled lines,
Gave this one touch of Nature.
John RANDOLPH THOMPSON.
THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD
TH
HE muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On fame's eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dream alarms;
No braying horn or screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shivered swords are red with rust,
Their plumèd heads are bowed;
Their haughty banner trailed in dust
Is now their martial shroud.
## p. 16570 (#270) ##########################################
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SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow;
And the proud forms, by battle gashed,
Are free from anguish now.
The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout, are past;
Nor war's wild note nor glory's peal
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that nevermore may feel
The rapture of the fight.
Like the fierce northern hurricane
That sweeps his great plateau,
Flushed with the triumph yet to gain,
Came down the serried foe.
Who heard the thunder of the fray
Break o'er the field beneath,
Knew well the watchword of that day
Was « Victory or death. ”
THEODORE O'HARA.
THE KEARSARGE
I
N THE gloomy ocean bed
Dwelt a formless thing, and said,
In the dim and countless æons long ago,
“I will build a stronghold high,
Ocean's power to defy,
And the pride of haughty man to lay low. ”
Crept the minutes for the sad,
Sped the cycles of the glad,
But the march of time was neither less nor more;
While the formless atom died,
Myriad millions by its side,
And above them slowly lifted Roncador.
Roncador of Caribee,
Coral dragon of the sea,
Ever sleeping with his teeth below the wave;
## p. 16571 (#271) ##########################################
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16571
Woe to him who breaks the sleep!
Woe to them who sail the deep!
Woe to ship and man that fear a shipman's grave!
Hither many a galleon old,
Heavy-keeled with guilty gold,
Fled before the hardy rover smiting sore;
But the sleeper silent lay
Till the preyer and his prey
Brought their plunder and their bones to Roncador.
Be content, О conqueror!
Now our bravest ship of war,
War and tempest who had often braved before,
All her storied prowess past,
Strikes her glorious flag at last
To the formless thing that builded Roncador.
JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE.
MONTEREY
W*
E WERE not many we who stood
Before the iron shot that day;
Yet many a gallant spirit would
Give half his years if he but could
Have been with us at Monterey.
Now here, now there, the shot is hailed
In deadly drifts of fiery spray;
Yet not a single soldier quailed
When wounded comrades round them wailed
Their dying shouts at Monterey.
And on, still on, our column kept
Through walls of flame its withering way:
Where fell the dead the living stept,
Still charging on the guns which swept
The slippery streets at Monterey.
The foe himself recoiled aghast,
When, striking where he strongest lay,
We swooped his flanking batteries past,
And braving full their murderous blast,
Stormed home the towers of Monterey.
## p. 16572 (#272) ##########################################
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Our banners on our turrets wave,
And there the evening bugles play,
Where orange boughs above their grave
Keep green the memory of the brave
Who fought and fell at Monterey.
We are not many — we who pressed
Beside the brave who fell that day;
But who of us has not confessed
He'd rather share their warrior rest
Than not have been at Monterey ?
CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN.
THE MIDNIGHT REVIEW
A
T DEAD of night the drummer
From out his grave awakes,
And with his drum parading,
His wonted round he takes.
His arms all bare and fleshless
In eddying circles flew,
And beat the roll with vigor,
The larum and tattoo.
Oh, strange and loud resounded
That drum amidst the gloom.
The warriors that slumbered
Awakened in their tomb;
And they who sleep congealing
Mid northern ice and snow,
And they who lie in Italy
Where scorching summers glow,
And they whom the Nile's slime covers,
And Araby's glowing sand,
From out their graves arising
All take their arms in hand.
The trumpeter at midnight
Quits, too, his grave to blow
His blast so shrill and piercing,
And rideth to and fro.
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There, coming on spectral chargers,
The ghastly dead behold!
The blood-stained ancient squadrons
With weapons manifold!
The grinning skulls so ghastly
Beneath their helmets peer;
In their bony hands uplifted
Their gleaming swords appear.
At midnight's ghostly hour
The chieftain quits his grave;
Advances, slowly riding,
Amid his chosen brave.
No plume his helm adorneth,
His garb no regal pride,
And small is the polished sabre
That's girded to his side.
The moon shines bright, illuming
The plain with silver rays;
That chief with the plumeless helmet
His warrior host surveys.
The ranks, their arms presenting,
Then shoulder arms anew,
And pass with music's clangor
Before him in review.
The generals and marshals
Round in a circle stand;
The chieftain whispers softly
To one at his right hand.
From rank to rank resounding
It fleeth o'er the plain :
“La France, — this is their watchword;
The password, “St. Hélène! ”
Thus at the midnight hour,
In the Elysian plain,
The dead and mighty Cæsar
Reviews his warrior train.
JOSEPH CHRISTIAN ZEDLITZ.
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THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS
[Private Moyse, with other prisoners, having fallen into the hands of the
Chinese, was ordered to perform kotou; and refusing, was knocked upon the
head.
– Times CORRESPONDENT. ]
LS
AST night, among his fellow roughs,
He jested, quaffed, and swore;
A drunken private of the Buffs,
Who never looked before.
To-day, beneath the foeman's frown,
He stands in Elgin's place,
Ambassador from Britain's crown,
And type of all her race.
