POEMS- OF-AMERICANi PATRIOTISMt Qass_ Book_ THE EDWIN C. DINWIDDIE COLLECTION OF BOOKS ON TEMPERANCE AND ALLIED SUBJECTS (PRESENTED BY MRS. DINWIDDIE) ^a*JL*M^. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM ANTHOLOGY SERIES The Golden Treasury of American Songs and Lyrics F. L. Knowles. Poems of American Patriotism — From 1776 to 1898 R. L. Paget. Out of the Heart — Poems for Lovers J. W. Chadwick and A. H. Chadwick. My Lady Sleeps — Poetry of Sleep and Rest Katherine S. Page. Cap and Gown (1st Series) — College verse 1 800-1 892 J. L. Harrison. Cap and Gown (2d Series) — College verse 1893-1897 F. L. Knowles. Pipe and Pouch — The Smoker's Own Book of Poetry Joseph Knight. Through Love to Light — Songs of Good Courage J. W. Chadwick and A. H. Chadwick^ The Two Voices — Poems of the Mountains and the Sea J. W. Chadwick and A. H. Chadwick. Hymns of the Higher Life L. G PAGE AND COMPANY (incorporated) \ % Summer Street, Boston, Mass. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM 1776-1898 SELECTED BY R. L. PAGET /'w4i BOSTON L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY (incorporated) MDCCCXCVIII ^5 Copyright, i8g8 By L. C. Page and Company (incorporated) Gift . Bdtsrin O. Dinwiddio, teo. ad, lose dDoIomal ^ress : Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, U. S. A. DEDICATED TO PREFATORY NOTE Several collections of patriotic verse have been made, but none hitherto, so far as I know, which carries one later than the Civil War. The present compilation makes pretensions neither to complete- ness, — a large volume would fail to include every- thing of merit which has been inspired by national themes, — nor, on the other hand, to a fastidious criti- cal standard. Its only aim is that of presenting anew the noble and popular songs of the past, long en- deared to the country's heart, and a still larger amount of stirring contemporary verse, not a little of which has already begun to sing itself into the memory of our time. Without the kind cooperation of Messrs. Hough- ton, Mifflin & Company. Messrs. Lee & Shepard, and a few other publishers, it would have been impossible to include several of the finest selections. My thanks are due to them and to all others who have contrib- uted in any way to the success of the book. CONTENTS. Ad Bellonam .... F. L. Pollock . After All W. Winter . America S. F. Smith . An American to His Mother And Joe Went .... Answering to Roll-call F. L. Stanton Awakening of Uncle Sam, The . S. W. Foss . Banner of the Stars, The R. W. Raymond Battle-cry of Freedom, The Battle Hymn of the Republic J. W. Howe . Battle-ship and Torpedo-boat J. W. M. Beneath the Flag . Bivouac of the Dead . T. O'Hara Black Regiment, The . G. H. Boker . Blue and the Gray, The F. M. Finch . Brave at Home, The . T. B. Read . Britannia to Columbia . A . A ustin Brother Jonathan's Lament for Sister Caroline 0. W. Holmes Buena Vista A . Pike . Bugle, The Call to the Colors, The Cavalry Charge, The . B. F. Taylor . Cavalry Song . E. C. Stedman Chickamauga . G. T. Ferris . Chickamauga — 1898 . Columbia . . . T. Dwight Columbia F. L. Knowles PAGE 185 384 3SS MS 345 140 203 163 239 257 148 18 3io 119 104 20 297 205 CONTENTS. Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean . Constitution's Last Fight, The . J.J. Roche Cuba J. B. Hope The. Admiral, Cuba . Cuba, 1897 Cuba, 1898 Cuba Libre Cuba's Appeal Cumberland, The " Cut the Cables " Defence of the Alamo, Dewey, Admiral . Dewey at Manila . Dewey in Manila Bay Dies Irs Dirge for a Soldier Dream of the Spanish The Driving Home the Cows Eagle's Song, The Eight Volunteers . Enlisted Fall In! Fancy Shot, The . Farragut Flag That Has Never Known Defeat, The . Flag, The . Flag, The . Flag Goes By, The For Cuba Gathering, The . Greeting from England Guardsman, The . Hail, America ! Hail, Columbia ! . Harbor Mine, The Heroic Deed, The J. Gardner H.Bashford . H. R. Vynne . J. Miller . C. S. Rice H. IV. Longfellow R. B. Wilson . J. Miller . F. A . Marshall R. U. Johnson R. V. Risley . G. H. Boker . . 5". Dorman . K. P. Osgood . . R. Mansfield . . L. C. Bailey . . E. C. Hall . . F. N. Scott . . C. D. Shanly . . IV. T. Meredith {C. L. Benjamin G. D. Sutton M. IV. S. H. L. Flash . R. M. Bell H. B. Swett F. X. Finnegan F. L. Knowles J. Hopkinson . F. McK. . G. D. Emery . PAGE 4 93 226 228 230 231 335 347 137 394 99 342 378 370 307 329 190 327 4i3 365 401 168 245 234 405 262 6 79 5i 278 CONTENTS. Com- His New Suit Hobson and His Men , Hold Dot Fort for Ve Vas C ing . Hymn of Our Armies, A In Action In Days Like These . In the Hospital . In the Time of Strife . John Burns of Gettysburg Joined the Blues . Just One Signal . Kearney at Seven Pines Keenan's Charge . King Coal to Uncle Sam Lyon .... Maine, The . Maine's Men, The Manila Bay . Marching Along . Marching Still Marching Through Georgia Martyrs of the Maine, The . Men Behind the Guns, The Men of the North and West " Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin " Message, A . Monterey Music in Camp Nathan Hale Nemesis New Beacons Set . New Memorial Day, The New Toreador, The No More Words . O Captain ! My Captain ! Old Artillerist, The Old Continentals, The . S. E. Riser E. F. Burns H. Von Dunkerfoodle O. C. Auringer T. H. Stacy . M. IV. Rowland F. L. Stanton B. Harte . J. L. Rooney . E. C. Stedma?i G. P. Lathrop E. F. Burns . H. Peterson . G. Dichter H. E. W., Jr. W. B. Bradbury M. Irving R. Hughes J.J. Rooney . R. H. Stoddard M. Cawein P.B. C. F. Hoffman J. R. Thompson F. M. Finch . C. H. Crandall J. J. Rooney . A . B. Paine . F. Lushington W. Whitman M. Nicholson . G. H. McMaster XL CONTENTS. PAGE Old Flag Forever . . F. L. Stanton . • • 36 Old Ironsides . 0. W. Holmes • • • 83 On the Eve of War . D. Dandridge . 213 One Beneath Old Glory 315 Our Boys Are Marching On . J.H.Jewett . . 236 Our Navy 9i Patriotism at Squawville 259 Peace-at-any-price Man, A 271 Phantoms, The 276 Picket Guard, The . E. L. Beers . . 180 Prayer for the Nation . 409 Race of the Oregon, The . J. J. Meehan . . 360 Recompense, The . C. H. Dorrie . . 390 Red and the Blue, The . H.A. Roby . . 251 Regiment Song . . F. L. Stanton . 270 " Remember the Maine " . R. B. Wilson . . 219 Remembered . J. L. Gordon . . 300 Reunited . F. L. Stanton • 392 Reveille . B. If arte . • 135 Roll-call . N. G. Shepherd • 133 Sailing of the Fleet, The 412 Salute the Flag . . H. C. Bunner 22 Sheridan's Ride . . T. B. Read . . . 187 Smallest of the Drums, The . J. Btickham • 151 Soarin' o' the Eagle, The . M. F. Ham . . 294 Soldier Boy for Me, The . S. E. Riser . • 49 Soldier's Heart, A SS Somebody's Darling . . Maria La Conte . 29 Song for the Fleet, A . . C. Scollard . 291 Song for the Hour, A . . W. F. Dunbar . 301 Song for the Sailor-men, A 3i8 Song of Dewey's Guns, The . S. W. Foss . • 337 Song of Manila, The . . S. Sterne . 248 Song of Marion's Men . . W. C. Bryant . . 76 Song of the Battle-ships . C. F. Harder . • 47 Song of the Bullet . J. IV. Riley . . 41 Song of the Cannon, The . S. IV. Foss . . 42 Song of the Fleet, A . . F. L. Stanton • 344 CONTENTS PAGE Song of the Rapid-fires 222 Song of Then and Now, The J. Barnes • 57 Spain's Hour of Doom A . R. Haven . • • 376 Spaniard Answered, The R. C. Rogers . . 286 Spirit of the Maine T. Jenks . • 372 Spring at the Capital . E. A. Allen . . 130 Star Spangled Banner, The . F. S. Key • • 85 Strike the Blow .... F. McK. . . 281 Stripes and the Stars, The . E. D. Proctor . 128 Those Rebel Flags J. H.Jewett . . 308 Three Hundred Thousand More . 197 To Admiral George Dewey . V. Vaughan . • 343 To Spain — A Last Word . E. M. Thomas • 225 To the American Poet . F. L. Knowles . XV. To the Flying Squadron 388 Torpedo-boat, The J. Barnes . • 34 Tramp, Tramp, Tramp G. F. Root • 144 Troop-ship Sails, The . R. W. Chambers . 126 Twins in the Turret, The . J. P. Bocock . . 240 Uncle Sam's Spring Cleaning S. W. Foss . • 273 Uncover to the Flag . E. C. Cheverton . . 263 Under the Stars and Stripes M. Cawein . 246 Voice from the Old Boys Left Behind J. H. Jewett . • 340 Voice of the Oregon, The H. J. D. Browne . 264 Volunteer, The .... E. J. Cutler . . 44 Volunteer, The .... F. L. Stanton . . 269 War S. W. Foss . . 23 War Hymn B. R. Stevens . . 292 War Poem ..... R. La Gallienne . . 267 War Prayer M. J.H.. • 353 Warren's Address J. Pierpont ■ • 65 War-ship " Dixie," The F. L. Stanton ■ 325 War-ship of 1812, The . 3i When This Cruel War Is Over . C. C. Sawyer . . 142 Where Columbia Stands A . H. Hall . • • 338 Yankee Thunders 88 1898 and 1562 S. W. Foss . . • 383 to t$t ®metictm $oef. TJNRA VEL all your tangled cheats, Yotir triple-twisted thread conceits, - Your subtle sonnets fling afar / — Stand up and show what man you are / Why linger o'er decrepit shrine In Hellas or in Palestine ? America as Greece is grand, America is Holy Land. The songs of Nile, and for dan's tunes Our sluggish Mississippi croons, — Lo / Caught in Erie like a gem The star that shone o'er Bethlehem / The age — young, buoyant — longs to hear Its hopes in ?nusic high and clear, Yet ashes o'er your laurels lie, You rend your garment of the sky. TO THE AMERICAN POET. O juggler with the fire divi?ie, O hoarder of God's bread and wine, Your dark and doleful sprigs of verse Nod like the plumes above a hearse. Behold your birthright / Cast away The mess of pottage. Scorn for aye The smirking bravo, thin applause, — Small praise of critics'* courts and laws. / join the great chorus, — all that sings Seize the vast harp of divers strings / What hands have helped that growing tone : fob's, Homer's, Shakespeare's / Add your own ! We want again the note of joy, The immortal rapture of the boy, The flame lit quenchless in the dust, The lips that sing because they must. A world of wonders wait its song, — Invention, science, hideous wrong Heart-smitten by Truth's arrow sharp, — Up, blinded sceptic ! Grasp your harp / Frederic Lawrence Knowles. POEMS OF PATRIOTISM POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. America. TVyT Y country, 'tis of thee, Sweet Land of Liberty, Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrims' pride, From every mountain side Let Freedom ring. My native country, thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love ; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills, My heart with rapture thrills Like that above. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet Freedom's song ; Let mortal tongues awake ; Let all that breathe partake ; Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong. Our fathers' God, to thee, Author of Liberty, To thee we sing ; Long may our land be bright With Freedom's holy light ; Protect us by thy might, Great God, our King. Our glorious Land to-day, 'Neath Education's sway, Soars upward still. Its halls of learning fair, Whose bounties all may share, Behold them everywhere On vale and hill ! Thy safeguard, Liberty, The school shall ever< be, — Our Nation's pride I AMERICA. No tyrant hand shall smite, While with encircling might All here are taught the Right With Truth allied. Beneath Heaven's gracious will The star of progress still Our course doth sway ; In unity sublime To broader heights we climb, Triumphant over Time, God speeds our way ! Grand birthright of our sires, Our altars and our fires Keep we still pure ! Our starry flag unfurled, The hope of all the world, In Peace and Light impearled, God hold secure ! — S. F. Smith. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Cofumfiia, fl$e (Bern of flje fyctan. S~\ COLUMBIA, the gem of the ocean, The home of the brave and the free, The shrine of each patriot's devotion, A world offers homage to thee ! Thy mandates make heroes assemble, When Liberty's form stands in view ; Thy banners make Tyranny tremble, When borne by the red, white, and blue. When borne by the red, white, and blue, When borne by the red, white, and blue, Thy banners make Tyranny tremble, When borne by the red, white, and blue. When war winged its wide desolation And threatened the land to deform, The ark then of Freedom's foundation, Columbia, rode safe thro' the storm ; With her garlands of vict'ry around her, When so proudly she bore her brave crew, With her flag proudly floating before her, The boast of the red, white, and blue. — Cho. COLUMBIA, THE GEM OF THE OCEAN. The wine-cup, the wine-cup bring hither, And fill you it true to the brim ; May the wreaths they have won never wither, Nor the star of their glory grow dim ! May the service united ne'er sever, But they to their colors prove true ! The Army and Navy forever ! Three cheers for the red, white, and blue ! — Cho. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. gaif, (America. THTAIL, son of peak and prairie, Triumphant o^er thy foes / — Shod with the sands of Cuba, Crowned with the Klondike snows ! The breast that nursed thee, shrunk with age, Still yielded milk of power; Past kingdoms prophesied thy birth And groaned to see thy hour. Hark ! Egypt moves her lips of stone : " For thee I labored long." Listen ! The isles of Homer : " We named thee in our song." I hear a mighty struggling Like grave-clothes torn from death ; Millions of lips unmuffled Pour unaccustomed breath : " Hail, foundling of the western seas, Hail, harsh and sacred sod, Where the strong plant of Freedom Holds up its leaves to God ! HAIL, AMERICA. " For thee our toil, our anguish, The pathos of our years, Our baths in bleeding battles, Our lives of sweat and tears ! " Hark ! like a climbing sun, the Voice Mounts upward, — owns the sky, And clarions from the zenith In trumpet-tongued reply : " Ye shall no longer wait me, Nor call upon my name, I come, O buried fathers, The latest fruit of fame ! The Indies pay me tribute, The Andes bring me' toll, I own no serfs but loyal hearts That kiss my kind control. " My hands are free from slaughter, The sheath conceals the sword, I trust the regiments of Heaven, And navies of the Lord ! Peace is my guard and angel, Her wings above me stir, — Mine arms I reach to all the world, Mine eyes I turn to her. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. " Yet, ah ! if honor's ensign Be trampled in the dust, With angry sorrow let me show How strife may still be just ; I will tell History that she lies, Even at her very door, And buy a more enduring peace At the red cost of war. " Trafalgar greets Manila, All ages grow divine, Distance is dead, the Past a dream, And Marathon is mine ! Wherever heroes die for truth, Beneath whatever sun, The years are lovers clasping hands, And all the world is one ! " O buried sires, your hands are mould - That once were hot to slay, Those eyes are filled with dust, that With sight of human prey. Kings tremble on their purple thrones, Crowns crumble, tyrants die, While down untold Millenniums, March Destiny and I ! " HAIL, AMERICA. That tattered flag your father kissed, Fling, boy, against the gale / And join the cry that rends ihe sky : Hail, ho??ie of freedo?n, hail! Hail, son of peak and prairie / Hail, lord of coast and sea / Our pi'ayers and song, — our lives Land of our love, to thee / — Fi'ederic Lawrence Knowles. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. t$t Sfag. T T P with the banner of the free ! Its stars and stripes unfurled ! And let the battle beauty blaze Above a startled world. No more around its towering staff The folds shall twine again, Till falls beneath its righteous wrath The gonfalon of Spain. That flag with constellated stars Shines ever in the van ! And like the rainbow in the storm, Presages peace to man. For still amid the cannon's roar It sanctifies the fight, And flames along the battle lines, The emblem of the Right. It seeks no conquest, knows no fear; Cares not for pomp or state ; As pliant as the atmosphere, As resolute as Fate. THE FLAG. Where'er it floats, on land or sea, No stain its honor mars, And Freedom smiles, her fate secure Beneath its steadfast stars. — Henry Lynden Flash. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. ©trge for a JJofbier. /""^LOSE his eyes; his work is done ! What to him is friend or foeman, Rise of moon, or set of sun, Hand of man, or kiss of woman ? Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow ! What cares he ? He cannot know ; Lay him low ! As man may, he fought his fight, Proved his truth by his endeavor ; Let him sleep in solemn night, Sleep forever and forever. Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow ! What cares he ? He cannot know ; Lay him low ! Fold him in his country's stars, Roll the drum and fire the volley ! What to him are all our wars, What but death bemocking folly ? Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow ! What cares he ? He cannot know ; Lay him low ! DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER. Leave him to God's watching eye ; Trust him to the hand that made him. Mortal love weeps idly by ; God alone has power to aid him. Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow ! What cares he ? He cannot know ! Lay him low ! — G. H. Boker. J 3 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. $b (J&effonam. ' l\/r OTHER of Swords ! While the river runs, Or the steamer seeks the sea, While the north wind blows from the chill of Snows, And the south from the scented Key, So long, so long will live the song That thy lilting bugles sing, As the war-ship rides down the deep-sea tides, Where the green foams white on her armored sides, And the wind'ard gun-shields ring. There be they who sing that the song will cease, The song that thy sons began ; That the good old World will loll in peace, In the bond of the- Peace of Man. They sing, — and clear 'twixt the notes we hear The clink of the warrior's trade ; And the thund'rous call where the hammers fall, And the steam-power shrieks o'er the factory wall, Where the rifled guns are made. The Breath of the Lord may rule the sea, And the Lies of Men the land ; And the craft of the tongue may hold in fee The strength of the heavy hand; 14 AD BELLONAM. But though tongues may quicken and strength may- sicken, And hands grow soft and small, Year upon year the day draws near Of the unsheathed sword and the shaken spear, That shall make amends for all. When the Armageddon sunrise breaks On the ironclad's smoking line ; When the last dawn lights on that last of fights Where the strength of man shall shine, One last grim day of the world at play With bugle and tuck of drum, While the red drops beat on the shattered fleet, Till the red sun sinks on the last defeat, Then — let the Millennium come ! — Frank L. Pollock. *5 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e ffag tfycd 3ESas (tte&er Qtfcnoton ©efeat r\N history's crimson pages, high up on the roll of fame. The story of Old Glory burns, in deathless words of flame. 'Twas cradled in war's blinding smoke, amid the roar of guns, Its lullabies were battle-cries, the shouts of freedom's sons; It is the old red, white, and blue, proud emblem of the free, It is the flag that floats above our land of liberty. Then greet it, when you meet it, boys, the flag that waves on high ; And hats off, all along the line, when freedom's flag goes by. CHORUS. Uncover when the flag goes by, boys, 'Tis freedom's stany banner that you greet, Flag famed in song and story, Long may it wave, OH Glory, The flag that has never known defeat. All honor to the Stars and Stripes, our glory and our pride, 16 FLAG THAT HAS NEVER KNOWN DEFEAT. All honor to the flag for which our fathers fought and died ; On many a blood-stained battle-field, on many a gory sea, The flag has triumphed, evermore triumphant may it be. And since again, 'mid shot and shell, its folds must be unfurled, God grant that we may keep it still unstained before the world. All hail the flag we love, may it victorious ever fly, And hats off, all along the line, when freedom's flag goes by. - — Cho. — Charles L. Benjamin and George D. Sutton. 17 4 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e ®ra&e at gome. HTHE maid who binds her warrior's sash With smile that well her pain dissembles, The while beneath her drooping lash One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, Though Heaven alone records the tear, And fame shall never know her story, Her heart has shed a drop as dear As e'er bedewed the field of glory ! The wife who girds her husband's sword 'Mid little ones who weep or wonder, And bravely speaks the cheering word, What though her heart be rent asunder, Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear The bolts of death around him rattle, Has shed as sacred blood as e'er Was poured upon the field of battle. The mother who conceals her grief While to her breast her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief, Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, 18 THE BRAVE AT HOME. With no one but her secret God To know the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod Received on Freedom's field of honor ! — Thomas Buchanan Read. 19 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. T N a glittering glory of diamond dew, Where the tall white headstones gleam in a row, By the ivied church, Memorial Day, With sheaves of lilies the mourners go. All but one, and she sits alone, A sad-eyed woman with locks of gray, And keeps a tryst of the vanished years With the dear, dead lover who marched away. Her whitened tresses were brown and bright, Her cheeks were pink as a damask rose, When he clasped her close in a last embrace, While about them fluttered the orchard's snows. The bugle called in the sunlit morn, Bayonets glistened, and flags were gay, He turned to wave her a loud adieu, — The brave young lover who marched away. To the silent city above the town, With garlands laden, yet still they pass, But she seeth only a curly head And a broken sword in the trampled grass. THE BUGLE. She weaveth a wreath of heliotrope, And heareth even the bugle play That is mute with rust in the mouldered hand Of the gallant lover who marched away. The flowers have fallen about her feet, Her lips are pale, and her fingers chill, Far above the blue of the crystal sky Her spirit follows the bugle still. Its silvery melody leads her on, Till far in a world of fadeless May She plights the troth of her youth again With the handsome lover who marched away. There was never a shot that screamed and fell, And never a bayonet-thrust went through The dauntless breast of a soldier boy, But it pierced the heart of a woman, too. From end to end of the land they sit By desolate hearths, alone and gray, And wait for the ghastly bugle-call And the soldier lover who marched away. — Minna Irving. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. /^\FF with your hat as the flag goes by ! And let the heart have its say : You're man enough for a tear in your eye That you will not wipe away. You're man enough for a thrill that goes To your very finger-tips — Ay ! the lump just then in your throat that rose Spoke more than your parted lips. Lift up the boy on your shoulder high, And show him the faded shred ; Those stripes would be red as the sunset sky If death could have dyed them red. Off with your hat as the flag goes by ! Uncover the youngster's head ; Teach him to hold it holy and high For the sake of its sacred dead. — H. C. Bunner. Wat\ T AM War. The upturned eyeballs of piled dead men greet my eye, And the sons of mothers perish, — and I laugh to see them die, — Mine the demon lust for torture, mine the devil lust for pain, And there is to me no beauty like the pale brows of the slain ! But my voice calls forth the godlike from the slug- gish souls at ease, And the hands that toyed with ledgers scatter thun- ders 'round the seas ; And the lolling idler, wakening, measures up to God's own plan, And the puling trifler greatens to the stature of a man. When I speak, the centuried towers of old cities melt in smoke, And the fortressed ports sink reeling at my far-aimed thunder-stroke ; And an immemorial empire flings its last flag to the breeze, Sinking with its splintered navies down in the unpity- ing seas. 23 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. But the blind of sight awaken to an unimagined day, And the mean of soul grow conscious there is great- ness in their clay ; Where my bugle voice goes pealing slaves grow heroes at its breath, And the trembling coward rushes to the welcome arms of death. Pagan, heathen and inhuman, devilish as the heart of hell, Wild as chaos, strong for ruin, clothed in hate un- speakable, — So they call me, — and I care not, — still I work my waste afar, Heeding not your weeping mothers and your widows — I am War ! But your soft-boned men grow heroes when my flam- ing eyes they see, And I teach your little people how supremely great they be ; Yea, I tell them of the wideness of the soul's unfolded plan And the godlike stuff that's moulded in the making of a man. Ah, the godlike stuff that's moulded in the making of a man! 24 It has stood my iron testing since this strong old world began. Tell me not that men are weaklings, halting trem- blers, pale and slow, — There is stuff to shame the seraphs in the race of men — I know. I have tested them by fire, and I know that man is great, And the soul of man is stronger than is either death or fate ; And where'er my bugle calls them, under any sun or star, They will leap with smiling faces to the fire test of war. — Sam Walter Foss. 25 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 3n Qction. 'IITHEN the blue-black waves are tipped with white, and the balmy trade-winds blow, When the palm-crowned coast in the offing lies, with sands like the driven snow, When the mighty hulls of the battle-ships — the nation's strength and pride — And the ghostlike little torpedo-boats are lying side by side ; When all is still save the screaming gulls, as they circle high o'erhead, When naught is heard on the steel-bound decks, save the watches' measured tread, When far to windward a tiny cloud floats up from the grim old fort, Then the piercing scream of a shrapnel-shot and the ten-ton gun's report ; Then armored decks are alive with life, and the calls to quarters below, Then the gun crews stand beside their guns, and the stokers sweat below, Then the jingling bells in the engine-room clamor and call for speed, 26 IN ACTION. And the thousand tons of hardened steel shake like a wind-tossed reed. Now the guns of the fort are belching flame, and the shot and shell fall fast, Now three are down by the forward gun, and six in the fighting mast, Now the ships rush on in majesty, while the gunners hold their breath, And pray to their God to spare them still from the harbor's hidden death. Now a string of fluttering signal flags from the bridge of the flagship fly, Now the gatlings, rapids, and twelve-inch guns with a crashing peal reply, Now the smoke hangs low o'er the shot-torn wave, dark death lurks in the air, And never a word by the guns is said while they spit and boom and flare. The fleet steams up in battle array, and the broad- sides crash and roar, While the rumble and rip from the enemy's guns reply from the smoke-hung shore ; The once white decks run red with blood, while the surgeons work below, And fort and fleet, with shot and shell, pay back each blow with blow. 27 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. At last a flag of truce is raised and gleams through the drifting smoke, And the havoc and wreck of a gun is seen, where a ten-inch shrapnel broke ; At last the guns of the fleet are still, and now from far and near Are heard the shouts of a victor's crew as they answer cheer with cheer. The shrilly call of the bo's'n's mate the crew from quarters piptes, And the dead are stretched on the quarter-deck, wrapped in the stars and stripes, While the setting sun sinks in the west, a blazing ball of fire, Lighting the scene of a battle fought, and the carnage of man's desire. 28 SOMEBODY'S DARLING. JJomefiofcg's ©arfing. T NTO a ward of the whitewashed walls, Where the dead and the dying lay, Wounded by bayonet shells and balls, Somebody's darling was borne one day, — Somebody's darling, so young and brave, Wearing yet on his sweet, pale face, Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave, The lingering light of his boyhood's grace. Matted and damp are the curls of gold, Kissing the snow of that fair young brow ; Pale are the lips of delicate mould, — Somebody's darling is dying now. Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow Brush his wandering waves of gold, Cross his hands on his bosom now, — Somebody's darling is still and cold. Kiss him once for somebody's sake, Murmur a prayer, soft and low ; One bright curl from his fair mates take, They were somebody's pride, you know ; 29 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Somebody's hand hath rested there — Was it a mother's, soft and white ? Or have the lips of a sister fair Been baptized in those waves of light ? God knows best ; he has somebody's love ; Somebody's heart enshrined him there ; Somebody's wafted his name above * Night and morn on the wings of prayer ; Somebody wept when he marched away, Looking so handsome, brave, and grand ; Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay, Somebody clung to his parting hand. Somebody's watching and waiting for him, — Yearning to hold him again to her heart ; And there he lies, with his blue eyes dim, And the smiling, childlike lips apart ; Tenderly bury the fair young dead, Pausing to drop on his grave a tear ; Carve on the wooden slab at his head : " Somebody's Darling slumbers here." — Maria La Conte. 30 THE WAR- SHIP OF 1812. £0e Watt&Qip of 1812. CHE was no armored cruiser of twice six thousand tons, With the thirty foot of metal that make your modern guns; She didn't have a freeboard of thirty- foot in clear, An' she didn't need a million repairin' fund each year. She had no rackin' engines to ramp an' stamp an' strain, To work her steel-clad turrets an' break her hull in twain ; She did not have electric lights, — the battle-lantern's glare Was all the light the 'tween decks had, — an' God's own good fresh air. She had no gapin' air-flumes to throw us down our breath, An' we didn't batten hatches to smother men to death ; She didn't have five hundred smiths — two hundred men would do — In the old-time Yankee frigate for an old-time Yan- kee crew, 3i POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. An' a fightin' Yankee captain, with his old-time Yan- kee clothes, A-cursin' Yankee sailors with his old-time Yankee oaths. She was built of Yankee timber and manned by Yan- kee men, An' fought by Yankee sailors — Lord send their like again ! With the wind abaft the quarter and the sea-foam flyin' free, An' every tack and sheet housed taut and braces eased to lee, You could hear the deep sea thunder from the knight- heads where it broke, As she trailed her lee guns under a blindin' whirl o' smoke. She didn't run at twenty knots, — she wasn't built to run, — An' we didn't need a half a watch to handle every gun. Our captain didn't fight his ship from a little pen o' steel ; He fought her from his quarter-deck, with two hands at the wheel, An' we fought in Yankee fashion, half-naked, — stripped to board, — 32 THE WAR -SHIP OF 1812. An' when they hauled their red flag down we praised the Yankee Lord ; We fought like Yankee sailors, an' we'll do it, too, again, You've changed the ships an' methods, but you can't change Yankee men ! — Philadelphia Record. 33 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e totpetoottioat CHE'S a floating boiler, crammed with fire and steam, A toy, with dainty works like any watch ; A working, weaving basketful of tricks, — Eccentric, cam and lever, cog and notch. She's a dashing, lashing, tumbling shell of steel, A headstrong, kicking, nervous, plunging beast, — A long, lean ocean liner, — trimmed down small ; A bucking bronco harnessed for the east. She can rear and toss and roll Your body from your soul, And she's most unpleasant wet,' — to say the least! But see her slip in ; sneaking down, at night, All a-tremble, deadly, silent, — Satan-sly. Watch her gather for the rush, and catch her breath ! See her dodge the wakeful cruiser's sweeping eye. Hear the humming ! Hear her coming ! coming fast ! (That's the sound might make men wish they were at home — Hear the rattling Maxim, barking rapid fire ! ) See her loom out through the fog with bows afoam ! 34 THE TORPEDO-BOAT. Then some will wish for land. (They 'd be sand fleas in the sand ; Or yellow grubs reposing in the loam !) She's a floating boiler, crammed with fire and steam, A dainty toy, with works just like a watch ; A weaving, working basketful of tricks, — A pent volcano, and stoppered at top-notch. She is Death and swift Destruction in a case (Not the Unseen, but the Awful, — plain in sight), The Dread that must be halted when afar ; She's a concentrated, fragile form of Might ! She's a daring, vicious thing, With a rending, deadly sting, — And she asks no odds nor quarter in the fight ! — James Barnes. 35 I POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. OHE'S up there, — Old Glory, — where lightnings are sped ; She dazzles the nations with ripples of red ; And she'll wave for us living, or droop o'er us dead, — The flag of our country forever ! She's up there, — Old Glory, — how bright the stars stream ! And the stripes like red signals of liberty gleam ! And we dare for her, living, or dream the last dream, 'Neath the flag of our country forever ! She's up there, — Old Glory, — no tyrant-dealt scars, No blur on her brightness, no stain on her stars ! The brave blood of heroes hath crimsoned her bars. She's the flag of our country forever ! — Frank L. Stanton. 36 THE FLAG. $0e $ft*5. "D OLL a river wide and strong, Like the tides a-swinging. Lift the joyful floods of song, Set the mountains ringing. Run the lovely banner high, — Crimson morning-glory ! Field as blue as yonder sky, Every star a story. Let the people, heart and lip, Hail the gleaming splendor ! Let the guns from shore and ship Acclamation render ! All ye oceans, clap your hands ! Echo plains and highlands, Speed the voice thro' all the lands To the Orient islands. Darling flag of liberty ! Law and Love revealing, All the downcast turn to thee, For thy help appealing. In the front for human right, Flash thy stars of morning, 37 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. All that hates and hides the light Flies before thy warning. By the colors of the day, By the breasts that wear them, To the living God we pray For the brave that bear them ! Run the rippling banner high ; Peace or war the weather, Cheers or tears, we'll live or die Under it together. — M. IV. S. COLUMBIA. Cofumfiia. lyi" ATED to the Millennium, — Time's last heir And proudest daughter, conquerless as he ; Girdled with lakes like jewels princely fair, With strong feet planted in the Mexic sea ! Where Law is liberty, where Love is power, And the twain one, there Treason cannot dwell ; A fangless asp, it coiled one impotent hour, But at thy white glance backward writhed to hell. Leave dotard empires flames of drunken war, Be thine chaste hours of labor and increase, Vineyards and harvests yielding guiltless store, Toil's bloodless battles on the plains of peace ! Yet when slain Weakness, dying at thy door, Summoning thy right arm's vengeance, clasps thy feet, — Thy sword that drinks her murderer's blood is pure As laughing sickles in the saffron wheat. 39 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Clearing a crimson path where Peace may tread More safely ; thou dost play thy patient part, Love's pledged ally, — yea, though thy blade be red ; Thrusting War's weapons thro' his own false heart. O goddess, arctic-crowned and tropic-shod And belted with great waters, hear our cry, — More honest never reached the ear of God, — We'll serve thee, laud thee, love thee, till we die ! — Frederic Lawrence Knoivles. 40 SONG OF THE BULLET. §ow of *0e Q&uffet T T whizzed and whistled along the blurred And red-blent ranks ; and it nicked the star Of an epaulette, as it snarled the word, — ■ War! On he sped, — and the lifted wrist Of the ensign-bearer stung, and straight Dropped at his side, as the word was hissed, — Hate! II On went the missile, — smoothed the blue Of a jaunty cap, and the curls thereof, Cooing soft, as a dove might do, — Love ! Sang ! — sang on ! — sang hate, — sang war, — Sang love, in sooth, till it needs must cease, Hushed in the heart it was questing, or, — Peace ! — James Whitcomb Riley. 4i 1 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e Jjjong of f$e Cannon. ■\ 17" HEN the diplomats cease from their capers, Their red-tape requests and replies, Their shuttlecock battle of papers, Their saccharine parley of lies ; When the plenipotentiary wrangle Is tied in a chaos of knots, And becomes an unwindable tangle Of verbals unmarried to thoughts ; When they've anguished and argued pro- foundly, Asserted, assumed, and averred, Then I end up the dialogue roundly With my monosyllabical word. Not mine is a speech academic, No lexicon lingo is mine, And in politic parley, polemic, I was never created to shine. But I speak with some show of decision, And I never attempt to be bland, I hurl my one word with precision, My hearers — they all understand. THE SONG OF THE CANNON. It requires no labored translation, Its pith and its import to glean ; They gather its signification, They know at the first what I mean. The codes of the learned legations, Of form, and of rule, and decree, The etiquette books of the nations, — They were never intended for me. When your case is talked into confusion, Then hush you, my diplomat friend, Give me just a word in conclusion, Let me bring the dispute to an end. Ye diplomats, cease to aspire A case that's appealed to debate, It has gone to a court that is higher, And I'm the Attorney for Fate. — Sam Walter Foss. 43 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e tyofunfeer. "AT dawn," he said, " I bid them all farewell, To go where bugles call and rifles gleam." And with the restless thought asleep he fell, And glided into dream. A great hot plain from sea to mountain spread, — Through it a level river slowly drawn ; He moved with a vast crowd, and at its head Streamed banners like the dawn. There came a blinding flash, a deafening roar, And dissonant cries of triumph and dismay ; Blood trickled down the river's reedy shore, And with the dead he lay. The morn broke in upon his solemn dreams, And still with steady pulse and deepening eye, " Where bugles call," he said, " and rifles gleam, I follow, though I die ! " Wise youth ! By few is glory's wreath attained ; But death, or late or soon, awaiteth all, To fight in Freedom's cause is something gained, — And nothing lost to fall. — Elbridge Jefferson Cutler. 44 THE FLAG GOES BY. Zfyt §fag (goes fg$. IT ATS off ! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, A flash of color beneath the sky. Hats off ! The flag is passing by ! Blue, and crimson, and white it shines, Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. Hats off ! The colors before us fly ; But more than the flag is passing by. Sea fights and land fights, grim and great, Fought to make and to save the state ; Weary marches and sinking ships ; Cheers of victory on dying lips; Days of plenty, and years of peace, March of a strong land's swift increase ; Equal justice, right, and law, Stately honor and reverend awe ; Sign of a Nation, great and strong, To ward her people from foreign wrong ; 45 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Pride, and glory, and honor, all Live in the colors to stand or fall. Hats off ! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums ; And loyal hearts are beating high. Hats off ! The flag is passing by ! 46 SONG OF THE BATTLE- SHIPS. Jiong of f0e (gattUt&fyip*. TV T IND of man, what have you wrought, From the ribs of mother earth, From the soil that gave you birth ? Mind of man, what have you wrought ? You have builded mighty navies, you have made the sea your slave, And the booming of your cannon strikes the crest of every wave ; You have dug into the bowels of the earth's eternal hills, Tearing out the stubborn metals for the grinding of your mills ; For the forging of your hammers, for the blowing of your blasts, For the making of your armor, for the. building of your masts ; For the guns whose rolling thunders frighten half a world in awe, Shouting out the fateful message, " Right is Might, and Might is Law." 47 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Oh, the guns, great guns, Shooting forty million tons ; Shooting death, and shooting hell ! Aim, you gunners, aim them well. You have slaved a million freemen for the digging of your coal, For your engines throbbing wildly, like a panting human soul. You have chained the ragged lightning, and you hold it in your hand, By the pressing of a button you can devastate a land. Oh, the fury of your anger ! Oh, the pent-up seas of blood That shall wet the ocean's battles with a gory, hu- man flood ! Oh, the booming of your cannon ! Oh, the millions you shall slay, When the wrath of man is loosened in a frightful judgment day ! Mind of man, what have you wrought, From the ribs of mother earth, From the soil that gave you birth ? Mind of man, what have you wrought ? — C. F. Harper. 48 THE SOLDIER BOY FOR ME. €§e JJofbier (§0% for (Jtte. '""PHE man who wears the shoulder-straps And has his sword in hand, Who proudly strides along in front, Looks good, and brave, and grand ; But, back there in the ranks somewhere, — Just which I cannot see, — With his gun upon his shoulder, is The soldier boy for me ! The man who wears the shoulder-straps Is handsome, brave, and true, But there are other handsome boys, And other brave ones, too ! When there are heights that must be won While bullets fill the air, ' Tis not the officer alone Who braves the dangers there. The man who wears the shoulder-straps Is cheered along the way, And public honor dulls his dread Of falling in the fray ; But, there behind him in the ranks, And moving like a part 49 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Of some machine, is many a man With just as brave a heart. The man who wears the shoulder-straps Deserves the people's praise ; I honor and applaud him for The noble part he plays ; But, back there in the ranks somewhere, Stout-hearted, brave, is he, — Prepared to do, and nerved to dare, — The soldier boy for me ! — S. E. Kiser. So THE HARBOR MINE. $0e Igatffor (JJtine. r^ IVE the speedway to the cruiser, Give the monitor the tide, To the battle-ship with its steel side-strip The channel deep and wide ; Give the fleet full way o'er the ocean, Give the batt'ries wind-wide range ; But mine be a grave 'neath the salt-sea wave, 'Mid the creatures wild and strange, For I am the harbor mine, And day by day I swing On my anchor-chain 'neath the rolling main While the billows sadly sing. Yea, I am the harbor mine. And I am the monster fell For those who tread upon my head As they would on a hidden hell. Give the broad sea course to the steel-girt horse That champs on the rolling foam, And give the breadth of the leagueless tide To the fleets that coastwise roam ; But give me a rest 'neath the billows' crest, As, oh, they sweetly sing POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Of the world above where they dream of love And the earth grows bright with spring. For I am the harbor mine. They whisper : " Don't go there, He's the avatar of the woe of man, Of sorrow and despair." They know not where I hide, And they dare not track my den, For I am the flame of the under-deep And I feed on mangled men. Give the wind to the merchant-liners, The channel to the fleet ; In the harbor mouth, by North by South, For the coming of their feet I wait through the weary hours, And they search for me in vain, For I am the hidden hell that sleeps In the crib of the under-main. Oh, I am the harbor mine ! The sea-gulls come and go, Above the sun and the stars that shine Smile on me here below ; But the ship that sails my way, Ah, who shall count the wrack Of the shriven plates as the lightning leaps Along the magnet's track ! THE HARBOR MINE. For a keen eye in the portals, With a hand upon the key, From the fortress waits to tell the fates Of the ships that sail to me. The battle-ship or cruiser, The children of the fleet, — To all that come with a welcome glum I'm here to trip their feet. Yea, I am the harbor mine, With the lightning in my hand, And I guard the ports, and hold the forts, When the ships above me land. I rock on the under-ocean, In the gloom of my deep salt-den. And I am the hell that hidden waits To feed on the shapes of men. To feed on the guns that thundered, To feed on the plates and bars, When the ship sinks down in the channel To me and the ghosts and stars ; ■To feed on the smashed projectiles, To feed on the grim barbette, — All day I wait in the harbor's gate, All day my anchors fret. For I am the harbor mine, Whose voice is a muffled roar, 53 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Whose song is a flash of the magnet's fire In the opera of war. And they whisper : " Don't go there, For he is a monster fell, And ships must tread upon his head As they would on a hidden hell." — F. McK. 54 A SOLDIER'S HEART. $ JJoft>ier'0 fjeart ^VX J HE RE is the heart of a soldier, His thought, his hope, and his dream, When the rifles ring and the bullets sing, And the flashing sabres gleam ? Oh, not on the field of battle, But far and far away, His heart is living the old, old hopes, While his sword is red in the fray ! Where is the heart of a soldier, And what do the bugles wake, And what does the roar of the cannon mean When the hills beneath them shake ? Oh, not for him the glory, And the dash and the crash of war, But his heart is away on a mission gay Where they hear no cannon roar ! And there is the heart of a soldier, — A little home on the hill, A white-faced woman, a little child, That stands by the window-sill ; A little song, and a little prayer, And a wonder in the face, i 55 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. And a " God save papa, and bring him back In the goodness of thy grace ! " And there is the heart of a soldier, — Not on the field of fight, But steeped in the dream of a saddened home Where a window keeps its light, That a soldier's feet may keep the path, And his way may homeward lead, When under the flag of the freedom-land He has wrought the hero's deed. Yea, there is the heart of a soldier, Where wife and baby are ; Though his eyes and his will may follow The light of the battle star ; Though his hand may swing the sabre, And his bayonet charge the foe, The soldier's heart is away, away, In the home where they miss him so ! — Baltimore News. 56 THE SONG OF THEN AND NOW. £0e JJqng of $0en anb (Jtoio. /^\H, they sang a song of Wind and Sail In the days of heave and haul, Of the weather-gage, of tack and sheet, When the anchor rose to the tramp of feet, And the click of the capstan pawl. They sang brave songs of the old broadsides, Long Tom, and the carronade ! Hi ! cutlass and pike, as the great sides strike, — Ho ! the cheers of the ne'er-afraid ! For they cheered as they fought, did those sailor- men; They stripped to the buff for the fray, — It was steel to steel, it was eye to eye, — Yard-arm to yard-arm against the sky ! All ye boarders, up and away ! They sang of the men on the quarter-deck, — Brave deeds of those captains bold ! Never a name but was known to fame, And was praised in the days of old. Let us sing the song of the fighting men, The sail and the plunging bow, — The good old song of the Sea and the Ship, The song of the Then and Now ! 57 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Gone are the days of the heave and haul (Think ye our blood has thinned?); We're slaves of steam and science, Not toilers of the wind ! Oh, the cable comes in to the cable tiers, And no one lifts a hand ; The click of a bell sounds out, " That's well ! " And the engines understand ! We come in 'gainst the wind and the tide at night, And go out 'gainst the storm in the morn. (But think ye our arms have lost their might ? Think ye our locks are shorn ? ) Past are the days of Wind and Sail, We've cast off the thrall of the sea, We take no heed of the weather-gage, — No fear of the rocks on the lee. We can come and go in the fiercest blow (It is food for our roaring fires ! ), For the great screw churns, and the huge hull turns As the Soul of the Ship desires ! But the spirit, the strength, and the will are there, The sea has not changed her men ; The ship must do, and the men must dare, And Now is the same as Then ! 58 THE SONG OF THEN AND NOW. They raked and they fought at pistol-shot, — We fight at two miles and more. (Think ye their dangers discount ours, Ye men of books ashore ? ) The turret turns and the guns are trained, — But not in the older way ; The conning-tower is the one-man power And the Soul of the Ship holds sway. But in sponson, turret, and great barbette, Or below in the noxious air, Are brave forms covered with blood and sweat, The fighting men are there ! There are dangers our father wot not of (In the days of wind and sail) : The unseen foes and the sighted Death, With the foam along the rail. The channels are filled with uncouth shapes That lurk below in the brine, — The force of fifty ships is there In the sullen, sunken mine ! Tho' no orders come from the quarter-deck, Hear the rip of the rapid fire ! Full speed ahead, astern, or check, At a spark from the semaphore wire ! And the ship she trembles from top to keel, — Tho' she rates twelve thousand tons ! 59 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. And her scorched decks leap with a thundering throb 'Neath the roar of her twelve-inch guns ! Dented, and tortured, and pierced, she stands The blows on her ringing plates ; Grimy and blank she signals back To the flags of her fighting mates. Hear the grinding crash from her armored prow, Hear the rattling Colts from the mast? Young " Steel Flanks " of the living Now Is " Old Ironsides " of the past ! Oh, then here's to the men, where'er they be, — The men of steel and steam ! They're the same old stock from the parent block, — When they welcomed the wind abeam. Tho' one shot may equal a broadside's weight, One blow may decide the fight, They serve their guns, they aim them straight, And the Flag will be kept in sight ! The old captains bold, — cocked hats and gold, - Were made for their country's hour, And the Soul of the Ship proclaims the mould Of the mind in the conning-tower ! 60 THE SONG OF THEN AND NOW. Let us sing the song of Wind and Sail, — Brave deeds of the captains bold ! Never a name but was known to fame, And was praised in the days of old. Let us sing the song of the armored ship, With the ramming, roaring bow ! For the Flag is the same, the men are the same, — 'Tis the song of Then and Now ! — James Barnes. 61 THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR WARREN'S ADDRESS. Warren's ®toress. CTAND ! the ground's your own, my braves ! Will ye give it up to slaves ? Will ye look for greener graves ? Hope ye mercy still ? What's the mercy despots feel ? Hear it in that battle peal ! Read it on yon bristling steel ! Ask it, — ye who will. Fear ye foes who kill for hire ? Will ye to your homes retire ? Look behind you ! — they're afire ! And, before you, see Who have done it ! From the vale On they come ! — and will ye quail ? Leaden rain and iron hail Let their welcome be ! In the God of battles trust ! Die we may, — and die we must ; But, oh, where can dust to dust Be consign'd so well, 65 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. As where Heaven its dews shall shed On the martyr'd patriot's bed, And the rocks shall raise their head Of his deeds to tell ? — John Pierpont. 66 NATHAN HALE. (Itaf0an 2E)&fe» HPO drum-beat and heart-beat, A soldier marches by ; There is color in his cheek, There is courage in his eye, Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat In a moment he must die. By starlight and moonlight, He seeks the Briton's camp ; He hears the rustling flag, And the armed sentry's tramp ; And the starlight and moonlight His silent wanderings lamp. With slow tread and still tread, He scans the tented line ; And he counts the battery guns, By the gaunt and shadowy pine ; And his slow tread and still tread Gives no warning sign. The dark wave, the plumed wave, It meets his eager glance ; And it sparkles 'neath the stars, Like the glimmer of a lance, — 67 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. A dark wave, a plumed wave, On an emerald expanse. A sharp clang, a still clang, And terror in the sound ! For the sentry, falcon-eyed, In the camp a spy hath found ; With a sharp clang, a steel clang, The patriot is bound. With calm brow, and steady brow, He listens to his doom ; In his look there is no fear, Nor a shadow-trace of gloom ; But with calm brow and steady brow He robes him for the tomb. In the long night, the still night, He kneels upon the sod ; And the brutal guards withhold E'en the solemn word of God ! In the long night, the still night, He walks where Christ hath trod. 'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn, He dies upon the tree ; And he mourns that he can lose But one life for Liberty ; 68 NATHAN HALE. And in the blue morn, the sunny morn, His spent wings are free. . But his last words, his message-words, They burn, lest friendly eye Should read how proud and calm A patriot could die, With his last words, his dying words, A soldier's battle-cry. From Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf, From monument and urn, The sad of earth, the glad of heaven, His tragic fate shall learn ; And on Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf The name of Hale shall burn ! — Francis M. Finch. 69 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. $0e 6fb Conftnenfafe. T N their ragged regimentals Stood the old Continentals, Yielding not, When the grenadiers were lunging, And like hail fell the plunging Cannon-shot ; When the files Of the isles From the smoky night-encampment bore the banner of the rampant Unicorn, And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the roll of the drummer, Through the morn ! Then with eyes to the front all, And with guns horizontal Stood our sires ; And the balls whistled deadly, And in streams flashing redly Blazed the fires ; As the roar On the shore, 70 THE OLD CONTINENTALS. Swept the strong battle breakers o'er the green sodded acres Of the plain ; And louder, louder, louder cracked the black gun- powder, Cracking amain ! Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red Saint George's Cannoneers ; And the " villainous saltpetre " Rung a fierce, discordant metre Round their ears ; As the swift Storm drift, With hot, sweeping anger, came the horse-guard's clangor On our flanks, Then higher, higher, higher burned the old-fashioned fire Through the ranks ! Then the old-fashioned colonel Galloped through the white, infernal Powder cloud ; And his broad sword was swinging, 7i POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. And his brazen throat was ringing Trumpet loud. Then the blue Bullets flew, And the trooper jackets redden at the touch of the leaden Rifle breath ; And rounder, rounder, rounder roared the iron six- pounder Hurling death ! — Guy Hu??iphrey McMaster. 72 COLUMBIA. Cofumfiia. Written during the author's service as an army chaplain, 1777-78. /COLUMBIA, Columbia, to glory arise, The queen of the world, and the child of the skies ; Thy genius commands thee ; with rapture behold, While ages on ages thy splendor unfold ! Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time, Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime ; Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson thy name, Be freedom, and science, and virtue thy fame. To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire ; Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire ; Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend, And triumph pursue them, and glory attend ; A world is thy realm : for a world be thy laws, Enlarged as thine empire, and just as thy cause ; On Freedom's broad basis, that empire shall rise, Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies. 73 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Fair science her gates to thy sons shall unbar, And the east see the morn hide the beams of her star. New bards, and new sages, unrivalled shall soar To fame unextinguished, when time is no more ; To thee, the last refuge of virtue designed, Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind ; Here, grateful to heaven, with transport shall bring Their incense, more fragrant than odors of spring. Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend, And genius and beauty in harmony blend ; The graces of form shall awake pure desire, And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire ; Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refined, And virtue's bright image, instamped on the mind, With peace and soft rapture shall teach life to glow, And light up a smile in the aspect of woe. Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display, The nations admire and the ocean obey ; Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, And the east and the south yield their spices and gold. COLUMBIA. As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendor shall flow, And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow ; While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurled, Hush the tumult of war and give peace to the world. Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'er- spread, From war's dread confusion I pensively strayed, The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired ; The winds ceased to murmur ; the thunders expired ; Perfumes as of Eden flowed sweetly along, And a voice as of angels enchantingly sung : " Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, The queen of the world, and the child of the skies." — Timothy Dwight. 75 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. J5on£ of (gtcmon's (glen. /^UR band is few, but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold ; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress-tree ; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea ; We know its walls of thorny vines, Its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery That little dread us near ! On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden fear ; When, waking to their tents on fire, They grasp their arms in vain, And they who stand to face us Are beat to earth again ; And they who fly in terror deem A mighty host behind, 76 SONG OF MARION'S MEN. And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind. Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil ; We talk the battle over, And share the battle's spoil. The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up, And woodland flowers are gathered To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind That in the pine-top grieves, And slumber long and sweetly On beds of oaken leaves. Well knows the fair and friendly moon The band that Marion leads, — The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain ; 'Tis life to feel the night wind That lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp, — A moment, — and away 77 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Back to the pathless forest, Before the peep of day. Grave men there are by broad Santee, Grave men with hoary hairs ; Their hearts are all with Marion, For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band With kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer, And tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms, And lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton Forever from our shore. — William Cullen Bryant. 78 HAIL, COLUMBIA. fgaif, Cofumfita. T T AIL, Columbia ! happy land ! Hail, ye heroes ! heaven-born band ! Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause^ Who fought and bled in Freedom's causf And when the storm of war was gone, Enjoyed the peace your valor won ; Let independence be your boast, Ever mindful what it cost, Ever grateful for the prize, Let its altar reach the skies. Firm united let us be, Rallying round our liberty, As a band of brothers joined, Peace and safety we shall find. Immortal patriots, rise once more, Defend your rights, defend your shore ; Let no rude foe with impious hand, Let no rude foe with impious hand Invade the shrine where sacred lies Of toil and blood the well-earned prize ; 79 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. While offering peace, sincere and just, In Heaven we place a manly trust That truth and justice may prevail, And every scheme of bondage fail. — Cho. Sou»d, sound the trump of fame ! Let Washington's great name Ring thro' the world with loud applause ! Ring thro' the world with loud applause ! Let every clime to freedom dear Listen with a joyful ear ; With equal skill, with steady pow'r, He governs in the fearful hour Of horrid war, or guides with ease The happier time of honest peace. — Cho. Behold the chief who now commands, Once more to serve h|s country stands ! The rock on which the storm was beat ! The rock on which the storm was beat ! But armed in virtue, firm and true, His hopes are fixed on heaven and you. When hope was sinking in dismay, When gloom obscured Columbia's day, His steady mind, from changes free, Resolved on death or liberty. — Cho. — Joseph Hopkinson. 80 WAR OF 1812 OLD IRONSIDES. fyib Jronsibes. A Y, tear her tattered ensign down, Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky ; Beneath it rung the battle-shout, And burst the cannon's roar ; The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more ! Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquered knee ; The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea ! Oh, better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave ! Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave : 83 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Nail to the mast her holy flag, Set every threadbare sail; And give her to the god of storms, The lightning and the gale ! — Oliver Wendell Holmes. THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER. X £0e §btat Jlpcrngfeb ©anner. /^H, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming ? Whose broad stripes and bright stars thro' the peril- ous fight O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? And the rockets' red glare and bombs bursting in air Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there ; Oh, say, does that Star Spangled Banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? Oh, say, does the Star Spangled Banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? On the shore, dimly seen thro' the mist of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 85 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now shines in the stream ; 'Tis the Star Spangled Banner, oh, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. — Cho. And where is that band who so vauntingly swore, 'Mid the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, A home and a country they'd leave us no more ? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From terror of flight or the gloom of the grave ; And the Star Spangled Banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. — Cho. Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved home and the war's desola- tion; Blest with victory and peace, may the Heaven-res- cued land Praise the Power that made and preserved us a nation ! 86 THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto, " In God is our trust ! " And the Star Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. — Cho. — Francis Scott Key. 'I *7 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. "DRITANNIA'S gallant streamers Float proudly o'er the tide, And fairly wave Columbia's stripes, In battle side by side. And ne'er did bolder seamen meet, Where ocean's surges pour ; O'er the tide now they ride, While the bell'wing thunders roar, While the cannon's fire is flashing fast, And the bell'wing thunders roar. When Yankee meets the Briton, Whose blood congenial flows, By Heav'n created to be friends, By fortune rendered foes ; Hard then must be the battle fray, Ere well the fight is o'er ; Now they ride, side by side, While the bell'wing thunders roar, While her cannon's fire is flashing fast, And the bell'wing thunders roar. Still, still, for noble England Bold D'Acres's streamers fly ; ,,Y. YANKEE THUNDERS. And for Columbia, gallant Hull's As proudly and as high ; Now louder rings the battle din, And thick the volumes pour ; Still they ride, side by side, While the bell'wing thunders roar, While the cannon's fire is flashing fast, And the bell'wing thunders roar. Why lulls Britannia's thunder, That waked the wat'ry war ? Why stays the gallant Guerriere, Whose streamers waved so fair ? That streamer drinks the ocean's wave, That warrior's fight is o'er ! Still they ride, side by side, While the bell'wing thunders roar, While the cannon's fire is flashing fast, And the bell'wing thunders roar. Hark ! 'tis the Briton's lee gun ! Ne'er bolder warrior kneeled ! And ne'er to gallant mariners Did braver seamen yield. Proud be the sires, whose hardy boys Then fell to fight no more ; POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. With the brave, 'mid the wave, When the cannon's thunders roar, Their spirits then shall trim the blast, And swell the thunder's roar. Vain were the cheers of Britons, Their hearts did vainly swell, Where virtue, skill, and bravery With gallant Morris fell. That heart so well in battle tried, Along the Moorish shore, And again o'er the main, When Columbia's thunders roar, Shall prove its Yankee spirit true, When Columbia's thunders roar. Hence be our floating bulwark Those oaks our mountains yield ; 'Tis mighty Heaven's plain decree, — Then take the wat'ry field ! To ocean's farthest barrier then Your whit'ning sail shall pour ; Safe they'll ride o'er the tide, While Columbia's thunders roar, While her cannon's fire is flashing fast, And her Yankee thunders roar. 1813. 90 OUR NAVY. S~\ N wings of glory, swift as light, The sound of battle came, The gallant Hull in glorious fight Has won the wreaths of fame. CHORUS. Let brave Columbia's noble band With hearts united rise, Swear to protect their native land Till sacred freedom dies. Let brave Decatur's dauntless breast With patriot ardor glow, And in the garb of vict'ry drest Triumphant blast the foe. — Cho. And Rogers with his gallant crew O'er the wide ocean ride, To prove their loyal spirits true, And crush old Albion's pride. — Cho. Then hail another Guerriere there, With roaring broadsides hail; And while the thunder rends the air See Briton's sons turn pale. — Cho. 9i POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. " The day is ours, my boys, huzza ! " The great commander cries, While all responsive roar huzza ! With pleasure-sparkling eyes. — Cho. Thus shall Columbia's fame be spread, Her heaven-born eagle soar ; Her deeds of glory shall be read When tyrants are no more. — Cho. 1813. 92 THE CONSTITUTION'S LAST FIGHT. £0e Constitution's £asf §ig0t A YANKEE ship and a Yankee crew — Constitution, where ye bound for ? Wherever, my lad, there's fight to be had Acrost the Western ocean. Our captain was married in Boston town And sailed next day to sea ; For all must go when the State says so ; Blow high, blow low, sailed we. " Now, what shall I bring for a bridal gift When my home-bound pennant flies ? The rarest that be on land or sea It shall be my lady's prize." " There's never a prize on sea or land Could bring such joy to me As my true love sound and homeward bound With a king's ship under his lee." The Western ocean is wide and deep, And wild its tempests blow, But bravely rides " Old Ironsides," A-cruising to and fro. 93 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. We cruised to the east and we cruised to north, And southing far went we, And at last off Cape de Verd we raised Two frigates sailing free. Oh, God made man, and man made ships, But God makes very few Like him who sailed our ship that day, And fought her, one to two. He gained the weather-gage of both, He held them both a-lee ; And gun for gun, till set of sun, He spoke them fair and free ; Till the night-fog fell on spar and sail, And ship, and sea, and shore, And our only aim was the bursting flame And the hidden cannon's roar. Then a long rift in the mist showed up The stout Cyane, close-hauled To swing in our wake and our quarter rake, And a boasting Briton bawled : " Starboard and larboard, we've got him fast Where his heels won't take him through ; Let him luff or wear, he'll find us there, — Ho, Yankee, which will you do ? " 94 THE CONSTITUTION'S LAST FIGHT. We did not luff and we did not wear, But braced our topsails back, Till the sternway drew us fair and true Broadsides athwart her track. Athwart her track and across her bows We raked her fore and aft, And out of the fight and into the night Drifted the beaten craft. The slow Levant came up too late ; No need had we to stir; Her decks we swept with fire, and kept The flies from troubling her. We raked her again, and her flag came down, The haughtiest flag that floats, — And the lime-juice dogs lay there like logs, With never a bark in their throats. With never a bark and never a bite, But only an oath to break, As we squared away for Pray a Bay With our prizes in our wake. Parole they gave and parole they broke, What matters the cowardly cheat, If the captain's bride was satisfied With the one prize laid at her feet ? 95 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew — Constitution, where ye bound for ? Wherever the British prizes be, Though it's one to two, or one to three, — " Old Ironsides " means victory, Acrost the Western ocean. — James Jeffrey Roche. 96 THE WAR WITH MEXICO THE DEFENCE OF THE ALAMO. £0e ©efence of f0e $famo, CANTA ANA came storming, as a storm might come ; There was rumble of cannon ; there was rattle of blade ; There was cavalry, infantry, bugle, and drum, — Full seven thousand, in pomp and parade, The chivalry, flower of Mexico ; And a gaunt two hundred in the Alamo ! And thirty lay sick, and some were shot through ; For the siege had been bitter, and bloody, and long. " Surrender, or die ! " — " Men, what will you do ? " And Travis, great Travis, drew sword, quick and strong ; Drew a line at his feet ..." Will you come ? Will you go ? / die with my wounded, in the Alamo." The Bowie gasped, " Lead me over that line ! " Then Crockett, one hand to the sick, one hand to his gun, Crossed with him ; then never a word or a sign Till all, sick or well, all, all save but one, 99 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. One man. Then a woman stepped, praying, and slow Across ; to die at her post in the Alamo. Then that one coward fled, in the night, in that night When all men silently prayed and thought Of home ; of to-morrow ; of God and the right, Till dawn : and with dawn came Travis's cannon- shot, In answer to insolent Mexico, From the old bell-tower of the Alamo. Then came Santa Ana; a crescent of flame ! Then the red " escalade ; " then the fight hand to hand ; Such an unequal fight as never had name Since the Persian hordes butchered that doomed Spartan band. All day, — all day and all night, and the morning ? so slow Through the battle smoke mantling the Alamo. Now silence ! Such silence ! Two thousand lay dead In a crescent outside ! And within ? Not a breath Save the gasp of a woman, with gory gashed head, All alone, all alone there, waiting for death ; And she but a nurse. Yet when shall we know Another like this of the Alamo ? THE DEFENCE OF THE ALAMO. Shout " Victory, victory, victory ho ! " I say 'tis not always to the hosts that win; I say that the victory, high or low, Is given the hero who grapples with sin, Or legion or single ; just asking to know When duty fronts death in his Alamo. — Joaquin Miller. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. (WtonfereE. VXfE were not many, — we who stood Before the iron sleet that day ; Yet many a gallant spirit would Give half his years if but he could Have with us been at Monterey. Now here, now there, the shot it hail'd In deadly drifts of fiery spray, Yet not a single soldier quail'd When wounded comrades round them wail'd Their dying shout 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 of Monterey. The foe himself recoil'd aghast, When, striking where the strongest lay, We swoop'd his flanking batteries past, And braving full their murderous blast, Storm'd home the towers of Monterey. MONTEREY. Our banners on those turrets wave, And there our 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 press'd Beside the brave who fell that day, — But who of us has not confess'd He'd rather share their warrior rest Than not have been at Monterey ? — Charles Fenno Hoffman. 103 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Q5uen& Vizta. T^ROM the Rio Grande's waters to the icy lakes of Maine, Let all exult ! for we have met the enemy again ; Beneath their stern old mountains we have met them in their pride, And rolled from Buena Vista back the battle's bloody tide; Where the enemy came surging swift, like the Missis- sippi's flood, And the reaper, Death, with strong arms swung his sickle red with blood. Santana boasted loudly that, before two hours were past, His Lancers through Saltillo should pursue us fierce and fast : — On comes his solid infantry, line marching after line ; Lo ! their great standards in the sun like sheets of silver shine : With thousands upon thousands, — yea, with more than three to one, — Their forests of bright bayonets fierce-flashing in the sun. 104 BUENA VISTA. Lo ! Guanajuato's regiment ; Morelos's boasted corps, And Guadalajara's chosen troops ! — all veterans tried before. Lo! galloping upon the right four thousand lances gleam, Where, floating in the morning wind, their blood-red pennons stream ; And here his stern artillery climbs up the broad pla- teau : To-day he means to strike at us an overwhelming blow. Now, Wool, hold strongly to the heights ! for lo ! the mighty tide Comes, thundering like an avalanche, deep, terrible, and wide. Now, Illinois, stand steady ! Now, Kentucky, to their aid ! For a portion of our line, alas ! is broken and dis- mayed : Great bands of shameless fugitives are fleeing from the field, And the day is lost, if Illinois and brave Kentucky yield. One of O'Brien's guns is gone ! — On, on their masses drift, Till their cavalry and infantry outflank us on the left ; !°5 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Our light troops, driven from the hills, retreat in wild dismay, And round us gather, thick and dark, the Mexican array. Santana thinks the day is gained ; for, now approach- ing near, Miiion's dark cloud of Lancers sternly menaces our rear. Now, Lincoln, gallant gentleman, lies dead upon the field, Who strove to stay those cravens, when before the storm they reeled. Fire, Washington, fire fast and true ! Fire, Sherman, fast and far ! Lo ! Bragg comes thundering to the front, to breast the adverse war ! Santana thinks the day is gained ! On, on his masses crowd, And the roar of battle swells again more terrible and loud. Not yet ! Our brave old general comes to regain the day ; Kentucky, to the rescue ! Mississippi, to the fray ! Again our line advances ! Gallant Davis fronts the foe, 106 BUENA VISTA. And back before his rifles, in red waves, the Lancers flow. Upon them yet once more, ye brave ! The avalanche is stayed ! Back roll the Aztec multitudes, all broken and dis- mayed. Ride, May ! — To Buena Vista ! for the Lancers gain our rear, And we have few troops there to check their vehe- ment career. Charge, Arkansas ! Kentucky, charge ! Yell, Porter, Vaughan, are slain, But the shattered troops cling desperately unto that crimsoned plain ; Till, with the Lancers intermixed, pursuing and pur- sued, Westward, in combat hot and close, drifts off the multitude. And May comes charging from the hills with his ranks of flaming steel, While shattered with a sudden fire, the foe already reel : They flee amain ! — Now to the left, to stay the tor- rent there, Or else the day is surely lost, in horror and despair ! 107 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. For their hosts pour swiftly onward, like a river in the spring, Our flank is turned, and on our left their cannon thundering. Now, good Artillery ! bold Dragoons ! Steady, brave hearts, be calm ! Through rain, cold hail, and thunder, now nerve each gallant arm ! What though their shot fall round us here, yet thicker than the hail ? We'll stand against them, as the rock stands firm against the gale. Lo ! their battery is silenced ! but our iron sleet still showers : They falter, halt, retreat ! — Hurrah ! the glorious day is ours ! In front, too, has the fight gone well, where upon gal- lant Lane, And on stout Mississippi, the thick Lancers charged in vain : Ah ! brave Third Indiana ! you have nobly wiped away The reproach that through another corps befell your State to-day ; 1 08 BUENA VISTA. For back, all broken and dismayed, before your storm of fire, Santana's boasted chivalry, a shattered wreck, retire. Now charge again, Santana ! or the day is surely lost, — For back, like broken waves, along our left your hordes are tossed. Still faster roar his batteries, — his whole reserve .moves on; More work remains for us to do, ere the good fight is won. Now for your wives and children, men ! Stand steady yet once more ! Fight for your lives and honors ! Fight as you never fought before ! Ho ! Hardin breasts it bravely ! and heroic Bissell there Stands firm before the storm of balls that fill the as- tonished air : The Lancers dash upon them, too ! The foe swarm ten to one : Hardin is slain; McKee and Clay the last time see the sun ; And many another gallant heart, in that last desper- ate fray, 109 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Grew cold, its last thought turning to its loved ones far away. Speed, speed, Artillery ! to the front ! — for the hurri- cane of fire Crushes those noble regiments, reluctant to retire ! Speed swiftly ! Gallop ! Ah ! they come ! Again Bragg climbs the ridge, And his grape sweeps down the swarming foe, as a strong man moweth sedge ; Thus baffled in their last attack, compelled perforce to yield, Still menacing in firm array, their columns leave the field. The guns still roared at intervals ; but silence fell at last, And on the dead and dying came the evening shad- ows fast. And then above the mountains rose the cold moon's silver shield, And patiently and pitying she looked upon the field. While careless of his wounded, and neglectful of his dead, Despairingly and sullenly by night Santana fled. And thus on Buena Vista's heights a long day's work was done, BUENA VISTA. And thus our brave old general another battle won. Still, still our glorious banner waves, unstained by flight or shame, And the Mexicans among their hills still tremble at our name. So, honor unto those that stood ! Disgrace to those that fled ! And everlasting glory unto Buena Vista's dead ! — Albert Pike. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. $0e QBifcouac of *0e ©eab. 'THE muffled drum's sad roll lias beat The soldier's last tattoo ! No more on life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few. On Fame's eternal carnping-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 plumed heads are bowed ; Their haughty banner, trailed in dust, Is now their martial shroud ; And plenteous funeral tears have washed The red stains from each brow ; THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD. 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 passed ; 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." Full many a norther's breath has swept O'er Angostura's plain, And long the pitying sky has wept Above its mouldered slain. The raven's scream, or eagle's flight, Or shepherd's pensive lay, "3 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Alone awakes each sullen height That frowned o'er that dark fray. Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground, Ye must not slumber there, Where stranger steps and tongues resound, Along the heedless air ; Your own proud land's heroic soil Shall be your fitter grave ; She claims from war his richest spoil, The ashes of her brave. Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest, Far from the gory field, Borne to a Spartan mother's breast On many a bloody shield. The sunshine of their native sky Smiles sadly on them here, And kindred eyes and hearts watch by The heroes' sepulchre. Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead ! Dear as the blood ye gave, No impious footstep here shall tread The herbage of your grave. Nor shall your story be forgot While Fame her record keeps, THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD. Or Honor points the hallowed spot Where Valor proudly sleeps. Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone In deathless song shall tell, When many a vanished age hath flown, The story how ye fell ; Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight, Nor time's remorseless doom, Shall dim one ray of glory's light That gilds your deathless tomb. — Theodore O'Hara. "5 THE CIVIL WAR BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT. {gtotfytt jjonafflan's £amenf for Jtefor Carofine. Written in December, i860, when South Carolina adopted the Ordi- nance of Secession. CHE has gone, — she has left us in passion and pride, — Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side ! She has torn her own star from our firmament's glow, And turned on her brother the face of a foe ! O Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, We can never forget that our hearts have been one, — Our foreheads both sprinkled in Liberty's name, From the fountain of blood with the finger of flame ! You were always too ready to fire at a touch ; But we said : " She's a beauty, — she does not mean much." We have scowled when you uttered some turbulent threat ; But Friendship still whispered : " Forgive and for- get." Has our love all died out? Have its altars grown cold? 119 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Has the curse come at last which the fathers fore- told? Then Nature must teach us the strength of the chain That her petulant children would sever in vain. They may fight till the buzzards are gorged with their spoil, Till the harvest grows black as it rots in the soil, Till the wolves and the catamounts troop from their caves, And the shark tracks the pirate, the lord of the waves : In vain is the strife ! When its fury is past, Their fortunes must flow in one channel at last, As the torrents that rush from the mountains of snow Roll mingled in peace in the valleys below. Our Union is river, lake, ocean, and sky ; Man breaks not the medal when God cuts the die! Though darkened with sulphur, though cloven with steel, The blue arch will brighten, the waters will heal ! O Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, There are battles with fate that can never be won ! The star-flowering banner must never be furled, For its blossoms of light are the hope of the world ! BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT. Go, then, our rash sister, afar and aloof, — Run wild in the sunshine away from our roof ; But when your heart aches, and your feet have grown sore, Remember the pathway that leads to our door ! — Oliver Wendell Holmes. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. (glen of f$e Qtotf anb TOesl Published in the World after the fall of Fort Sumter. TV/TEN of the North and West, Wake in your might. Prepare, as the rebels have done, For the fight ! You cannot shrink from the test ; Rise ! Men of the North and West ! They have torn down your banner of stars ; They have trampled the laws ; They have stifled the freedom they hate, For no cause ! Do you love it or slavery best ? Speak ! Men of the North and West ! They strike at the life of the State : Shall th$ murder be done? They cry : " We are two ! " And you ? " We are one ! " You must meet them, then, breast to breast ; On ! Men of the North and West ! MEN OF THE NORTH AND WEST. Not with words ; they laugh them to scorn, And tears they despise ; But with swords in your hands, and death In your eyes ! Strike home ! leave to God all the rest ; Strike ! Men of the North and West ! — Richard Henry Stoddard. 123 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Qto (gtore Wafts. N ( C O more words ; Try it with your swords ! Try it with the arms of your bravest and your best! You are proud of your manhood, now put it to the test ; Not another word ; Try it by the sword ! No more notes ; Try it by the throats Of the cannon that will roar till the earth and air be shaken ; For they speak what they mean, and they can- not be mistaken ; No more doubt ; Come, — fight it out ! No child's play ! Waste not a day ; Serve out the deadliest weapons that you know ; Let them pitilessly hail on the faces of the foe ; No blind strife ; Waste not one life. 124 NO MORE WORDS. You that in the front Bear the battle's brunt — When the sun gleams at dawn on the bayonets abreast, Remember 'tis for government and country you contest ; For love of all you guard, Stand, and strike hard ! You at home that stay From danger far away, Leave not a jot to chance, while you rest in quiet ease ; Quick ! forge the bolts of death ^ quick ! ship them o'er the seas ; If War's feet are lame, Yours will be the blame. You, my lads, abroad, " Steady ! " be your word ; You, at home, be the anchor of your soldiers young and brave ; Spare no cost, none is lost, that may strengthen or may save ; Sloth were sin and shame ; Now play out the game ! — Franklin Lushington. 125 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e Ztooptzfyip Jiaifs, T T is good-by, 1 My lad? No, I'll not cry. Has the time come ? The bugle-call from the sea-wall, The tap of drum ? My tears are dry. Rest your head here, My lad, Close to me, dear ; Why do you stare ? Have pain and care made me less fair ? Are my lips white with fear ? Hark ! how they cheer Down in the Square there ! What do they care, My lad, For this brown hair That I love so ? Their drums' long roll will crush my soul — Ah, God ! don't go ! — I cannot bear — 126 THE TROOP -SHIP SAILS. There, I'll be still, My lad, Truly I will ; My tears are spent. Which regiment will next be sent? Does every bullet kill ? Hold me until The call is urgent ! Who spoke your name, My lad? The summons came Out of the crowd ! Oh, hold me, lad ! fold me, lad ! Their flag's a shroud To bury shame ! Have they begun, My lad ? See, the troops run ! Your eyes are wet ; You are so quiet; is there time yet? God ! it's the signal gun ! Kiss me, — just one. Run with your musket ! — R. W. Cha7nbers. 127 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. $0e JJfripes atib *0e §btatB. r\ STAR-SPANGLED banner ! the flag of our pride ! Though traftipled by traitors and basely defied, Fling out to the glad winds your red, white, and blue, For the heart of the Northland is beating for you ! AnH her strong arm is nerving to strike with a will, Till the fee and his boastings are humbled and still ! Here's welcome to wounding and combat and scars And the glory of death — for the Stripes and the Stars ! From prairie, O ploughman ! speed boldly away, — There's seed to be sown in God's furrows to-day ! Row landward, lone fisher! stout woodman, come home ! Let smith leave his anvil and weaver his loom, And hamlet and city ring loud with the cry : " For God and our country we'll fight till we die ! Here's welcome to wounding and combat and scars And the glory of death — for the Stripes and the Stars ! " Invincible banner ! the flag of the free, Oh, where treads the foot that would falter for thee ? THE STRIPES AND THE STARS. Or the hands to be folded, till triumph is won And the eagle looks proud, as of old, to the sun ? Give tears for the parting — a murmur of prayer — Then forward ! the fame of our standard to share ! With welcome to wounding and combat and scars And the glory of death — for the Stripes and the Stars ! O God of our fathers ! this banner must shine Where battle is hottest, in warfare divine ! The cannon has thundered, the bugle has blown — We fear not the summons — we fight not alone ! Oh, lead us, till wide from the gulf to the sea The land shall be sacred to freedom and thee ! With love for oppression ; with blessing for scars — One country — one banner — the Stripes and the Stars ! — Edna Dean Proctor. 129 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. JJpring at tyt Capifaf. T'HE poplar drops beside the way- Its tasselled plumes of silver gray ; The chestnut points its great brown buds, impatient for the laggard May. The honeysuckles lace the wall ; The hyacinths grow fair and tall ; And mellow sun, and pleasant wind, and odorous bees are over all. Down-looking in this snow-white bud, How distant seems the war's red flood ! How far remote the streaming wounds, the sickening scent of human blood ! For Nature does not recognize This strife that rends the earth and skies ; No war-dreams vex the winter's sleep of clover-heads and daisy-eyes. She holds her even way the same, Though navies sink, or cities flame ; A snowdrop is a snowdrop still, despite the Nation's joy or shame. 130 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. When blood her grassy altar wets, She sends the pitying violets To heal the outrage with their bloom, and cover it with soft regrets. O crocuses with rain-wet eyes, O tender-lipped anemones, What do you know of agony, and death, and blood- won victories ? No shudder breaks your sunshine trance, Though near you rolls, with slow advance, Clouding your shining leaves with dust, the anguish- laden ambulance. Yonder a white encampment hums ; The clash of martial music comes ; And now your startled stems are all a-tremble with the jar of drums. Whether it lessen or increase, Or whether trumpets shout or cease, Still, deep within your tranquil hearts, the happy bees are humming, " Peace ! " O flowers ! the soul that faints or grieves New comfort from your lips receives ; Sweet confidence and patient faith are hidden in your healing leaves. J3 1 TOEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Help us to trust still on and on, That this dark night will soon be gone, And that these battle-stains are but the blood-red trouble of the dawn, — Dawn of a broader, whiter day Than ever blessed us with its ray, — A dawn beneath whose purer light all guilt and wrong shall fade away. Then shall our Nation break its bands, And, silencing the envious lands, Stand in the searching light unshamed, with spotless robe, and clean, white hands. — Elizabeth Akers Allen. ROLL - CALL. « /^ORPORAL GREEN ! " the orderly cried. " Here ! " was the answer, loud and clear, From the lips of the soldier who stood near ; And " Here ! " was the word the next replied. " Cyrus Drew ! " — then a silence fell, — This time no answer followed the call ; Only his rear man had seen him fall, Killed or wounded, he could not tell. There they stood in the failing light, These men of battle with grave, dark looks, As plain to be read as open books, While slowly gathered the shades of night. The fern on the hillsides was splashed with blood, And down in the corn, where the poppies grew, Were redder stains than the poppies knew ; And crimson-dyed was the river's flood. For the foe had crossed from the other side That day, in the face of a murderous fire That swept them down in its terrible ire, And their life-blood went to color the tide. 133 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. " Herbert Kline ! " At the call there came Two stalwart soldiers into the line, Bearing between them this Herbert Kline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. " Ezra Kerr ! " — and a voice answered, " Here ! ' " Hiram Kerr ! " — but no man replied. They were brothers, these two ; the sad wind sighed, And a shudder crept through the corn-field near. " Ephraim Deane ! " — then a soldier spoke : " Deane carried our regiment colors," he said ; " Where our ensign was shot, I left him dead, Just after the enemy wavered and broke. " Close to the roadside his body lies ; I paused a moment and gave him drink ; He murmured his mother's name, I think, And Death came with it, and closed his eyes." 'Twas a victory, yes, but it cost us dear, — For that company's roll, when called at night, Of a hundred men who went into the fight, Numbered but twenty that answered, " Here ! " — Nathaniel G. Shepherd. J 34 THE REVEILLE. Z$t (ge&eiffe. T T ARK ! I hear the tramp of thousands, And of armed men the hum ; Lo ! a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick-alarming drum Saying, " Come, Freemen, come ! Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick-alarm- ing drum. " Let me of my heart take counsel : War is not of life the sum ; Who shall stay and reap the harvest When the autumn days shall come ? " But the drum Echoed, " Come ! Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the sol- emn-sounding drum. " But when won the coming battle, What of profit springs therefrom ? What if conquest, subjugation, Even greater ills become ? But the drum Answered, " Come ! *35 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. You must do the sum to prove it," said the Yankee- answering drum. " What if, 'mid the cannon's thunder, Whistling shot, and bursting bomb, When my brothers fall around me, Should my heart grow cold and numb ? " But the drum Answered, " Come ! Better there in death united, than in life a recreant — Come ! " Thus they answered, — hoping, fearing, Some in faith, and doubting some, — Till a trumpet-voice, proclaiming, Said, " My chosen people, come ! " Then the drum, Lo ! was dumb ; For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, an- swered, " Lord, we come ! " — Bret Harte. 136 THE CUMBERLAND. £0e Cumfierfanb. A T anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, On board of the Cumberla?id sloop-of-war ; And at times from the fortress across the bay The alarum of drums swept past, Or a bugle-blast From the camp on the shore. Then far away to the south uprose A little feather of snow-white smoke, And we knew that the iron ship of our foes Was steadily steering its course To try the force Of our ribs of oak. Down upon us heavily runs, Silent and sullen, the floating fort ; Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, And leaps the terrible death, With fiery breath, From each open port. We are not idle, but send her straight Defiance back in a full broadside ! As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, 137 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Rebounds our heavier hail From each iron scale Of the monster's hide. " Strike your flag ! " the rebel cries, In his arrogant old plantation strain. " Never ! " our gallant Morris replies : " It is better to sink than to yield ! " And the whole air pealed With the cheers of our men. Then like a kraken huge and black, She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp ! Down went the Cumberland all awrack, With a sudden shudder of death, And the cannon's breath For her dying gasp. Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay, Still floated our flag at the mainmast-head. Lord, how beautiful was thy day ! Every waft of the air Was a whisper of prayer, Or a dirge for the dead. Ho ! brave hearts that went down in the seas ! Ye are at peace in the troubled stream. Ho ! brave land ! with hearts like these, 138 THE CUMBERLAND. Thy flag, that is rent in twain, Shall be one again, And without a seam. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 139 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. $0e QS&nnet of *0e Jifars. T T URRAH ! boys, hurrah ! fling our banner to the breeze ! Let the enemies of freedom see its folds again unfurled. And down with the pirates that scorn upon the seas Our victorious Yankee banner, sign of Freedom to the World! We'll never have a new flag, for ours is the true flag, The true flag, the true flag, the Red, White, and Blue flag. Hurrah ! boys, hurrah ! we will carry to the wars The old flag, the free flag, the Banner of the Stars. And what tho' its white shall be crimsoned with our blood ? And what tho' its stripes shall be shredded in the storms ? To the torn flag, the worn flag, we'll keep our promise And we'll bear the starry blue field, with gallant hearts and arms. — Cho. THE BANNER OF THE STARS. Then, cursed be he who would strike our Starry Flag! May the God of Hosts be with us, as we smite the traitor down ! And cursed be he who would hesitate or lag Till the dear flag, the fair flag, with Victory we crown. — Cho. — R. W. Raymond, 141 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. TB0en Zfyix Ctuef Wat 3s <&&er. T^vEAREST love, do you remember When we last did meet, How you told me that you loved me Kneeling at my feet ? Oh, how proud you stood before me In your suit of blue, When you vowed to me and country Ever to be true. CHORUS. Weeping sad and lonely, Hopes and fears how vain ! Yet praying, When this cruel war is over, Praying that we meet again. When the summer breeze is sighing Mournfully along, Or when autumn leaves are falling, Sadly breathes the song. Oft in dreams I see thee lying On the battle plain, Lonely, wounded, even dying, Calling, but in vain. — Cho. 142 WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER. If, amid the din of battle, Nobly you should fall, Far away from those who love you, None to hear you call, Who would whisper words of comfort, Who would soothe your pain ? Ah, the many cruel fancies Ever in my brain ! — Cho. But our country called you, darling, Angels cheer your way ! While our nation's sons are fighting, We can only pray. Nobly strike for God and country, Let all nations see How we love the starry banner, Emblem of the free. — Cho. — Charles Carroll Sawyer. i43 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £t amp, £tkmp f Ztkmp. T N the prison cell I sit, Thinking, mother dear, of you, And our bright and happy home so far away, And the tears they fill my eyes, Spite of all that I can do, Tho' I try to cheer my comrades and be gay. Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching, Oh, cheer up, comrades, they will come, And beneath the starry flag we shall breathe the air again, Of freedom in our own beloved home. In the battle front we stood When the fiercest charge they made, And they swept us off a hundred men or more, But before we reached their lines They were beaten back dismayed, And we heard the cry of vict'ry o'er and o'er. — Cho. So, within the prison cell, We are waiting for the day 144 TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP. That shall come to open wide the iron door, And the hollow eye grows bright, And the poor heart almost gay, As we think of seeing friends and home once more. — Cho. — George F. Root. 145 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. HHHE army is gathering from near and from far ; The trumpet is sounding the call for the war ; McClellan's our leader, he's gallant and strong ; We'll gird on our armor and be marching along. Marching along, we are marching along, Gird on the armor and be marching along ; McClellan's our leader, he's gallant and strong ; For God and our country we are marching along. The foe is before us in battle array, But let us not waver, or turn from the way ; The Lord is our strength, and the Union's our song; With courage and faith we are marching along. — Cho. Our wives and our children we leave in your care, We feel you will help them with sorrow to bear ; 'Tis hard thus to part, but we hope 'twon't be long ; We'll keep up our heart as we're marching along. — Cho. 146 MARCHING ALONG. We sigh for our country, we mourn for our dead ; For them now our last drop of blood we will shed ; Our cause is the right one, — our foe's in the wrong ; Then gladly we'll sing as we're marching along. — Cho. The flag of our country is floating on high ; We'll stand by that flag till we conquer or die ; McClellan's our leader, he's gallant and strong; We'll gird on our armor and be marching along. — Cho. — William B. Bradbury. 147 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. T)Y the flow of the inland river, Whence the fleets of iron had fled, Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, Asleep are the ranks of the dead, — Under the sod and the dew ; Waiting the judgment day ; Under the one, the Blue ; Under the other, the Gray. These in the robings of glory, Those in the gloom of defeat ; All with the battle-blood gory, In the dusk of eternity meet, — Under the sod and the dew ; Waiting the judgment day ; Under the laurel, the Blue ; Under the willow, the Gray. From the silence of sorrowful hours The desolate mourners go, Lovingly laden with flowers, Alike for the friend and the foe ; Under the sod and the dew ; Waiting the judgment day ; 148 THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. Under the roses, the Blue ; Under the lilies, the Gray. So, with an equal splendor, The morning sun-rays fall, With a touch impartially tender, On the blossoms blooming for all, — Under the sod and the dew ; Waiting the judgment day ; Broidered with gold, the Blue ; Mellowed with gold, the Gray. So, when the summer calleth On forest, and field of grain, With an equal murmur falleth The cooling drip of the rain ; Under the sod and the dew ; Waiting the judgment day ; Wet with the rain, the Blue ; Wet with the rain, the Gray. Sadly, but not with upbraiding, The generous deed was done ; In the storm of the years now fading No braver battle was won ; Under the sod and the dew ; Waiting the judgment day; 149 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Under the blossoms, the Blue ; Under the garlands, the Gray. No more shall the war cry sever, Or the winding rivers be red ; They banish our anger forever When they laurel the graves of our dead. Under the sod and the dew ; Waiting the judgment day ; Love and tears for the Blue ; Tears and love for the Gray. — Francis M. Finch. 150 THE SMALLEST OF THE DRUMS. Zfye ^maffe0f of *0e ©rums. VXTHEN the opulence of summer unto wood and meadow comes, And within the tangled graveyard riot old-time spice and bloom, Then dear Nature brings her tribute to the " smallest of the drums," Spreads the sweetest of her blossoms on the little soldier's tomb. In the quiet country village, still they tell you how he died ; And the story moves you strangely, more than other tales of war. Thrice heroic seems the hero, if he be a child beside, And the wound that tears his bosom is more sad than others far. In the ranks of Sherman's army none so young and small as he, With his face so soft and dimpled, and his inno- cent blue eyes. Yet of all the Union drummers he could drum most skilfully, POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. With a spirit — said his colonel — fit to make the dead arise ! In the charge at Chickamauga (so, beside his little grave, You may learn the hero's story of some villager, perchance), When his regiment sank, broken, from the rampart, like a wave, Thrice the clangor of his drum-beat rallied to a fresh advance. There he stood upon the hillside, capless, with his shining hair Blown about his childish forehead like the bright silk of the corn ; And the men looked up, and saw him standing brave and scathless there, As an angel on a hilltop, in the drifting mist of morn. Thrice they rallied at his drum - beat, — then the tattered flag went down! Some one caught it, waved it skyward for a mo- ment, and then fell. In the dust, and gore, and drabble, all the stars of freedom's crown, And the soldiers beaten backward from the em- blem loved so well! 152 THE SMALLEST OF THE DRUMS. Then our drummer-boy, our hero, from his neck the drum-cord flung, And amid the hail of bullets to the fallen banner sped. Quick he raised it from dishonor ; quick before them all he sprung, And in fearless, proud defiance, waved the old flag o'er his head ! For a minute's space the cheering, louder than the singing balls, And the soldiers pressing forward, closing up their broken line, Then the child's bright head, death-stricken, on his throbbing bosom falls, And the brave eyes that God lighted cease with life and soul to shine. In the flag he saved they wrapped him ; in that starry shroud he lies, And the roses, and the lilacs, and the daisies seem to know ; For in all that peaceful acre, sleeping 'neath the summer skies, There is neither mound nor tablet that is wreathed and guarded so ! — James Buckham. 153 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. (Jteencm's Charge. HP HE sun had set; The leaves with dew were wet, — Down fell a bloody dusk Where Stonewall's corps, like a beast of prey, Tore through with angry tusk. " They've trapped us, boys ! " Rose from our flank a voice. With a rush of steel and smoke On came the rebels straight, Eager as love, and wild as hate ; And our line reeled and broke ; Broke and fled. Not one stayed, — but the dead ! With curses, shrieks, and cries, Horses, and wagons, and men, Tumbled back through the shuddering glen, And above us the fading skies. There's some hope, still, — Those batteries parked on the hill ! " Battery, wheel " ('mid the roar), 154 KEENAN'S CHARGE. " Pass pieces ; fix prolonge to fire Retiring. Trot ! " In the panic dire A bugle rings " Trot ! " — and no moreo The horses plunged, The cannon lurched and lunged, To join the hopeless rout. But suddenly rose a form Calmly in front of the human storm. With a stern, commanding shout : " Align those guns ! " (We knew it was Pleasanton's.) The cannoneers bent to obey, And worked with a will at his word, And the black guns moved as if they had heard. But, ah, the dread delay ! " To wait is crime ; O God, for ten minutes' time ! " The general looked around. There Keenan sat, like a stone, With his three hundred horse alone, Less shaken than the ground. " Major, your men ? " " Are soldiers, general." " Then, Charge, major ! Do your best ; 155 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Hold the enemy back, at all cost, Till my guns are placed ; — else the army is lost. You die to save the rest ! " By the shrouded gleam of the western skies Brave Keenan looked into Pleasanton's eyes For an instant, — clear, and cool, and still ; Then, with a smile, he said : " I will." " Cavalry, charge ! " Not a man of them shrank. Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank, Rose joyously, with a willing breath, — Rose like a greeting hail to death. Then forward they sprang, and spurred, and clashed ; Shouted the officers, crimson-sashed; Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow, In their faded coats of the blue and yellow ; And above in the air, with an instinct true, Like a bird of war their pennon flew. With clank of scabbard, and thunder of steeds, And blades that shine like sunlit reeds, 156 KEENAN'S CHARGE. And strong brown faces bravely pale For fear their proud attempt shall fail, Three hundred Pennsylvanians close On twice ten thousand gallant foes. Line after line the troopers came To the edge of the wood that was ringed with flame ; Rode in, and sabred, and shot, — and fell ; Nor came one back his wounds to tell. And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall, In the gloom like a martyr awaiting his fall, While the circle-stroke of his sabre, swung 'Round his head, like a halo there, luminous hung. Line after line, ay, whole platoons, Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dra- goons, By the maddened horses were onward borne, And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn ; As Keenan fought with his men, side by side. So they rode, till there were no more to ride. And over them, lying there shattered and mute, What deep echo rolls ? — 'Tis a death-salute 157 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. From the cannon in place ; for, heroes, you braved Your fate not in vain ; the army was saved ! Over them now, — year following year, — Over their graves the pine cones fall, And the whippoorwill chants his spectre call ; But they stir not again, they raise no cheer ; They have ceased. But their glory shall never cease, Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace. The rush of their charge is resounding still That saved the army at Chancellorsville. — George Parsons Lathrop. 158 MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA. (Utaire0ing £$xquq§ (Beorgta. "DRING the good old bugle, boys ! we'll sing an other song, — Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along, — Sing it as we used to sing it, fifty thousand strong, While we were marching through Georgia. Hurrah, hurrah ! we bring the jubilee ! Hurrah, hurrah ! the flag that makes you free ! So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea, While we were marching through Georgia. How the darkies shouted when they heard the joyful sound ! How the turkeys gobbled which our commissary found ! How the sweet potatoes even started from the ground, While we were marching through Georgia ! — Cho. Yes, and there were Union men who wept with joyful tears When they saw the honor'd flag they had not seen for years; 159 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Hardly could they be restrained from breaking forth in cheers While we were marching through Georgia. — Cho. " Sherman's dashing Yankee boys will never reach the coast ! " So the saucy rebels said, — and t'was a handsome boast. Had they not forgot, alas ! to reckon on a host, While we were marching through Georgia. — Cho. So we made a thoroughfare for Freedom and her train, Sixty miles in latitude, three hundred to the main ; Treason fled before us, for resistance was in vain, While we were marching through Georgia. — Cho. i 60 O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN. <& Captain I (ttt£ Captain! On the Death of Lincoln. f~\ Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But, O heart ! heart ! heart ! Oh, the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; Rise up, — for you the flag is flung, — for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths, — for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning ; Here, Captain ! dear father ! This arm beneath your head ! i6i POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. It is some dream that on the deck You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still ; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will ; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells ! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. — Walt Whitman. 1 6? BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. {gafttt ffemn of *0e (Repufific, TV/TINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword; His truth is marching on. Glory ! Glory Hallelujah ! Glory! Glory Hallelujah! Glory ! Glory Hallelujah ! His truth is marching on. I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps ; They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps ; I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps ; His day is marching on. — Cho. I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel : 163 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. "As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal." Let the hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on. — Cho. He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat ; He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judg- ment seat ; Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him ; be jubilant, my feet ; Our God is marching on. — Cho. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me ; As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. — Cho. — Julia Ward Howe. 164 LYON. ££on. Q ING, bird, on green Missouri's plain, Thy saddest song of sorrow ; Drop tears, O clouds, in gentlest rain Ye from the winds can borrow ; Breathe out, ye winds, your softest sigh, Weep, flowers, in dewy splendor, For him who knew well how to die, But never to surrender ! Up rose serene the August sun Upon that day of glory ; Up curled from musket and from gun The war-cloud gray and hoary. It gathered like a funeral pall Now broken and now blended, Where rang the bugle's angry call, And rank with rank contended. Four thousand men, as brave and true As e'er went forth in daring, Upon the foe that morning threw The strength of their despairing. They feared not death, — men bless the field That patriot soldiers die on, — 165 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Fair Freedom's cause was sword and shield, And at their head was Lyon ! The leader's troubled soul looked forth From eyes of troubled brightness ; Sad soul ! the burden of the North Had pressed out all its lightness. He gazed upon the unequal fight, His ranks all rent and gory, And felt the shadows close like night Round his career of glory. " General, come lead us ! " loud the cry From a brave band was ringing, — " Lead us, and we will stop, or die, That battery's awful singing." He spurred to where his heroes stood, Twice wounded, — no wound knowing, — The fire of battle in his blood And on his forehead glowing. Oh, cursed for aye that traitor's hand, And cursed that aim so deadly, Which smote the bravest of the land, And dyed his bosom redly ! Serene he lay, while past him prest The battle's furious billow, 1 66 As calmly as a babe may rest Upon its mother's pillow. So Lyon died ! and well may flowers His place of burial cover, For never had this land of ours A more devoted lover. Living, his country was his pride, His life he gave her, dying ; Life, fortune, love, — he naught denied To her and to her sighing. Rest, patriot, in thy hillside grave, Beside her form who bore thee ! Long may the land thou diedst to save Her bannered stars wave o'er thee ! Upon her history's brightest page, And on Fame's glowing portal, She'll write thy grand, heroic rage And grave thy name immortal. — Henry Peterson. 167 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e Smice ^0ot " T3 IFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot, 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 ! " " Oh, 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 baek, 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, 168 THE FANCY SHOT. Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, Of a beautiful lady in bridal array." " Ha ! rifleman, fling 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. 169 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 3n f0e gosjrifaf. T LAY me down to sleep, With little thought or care Whether my waking find Me here or there. A bowing, burdened head, That only asks to rest, Unquestioning, upon A loving breast. My good right hand forgets Its cunning now. To march the weary march I know not how. I am not eager, bold, Nor strong, — all that is past ; I am ready not to do At last, at last. My half day's work is done, And this is all my part ; I give a patient God My patient heart, 170 IN THE HOSPITAL. And grasp his banner still, Though all its blue be dim ; These stripes, no less than stars, Lead after him. — M. W. Howland. 171 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. TpARRAGUT, Farragut, r Old Heart of Oak, Daring Dave Farragut, Thunderbolt stroke, Watches the hoary mist Lift from the bay, Till his flag, glory-kissed, Greets the young day. Far, by gray Morgan's walls, Looms the black fleet. Hark, deck to rampart calls With the drums' beat ! Buoy your chains overboard, While the steam hums ; Men ! to the battlement, Farragut comes. See, as the hurricane Hurtles in wrath Squadrons of clouds amain Back from its path ! Back to the parapet, To the guns' lips, 172 FARRAGUT. Thunderbolt Farragut Hurls the black ships. Now through the battle's roar Clear the boy sings, " By the mark fathoms four s " While his lead swings. Steady the wheelmen five " Nor' by east keep her," " Steady," but two alive : How the shells sweep her! Lashed to the mast that sways Over red decks, Over the flame that plays Round the torn wrecks, Over the dying lips Framed for a cheer, Farragut leads his ships, Guides the line clear. On by heights cannon-browed, While the spars quiver ; Onward still flames the cloud Where the hulks shiver. See, yon fort's star is set, Storm and fire past. m POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Cheer him, lads, — Farragut, Lashed to the mast ! Oh ! while Atlantic's breast Bears a white sail, While the Gulf's towering crest Tops a green vale ; Men thy bold deeds shall tell, Old Heart of Oak, Daring Dave Farragut, Thunderbolt stroke ! — W. T. Meredith, !74 JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. j£o0n (§utm of (BetfEsfiurg. T T AVE you heard the story that gossips tell Of Burns of Gettysburg ? No? Ah, well: Brief is the glory that hero earns, Briefer the story of poor John Burns ; He was the fellow who won renown, — The only man who didn't back down When the rebels rode through his native town ; But held his own in the fight next day, When all his townsfolk ran away. That was in July, sixty-three, — The very day that General Lee, Flower of Southern chivalry, Baffled and beaten, backward reeled From a stubborn Meade and a barren field. I might tell how, but the day before, John Burns stood at his cottage door, Looking down the village street, Where, in the shade of his peaceful vine, He heard the low of his gathered kine, And felt their breath with incense sweet ; Or, I might say, when the sunset burned The old farm gable, he thought it turned J 73 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. The milk that fell like a babbling flood Into the milk-pail, red as blood ; Or, how he fancied the hum of bees Were bullets buzzing among the trees. But all such fanciful thoughts as these Were strange to a practical man like Burns, Who minded only his own concerns, Troubled no more by fancies fine Than one of his calm-eyed, long-tailed kine, - Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact, Slow to argue, but quick to act. That was the reason, as some folk say, He fought so well on that terrible day. And it was terrible. On the right Raged for hours the heady fight, Thundered the battery's double bass, — Difficult music for men to face ; While on the left, — where now the graves Undulate like the living waves That all the day unceasing swept Up to the pits the rebels kept, — Round-shot ploughed the upland glades, Sown with bullets, reaped with blades ; Shattered fences here and there, Tossed their splinters in the air ; The very trees were stripped and bare ; i?6 JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. The barns that once held yellow grain Were heaped with harvests of the slain ; The cattle bellowed on the plain, The turkeys screamed with might and main, And brooding barn-fowl left their rest With strange shells bursting in each nest. Just where the tide of battle turns, Erect and lonely, stood old John Burns. How do you think the man was dressed ? He wore an ancient, long buff vest, Yellow as saffron, — but his best ; And buttoned over his manly breast Was a bright blue coat with a rolling collar, And large gilt buttons, — size of a dollar, — With tails that the country-folk called " swaller.' He wore a broad-brimmed, bell-crowned hat, White as the locks on which it sat. Never had such a sight been seen For forty years on the village green, Since old John Burns was a country beau, And went to the " quiltings " long ago. Close at his elbows all that day, Veterans of the Peninsula, Sunburnt and bearded, charged away ; And striplings, downy of lip and chin, — Clerks that the Home-guard mustered in, — 177 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore, Then at the rifle his right hand bore ; And hailed him, from out their youthful lore, With scraps of a slangy repertoire : " How are you, White Hat ? " " Put her through ! " " Your head's level ! " and " Bully for you ! " Called him « Daddy," — begged he'd disclose The name of the tailor who made his clothes, And what was the value he set on those ; While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff, Stood there picking the rebels off, — With his long brown rifle, and bell-crowned hat, And the swallow-tails they were laughing at. 'Twas but a moment, for that respect Which clothes all courage their voices checked ; And something the wildest could understand Spake in the old man's strong right hand, And his corded throat, and the lurking frown Of his eyebrows under his old bell-crown ; Until, as they gazed, there crept an awe Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw, In the antique vestments and long white hair, The Past of the Nation in battle there ; And some of the soldiers since declare That the gleam of his old white hat afar, Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre, 178 JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. That day was their oriflamme of war. Thus raged the battle. You know the rest ; How the rebels, beaten, and backward pressed, Broke at the final charge and ran. At which John Burns, — a practical man, — Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows, And then went back to his bees and cows. That is the story of old John Burns ; This is the moral the reader learns : In fighting the battle, the question's whether You'll show a hat that's white, or a feather. — Bret Harte< 179 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e $ic&tt 45uarb. " A LL quiet along the Potomac," they say, " Except now and then a stray picket Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, By a rifleman hid in the thicket. 'Tis nothing, — a private or two, now and then, Will not count in the news of the battle ; Not an officer lost, — only one of the men Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle." All quiet along the Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon, Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind Through the forest leaves softly is creeping ; While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, Keep guard, — for the army is sleeping. There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread, As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed Far away in the cot on the mountain. His musket falls slack, — his face, dark and grim, Grows gentle with memories tender, THE PICKET GUARD. As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep, — For their mother, — may Heaven defend her ! The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, That night, when the love yet unspoken Leaped up to his lips, — when low-murmured vows Were pledged to be ever unbroken. Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes off tears that are welling, And gathers his gun closer up to its place As if to keep down the heart-swelling. He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree, — The footstep is lagging and weary ; Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, Towards the shades of the forest so dreary. Hark ! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves? Was it the moonlight so wondrously flashing ? It looks like a rifle — ah ! — " Mary, good-by ! " And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing. All quiet along the Potomac to-night, No sound save the rush of the river ; While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead, — The picket's off duty forever. — Ethel Lynn Beers. 181 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. (JteameE at JJe&en $int& CO that soldierly legend is still on its journey, — That story of Kearney who knew not to yield ! 'Twas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry, and Birney, Against twenty thousand he rallied the field. Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose highest, Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak and pine, Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest, No charge like Phil Kearney's along the whole line. When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn, Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our ground, He rode down the length of the withering column, And his heart at our war-cry leapt up with a bound. He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of the pow- der, — 182 KEARNEY AT SEVEN PINES. His sword waved us on, and we answered the sign; Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the louder ; " There's the devil's own fun, boys, along the whole line ! " How he strode his brown steed ! How we saw his blade brighten In the one hand still left, — and the reins in his teeth ! He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, But a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath. Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal, Asking where to go in, — through the clearing or pine? " Oh, anywhere ! Forward ! 'Tis all the same, colonel : You'll find lovely fighting along the whole line ! " Oh, evil the black shroud of night at Chantilly, That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried ! Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's pride ! 183 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Yet we dream that he still, — in that shadowy region Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drum- mer's sign, — Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion, And the word still is Forward! along the whole line. — Edmund Clarence Stedman. 184 AFTER ALL. ®ffer <$tt 'THE apples are ripe in the orchard, The work of the reaper is done, And the golden woodlands redden In the blood of the dying sun. At the cottage door the grandsire Sits pale in his easy chair, While the gentle wind of twilight Plays with his silver hair. A woman is kneeling beside him ; A fair young head is pressed, In the first wild passion of sorrow, Against his aged breast. And far from over the distance The faltering echoes come Of the flying blast of trumpet And the rattling roll of the drum. And the grandsire speaks in a whisper : " The end, no man can see ; But we gave him to his country, And we give our prayers to thee." 185 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. The violets star the meadows, The rosebuds fringe the door, And over the grassy orchard The pink-white blossoms pour. But the grandsire's chair is empty, The cottage is dark and still ; There's a nameless grave in the battle- field, And a new one under the hill. And a pallid, tearless woman By the cold hearth sits alone, And the old clock in the corner Ticks on with a steady drone. — William Winter. 1 86 SHERIDAN'S RIDE. |}0eriban'0 (gibe. T T P from the south, at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste to the chieftain's door, The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away. And wider still those billows of war Thunder'd along the horizon's bar ; And louder yet into Winchester roll'd The roar of that red sea uncontroll'd, Making the blood of the listener cold, As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, With Sheridan twenty miles away. But there is a road from Winchester town, A good broad highway leading down: And there, through the flush of the morning light, A steed as black as the steeds of night Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, As if he knew the terrible need, He stretch'd away with his utmost speed ; 187 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Hills rose and fell ; but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away. Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south, The dust like smoke from the cannon's mouth, Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. The heart of the steed and the heart of the master Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, Impatient to be where the battle-field calls ; Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away. Under his spurning feet, the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flow'd, And the landscape sped away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind ; And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. But, lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire ; He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, With Sheridan only five miles away. The first that the general saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops ; What was done ? what to do ? a glance told him both. Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath, 188 SHERIDAN'S RIDE. He dash'd down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because The sight of the master compell'd it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, He seem'd to the whole great army to say : " I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester down to save the day." Hurrah ! hurrah for Sheridan ! Hurrah ! hurrah for horse and man ! And when their statues are placed on high, Under the dome of the Union sky, The American soldier's Temple of Fame, There with the glorious general's name Be it said, in letters both bold and bright : " Here is the steed that saved the day By carrying Sheridan into the fight, From Winchester, — twenty miles away ! " — Thomas Buchanan Read. 189 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. ©rifcing gome ff$e CoJ&s, /~\UT of the clover and blue-eyed grass, He turned them into the river-lane ; One after another he let them pass, Then fastened the meadow bars again. Under the willows, and over the hill, He patiently followed their sober pace ; The merry whistle for once was still, And something shadowed the sunny face. Only a boy ! and his father had said He never could let his youngest go ; Two already were lying dead Under the feet of the trampling foe. But after the evening work was done, And the frogs were loud in the meadow swamp, Over his shoulder he slung his gun, And stealthily followed the footpath damp. Across the clover and through the wheat, With resolute heart and purpose grim, Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet, And the blind bat's flitting startled him. 190 DRIVING HOME THE COWS. Thrice since then had the lanes been white, And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom ; And now when the cows came back at night, The feeble father drove them home. For news had come to the lonely farm That three were lying where two had lain ; And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm Could never lean on a son's again. The summer day grew cold and late, He went for the cows when the work was done ; But down the lane, as he opened the gate, He saw them coming, one by one, — Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, Shaking their horns in the evening wind : Cropping the buttercups out of the grass, — But who was it following close behind ? Loosely swung in the idle air The empty sleeve of army blue ; And worn and pale from the crisping hair Looked out a face that the father knew. For the Southern prisons will sometimes yawn, And yield their dead unto life again ; 191 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn In golden glory at last may wane. The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes ; For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb; And under the silent evening skies, Together they followed the cattle home. — Kate Putnam Osgood. 192 MUSIC IN CAMP. (gtusic in Cftmp. HP 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 high 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. 193 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. A Federal band, which eve and morn Played measures brave and nimble, Had just struck up, with flute and horn 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." The conscious stream, with burnished glow, Went proudly o'er its pebbles, But thrilled throughout its deepest flow With yelling of the Rebels. Again a pause ; and then again The trumpet 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. ♦ 194 MUSIC IN CAMP. And yet once more the bugle 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; All silent now the Yankees stood, All 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. 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. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. But Memory, waked by Music's art, Expressed in simple 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 R. Thompson. THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE. £($tee Jgunfcrefc Zfyousanb Qttore. AirE are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more, From Mississippi's winding stream and from New England's shore ; We leave our ploughs and workshops, our wives and children dear, With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear ; We dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before : We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more ! If you look across the hilltops that meet the northern sky, Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry ; And now the wind, an instant, tears the cloudy veil aside, And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in pride, And bayonets in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave music pour : We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more ! 197 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. If you look all up our valleys where the growing har- vests shine, You may see our sturdy farmer boys fast forming into line ; And children from their mothers' knees are pulling at the weeds, And learning how to reap and sow against their coun- try's needs ; And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage door; We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more ! You have called us, and we're coming, by Richmond's bloody tide To lay us down, for Freedom's sake, our brothers' bones beside, Or from foul treason's savage grasp to wrench the murderous blade, And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to parade. Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before : We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more ! CAVALRY SONG. r\UR good steeds snuff the evening air, ^" y ^ Our pulses with their purpose tingle ; The foeman's fires are twinkling there ; He leaps to hear our sabres jingle ! Halt ! Each carbine sends its whizzing ball : Now, cling ! clang ! forward all, Into the fight ! Dash on beneath the smoking dome : Through level lightnings gallop nearer ! One look to Heaven ! No thoughts of home : The guidons that we bear are dearer. Charge ! Cling ! clang ! forward all ! Heaven help those whose horses fall ! Cut left and right ! They flee before our fierce attack ! They fall ! they spread in broken surges ! Now, comrades, bear our wounded back, And leave the foeman to his dirges. Wheel ! 199 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. The bugles sound the swift recall : Cling ! clang ! backward all ! Home, and good night ! — Edmund Clarence Stedman. MARCHING STILL. CHE is old, and bent, and wrinkled, In her rocker in the sun, And the thick, gray, woollen stocking That she knits is never done. She will ask the news of battle If you pass her when you will, For to her the troops are marching, Marching still. Seven tall sons about her growing Cheered the widowed mother's soul ; One by one they kissed and left her When the drums began to roll. They are buried in the trenches, They are bleaching on the hill; But to her the boys are marching, Marching still. She was knitting in the corner When the fatal news was read, How the last and youngest perished, — And the letter, ending, said : " I am writing on my knapsack By the road, with borrowed quill, POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. For the Union army's marching, Marching still." Reason sank and died within her Like a flame for want of air ; So she knits the woollen stockings For the soldier lads to wear, Waiting till the war is ended For her sons to cross the sill ; For she thinks they all are marching, Marching still. — Minna Irving. THE BATTLE-CRY OF FREEDOM. £0e Q5aftfe*crE of freebom. "V^ES, we'll rally 'round the flag, boys, we'll rally once again, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, We will rally from the hillside, we'll gather from the plain, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. CHORUS. The Union forever, hurrah, boys, hurrah, Down with the traitor, up with the star, While we rally 'round the flag, boys, rally once again, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. We are springing to the call of our brothers gone be- fore, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, And we'll fill the vacant ranks with a million freemen more, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. — Cho. We will welcome to our numbers the loyal, true, and brave, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, 203 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. And altho' they may be poor, not a man shall be a slave, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. — Cho. So we're springing to the call from the East and from the West, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom, And we'll hurl the rebel crew from the land we love the best, Shouting the battle-cry of freedom. — Cho. THE CAVALRY CHARGE. $0e Crafts Charge. T T ARK ! the rattling roar of the musketeers, And the ruffled drums, and the rallying cheers, And the rifles burn with a keen desire Like the crackling whips of a hemlock fire, And the singing shot, and the shrieking shell, And the splintered fire on the shattered hell, And the great white breaths of the cannon smoke As the growling guns by batteries spoke ; And the ragged gaps in the walls of blue Where the iron surge rolled heavily through, That the colonel builds with a breath again As he cleaves the din with his " Close up, men! " And the groan torn out from the blackened lips, And the prayer doled slow with the crimsoned drips, And the beaming look in the dying eye As under the cloud the stars go by, " But his soul marched on ! " the captain said, For the Boy in Blue can never be dead ! And the troopers sit in their saddles all Like statues carved in an ancient hall, And they watch the whirl from their breathless ranks, And their spurs are close to the horses' flanks, 205 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. And the fingers work of the sabre hand, — Oh, to bid them live, and to make them grand ! And the bugle sounds to the charge at last, And away they plunge, and the front is passed ! And the jackets blue grow red as they ride, And the scabbards, too, that clank by their side, And the dead soldiers deaden the strokes iron-shod As they gallop right on o'er the plashy red sod, — Right into the cloud all spectral and dim, Right up to the guns black-throated and grim, Right down on the hedges bordered with steel, Right through the dense columns, — then, "Right about wheel!' 1 '' Hurrah ! a new swath through the harvest again I Hurrah for the Flag ! To the battle, Amen ! — Benjamin F. Taylor. 206 THE BLACK REGIMENT. $0e QBfacft (gegimenf, "T^ARK as the clouds of even, Ranked in the western heaven, Waiting the breath that lifts All the dead mass, and drifts Tempest and falling brand Over a ruined land, — So still and orderly, Arm to arm, knee to knee, Waiting the great event, Stands the black regiment. Down the long dusky line Teeth gleam, and eyeballs shine ; And the bright bayonet, Bristling and firmly set, Flashed with a purpose grand, Long ere the sharp command Of the fierce rolling drum Told them their time had come, Told them what work was sent For the black regiment. 207 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. " Now," the flag-sergeant cried, " Though death and hell betide, Let the whole nation see If we are fit to be Free in this land ; or bound Down, like the whining hound, — Bound with red stripes of pain In our cold chains again ! " Oh, what a shout there went From the black regiment ! " Charge ! " trump and drum awoke ; Onward the bondsmen broke ; Bayonet and sabre-stroke Vainly opposed their rush. Through the wild battle's crush, With but one thought aflush, Driving their lords like chaff, In the gun's mouth they laugh ; Or at the slippery brands, Leaping with open hands, Down they tear man and horse, Down in their awful course ; Trampling with bloody heel Over the crushing steel, — All their eyes forward bent, Rushed the black regiment. 208 THE BLACK REGIMENT. " Freedom ! " their battle-cry, — " Freedom ! or leave to die ! " Ah ! and they meant the word, Not as with us 'tis heard, — Not a mere party shout ; They gave their spirits out, Trusted the end to God, And on the gory sod Rolled in triumphant blood. Glad to strike one free blow, Whether for weal or woe ; Glad to breathe one free breath, Though on the lips of death ; Praying — alas ! in vain ! — That they might fall again, So they could once more see That burst to liberty ! This was what " freedom " lent To the black regiment. Hundreds on hundreds fell ; But they are resting well ; Scourges, and shackles strong, Never shall do them wrong. Oh, to the living few, Soldiers, be just and true ! 209 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Hail them as comrades tried ; Fight with them side by side. Never, in field or tent, Scorn the black regiment ! — George H. Boker. THE WAR WITH SPAIN ON THE EVE OF WAR. fyn ffje (Eke of °CQut. r\ GOD of Battles, who art still The God of Love, the God of Rest, Subdue thy people's fiery will, And quell the passions in their breast ! Before we bathe our hands in blood We lift them to thy Holy Rood. The waiting nations hold their breath To catch the dreadful battle-cry ; And in the silence as of death The fateful hours go softly by. Oh, hear thy people where they pray, And shrive our souls before the fray ! Before the sun of peace shall set, We kneel apart a solemn while ; Pity the eyes with sorrow wet, But pity most the lips that smile. The night comes fast ; we hear afar The baying of the wolves of war. Not lightly, oh, not lightly, Lord, Let this our awful task begin ; 213 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Speak from thy throne a warning word Above the angry factions' din. If this be thy Most Holy will, Be with us still, — be with us still ! — Danske Dandridge. Good Friday •, i8g8. 214 ANSWERING TO ROLL-CALL. » 'T^HIS one fought with Jackson, and faced the fight with Lee; That one followed Sherman as he galloped to the sea; But they're marchin' on together just as friendly as can be, And they'll answer to the roll-call in the mornin' ! They'll rally to the fight, In the stormy day and night, In bonds that no cruel fate shall sever; While the storm-winds waft on high Their ringing battle-cry : " Our country, — our country forever ! " The brave old flag above them is rippling down its red, — Each crimson stripe the emblem of the blood by heroes shed ; It shall wave for them victorious or droop above them, — dead, For they'll answer to the roll-call in the mornin' ! 215 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. They'll rally to the fight In the stormy day and night, In bonds that no cruel fate shall sever ; While their far-famed battle-cry Shall go ringing to the sky : " Our country, — our country forever ! " — Frank L. Stanton. 216 NEW BEACONS SET. (IteW) Q5eacon0 §btt To the heroes of the war-ship Maine. TVT O more, no more shall come the brave - The champions of the free — Who bore our flag upon the wave From farthest sea to sea. No cheer shall rise from sailor lip To greet the starry fold, The ensign of the gallant ship Shall be no more unroll'd ! Three hundred heroes in their might Their country's summons heard — Thrice-sworn to guard their country's right From harm of deed or word ; Nor trustier band e'er faced a foe Upon the surging deep, Nor met the thousand-shotted blow Along the bloody steep ! Not theirs the fierce delight to feel The fury of the fray, — To know their steel quick answered steel Where foemen barr'd the way ; POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. But in the shadow of the gloom That 'round the proud ship fell, There burst the awful roar of doom And fires of sudden hell ! They died as only men can die Who follow, as their star, Grim Duty's light — nor question why — Thro' paths of peace and war ! Beside the sea their graves are set, — Beneath the surging foam, — And many a Northland eye is wet Because they come not home ! They come not home forevermore, But evermore they'll be, From lake to gulf, from shore to shore, New beacons to the free, — New lights upon the rocky coasts To guide our Ship of State ; New proof how hearts, too brave for boasts, In serving may be great ! — John Jerome Rooney. "REMEMBER THE MAINE." "(gememfier f($e (gtaine." "\1 THEN the vengeance wakes, when the battle breaks, And the ships sweep out to sea, When the foe is neared and the decks are cleared And the colors floating free, When the squadrons meet, when it's fleet to fleet And front to front with Spain, From ship to ship, from lip to lip, Pass on the quick refrain, " Remember, remember the Maine I " When the flag shall sign, " Advance in line ; Train ships on an even keel," When the guns shall flash and the shot shall crash And bound on the ringing steel, When the rattling blasts from the armored masts Are hurling their deadliest rain, Let their voices loud, through the blinding cloud, Cry ever the fierce refrain, " Remember, remember the Maine / " God's sky and sea in that storm shall be Fate's chaos of smoke and flame, 219 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. But across that hell every shot shall tell, Not a gun can miss its aim ; Not a blow shall fail on the crumbling mail, And the waves that engulf the slain Shall sweep the decks of the blackened wrecks With the thundering, dread refrain, " Remember, remember the Maine / " — Robert Burns Wilson. THE MAINE'S MEN. $0e Qttaine'0 (JJten. T~\EATH came out of the black night's deep, And steered for a battle-ship's side ; But never a man of the sailor clan Looked on the Deathman's ride. The Kansas lad and the Hampshire boy, And the boy from Tennessee, With never a fear that death was near, Swung into eternity. Nor flag, nor shot, nor battle-cry, Nor strain of the Nation's air, Broke into the gloom of the sailor's doom, Nor yet a priestly prayer. There looks a face from a far-away home, With eye bent on the sea, For the Hampshire Jack who'll ne'er come back, Nor the lad from Tennessee. Not theirs was the glory of battle No victory crowned the day, But a Nation weeps that the dark sea keeps Her dead beneath the bay. — Mexico Two Republics. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. JJong of f$e (gftpiostfires. V7"OU may take the thirteen-inchers, And the eights and six and fours ; You may take the heavy battery, And the rain of shells it pours ; You may take the grim projectile And the mighty solid shot, But we, the rapid-flrers, Are the guns that make things hot. Oh, it's swift the turrets swing us, And with steady, ready ken We reach the decks and sweep them With their living walls of men! It's ping, and sping, and splutter, And it's beautiful to be The tenors in the chorus That is sung across the sea ! Swing your broadside into action, Let the forward turrets play, Hark the thunder of the cannon As they dance in death's chasse" ! Sweep the courses with the squadron, Let them give and take again, SONG OF THE RAPID - FIRES. Send the foe the thunder-challenge, — But it's we that take the men ! Oh, it's terrible to hear us, And it's lively when we sing, As across the heaving billows To the foemen's deck we spring ; We are tenors of the chorus, But on starboard or on lee We are heard above the thunder That is sung across the sea ! We are flame and fire and terror, We are twenty to their one ; We are up again and at them Ere they charge the heavy gun ; And our lips are red with battle, And our throats are hoarse with smoke, When we land upon their quarter And they feel our lightning stroke. Oh, it's rapid, rapid, rapid, Jolly rapid-fires are we, Singing 'round the ranging turret And across the surging sea. We are brothers to the heavies And we strike where they have missed, And there's doom upon the quarter Where our twenty bolts have kissed. 223 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Swing the pounders into action, We shall beat the batteries yet ! From the furnace to the funnel, Where the naked seameii sweat, We are heard amid the chorus, And they know our surging shout, As we sing across the waters From our triple-steel redoubt. Oh, it's rip and roar and rumble When the thirteens sink the foe, And it 's death upon the billows When the solid pounders go ; But it's swift the turrets swing us And with steady, ready ken We search the decks and sweep them With their living walls of men ! — Baltimore News. 224 TO SPAIN — A LAST WORD. to J^ain — ® feasf Wotb. TBERIAN! palter no more! By thine hands, thine alone, they were slain ! Oh, 'twas a deed in the dark — Yet mark ! We will show you a way — only one — by which ye may blot out the stain ! Build them a monument whom to death-sleep, in their sleep, ye betrayed ! Proud and stern let it be — Cuba free ! So, only, the stain shall be razed — so, only, the great debt be paid ! — Edith M. Thomas. 225 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Cufia. Originally published in 1858. Q'ER thy purple hills, O Cuba ! Through thy valleys of romance, All thy glorious dreams of freedom Are but dreamt as in a trance. Mountain pass and fruitful valley, Mural town and spreading plain, Show the footsteps of the Spaniard, In his burning lust for gain. Since the caravel of Colon Grated first upon thy strand, Ev'rything about thee, Cuba, Shows the iron Spanish hand. Hear that crash of martial music ? From the plaza how it swells ! How it trembles with the meaning Of the story that it tells ! Turn thy steps up to Artares, — There was done a deed of shame ! Helpless men were coldly butchered, — 'Tis a part of Spanish fame. 226 CUBA. Wander now down to the Punta, — Lay thy hand upon thy throat, — Thou wilt see a Spanish emblem In the dark and grim garrote. In the Moro, — in the Market, — In the shadow, — in the sun, — ■ Thou wilt see the bearded Spaniard, Where a gold piece may be won. And they fatten on thee, Cuba ! Gay Soldado, — cunning priest, — How these vultures flock and hover, On thy tortured breast to feast ! Thou Prometheus of the ocean, Bound down, — not for what thou'st done, But for fear thy social statue Should start living in the sun ! And we give thee tears, O Cuba ! And our prayers to God uplift, That at last the flame celestial May come down to thee, — a gift t —J. B. Hope. 327 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. CtxQa. CHEls fighting for her freedom, striving hard to rend in twain The base chains that hold her captive at the feet of cruel Spain, While the iron hand of power, stretching out across the sea, Seeks to crush the infant nation in her struggle to be free. Like fierce wolves the armored war-ships flock about her naked coasts, And her verdant fields are trampled by the feet of hostile hosts. Grim Destruction's form stalks onward in the battle- blighted path, Smiting all her land with terror in his dire, unsparing wrath. There is not an arm to shield her, and no helping hand is found, That will aid to break the fetters that so long have held her bound. 22S CUBA. All the nations gaze with coldness at her travail and her woe, Leaving her alone to grapple with her stern, relentless foe. She may fail, t— sink overpower'd by the fierce in- vading bands, And her good lance fall in splinters from her firm, unflinching hands, For the battle is not always with the ones whose cause is just, And the tyrant's sword has sometimes laid fair Free- dom in the dust. She may sink, like poor, lost Poland, vanquished in a righteous fray, And Oppression's cruel vultures flock about their helpless prey ; But the kindly hearts of millions, loving liberty and right, Beat for her in her brave struggle, in her thraldom, and her night. — James Gardner. 229 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Cufia, 1897- f~\ GOD ! that I might breathe of Freedom's air ; Alone I weep to-day, alone, forlorn, — Twin sister of pale Sorrow, wan and worn ; Low, low I kneel with dark dishevelled hair. My noblest, bravest sons lie starving where Grim Morro looms on high ; my flesh is torn And bleeding from the tyrant's lash ; I mourn My children slain ; I cry in my despair For some protecting arm, — some flashing sword Upraised in my defence ; I cry, and yet All lands stand dumb and will not answer me. How long ere my deep prayer be heard, O Lord, How long ere my bruised feet be firmly set Upon the radiant peak of Liberty ? — Herbert Bashford. 230 I CUBA, 1898. £ufi&, 1898. T AND of languor and of beauty, where the tawny sunset blending In a blaze of gold and scarlet from the hillside to the sea, — Where the rose-scent softly lingers and the drowsy palms are bending In a reverent obeisance ere the day shall cease to be; Land of music and of moonlight, where the gorgeous flowers are gleaming In chaotic chords of color in the palace gardens fair, And the fountains sing and tinkle in the wonder of your dreaming, And the birds of brilliant plumage flash and flame upon the air ; Land of legend and of story, with your sultriness and splendor, And your skies of purest sapphire so ethereally blue; All the universe has wakened to a vast compassion tender, 231 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. And the sons of men stand breathless, for the world is watching you. In the majesty of morning, when the sunshine spreads and glistens In a myriad shining spangles on the forest and the sward, Rings the war-cry of your legions ; and the poltroon Spaniard listens, And he trembles in an ague at the slogan of the sword. In the marshes and morasses, where the cobra coils and hisses, And your heroes who have fallen in the fight serenely lie ; All their sleeping is the sweeter for the tender breeze's kisses, — And the buzzard sails and circles like a sentinel on high. Cuba ! — Paradise of beauty ! — Hell of tyrant's cold devising ! — Made a shambles and a charnel-house thro' twice a hundred years ! I can hear the utter anguish of a million mothers rising 232 CUBA, 1898. In a wilderness of weeping, — in a hurricane of tears { Stand to arms, you men of valor ! For the conflict's almost over, And the waking world stands panting to acclaim a people free ; For the fetters fall and crumble, and the Spaniard skulks to cover, As the bells clang out a tocsin from the mountains to the sea. And your land shall live in loveliness ! The hillside and the river And the flowers that bloom and bourgeon shall pro- claim the glad release ; And your name shall stand untarnished on the Scroll of Fame forever ; You have fought and bled for glory, — you shall know the bliss of peace. — Harold R. Vynne. 2 33 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. $0e (Battering* "I17"E are coming, Cuba, — coming ; our starry banner shines Above the swarming legions, sweeping downward to the sea. From Northern hill, and Western plain, and tower- ing Southern pines The serried hosts are gathering, — and Cuba shall be free. We are coming, Cuba, — coming. Thy sturdy pa- triots brave, Who fight as fought our fathers in the old time long ago, Shall see the Spanish squadrons sink beneath the whelming wave, And plant their own loved banner on the ramparts of their foe. We are coming, Cuba, — coming. Across the bil- low's foam Our gallant ships are bearing our bravest down to thee, 234 THE GATHERING. While earnest prayers are rising from every free- man's home That freedom's God may lead them on, and Cuba shall be free. — Herbert B. Swett. 235 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. but $0£S $re Qjtarc0mg on, \1 7"E heard the music ringing from the camps of long ago ; The solemn tramp of armies, as they marched to meet the foe ; We echo back their battle-song, that all the world may know Our flag is marching on ! CHORUS. Long ago the boys were marching ; North and South to battle marching ; Now together they are marching, — Together marching on. Marching on to fields of glory, Marching on to deeds of glory, Hear again the nation's story, — Our boys are marching on ! We heard the bugle calling to the sons of Blue and Gray; Our veterans were falling, one by one, beside the way; They'll join with us in singing, on their next Me- morial day, — Our boys are marching on ! 236 OUR BOYS ARE MARCHING ON. Blue and Gray are now united ; North and South are now united ; 'Round the flag with hearts united, — Together marching on. Marching on to fields of glory ; Marching on to deeds of glory ; Hear again their ringing story, — Our boys are marching on ! We heard the voice of wailing, — Cuba writhing in her pain ; " Deliver us, your neighbors, from the clutch of cruel Spain." We are coming, Cuba libre, to redeem you and the Maine, — Old Glory's marching on ! Spain must go, and go forever ; Cuba's chains the sword must sever ; Yanks and Johnnies falter never, — Together marching on. Marching on to fields of glory ; Marching on to deeds of glory ; Sing again the dear old story, — Of Freedom marching on ! 237 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. There's a breeze from off the ocean, bringing mem- ories of the past ; Of the flag that waved in triumph, — we will nail it to the mast ! There is glory for our Navy, and for Spain the die is cast, — Our Navy's sailing on ! Sailing on, with Dewey sailing ; Sailing on, with Sampson sailing; Sailing on, our Schley is sailing, Wherever glory's won. Glory, glory for our Navy ; Glory, glory for our Navy ; Hear the echoes from our Navy ; Our Navy's sailing on ! — John H. Jewett. BATTLE -SHIP AND TORPEDO-BOAT. (§ur (&xmm. T HEAR the sound at midnight of the tramp of many feet ; It rolls from country highways, it echoes from the street ; I hear its murmurs meet, and swell, and surge like waters fleet, Marching, marching, marching, marching, march- ing on ! I listen in the daybreak to the noise of rolling cars, With their freight of living valor sweeping south- ward to the wars ; From every commonwealth beneath our country's flashing stars, Rolling, rolling, rolling, rolling, rolling on ! Through the morning comes a wailing up from over all the land, Mothers weeping for their sons who pass among the moving band, Wives mourning for the husbands they have lent with loyal hand To their country's risen legions marching on. 242 A HYMN OF OUR ARMIES. There are flashes — not of sunrise — from the islands far a-sea, Where the mists are shot with lightnings of the hot artillery, And the cloud of battle brightens with the sun of victory, In the eyes of many nations shining on. And my spirit hears an answer from the islands of the south, Where the nation's heart is speaking through the cannon's smoky mouth; 'Tis the voice of burdened peoples, from amid their pain and drouth, Shouting glory to the mighty marching on ! And while I watch and listen, my soul within is stirred, And I catch a gladder message than mine ears to-day have heard, 'Tis the spirit of my country with her everlasting word Chanting freedom to all people drawing on. As it was from the beginning, to the end that word shall be 243 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. God's light to peoples captive, God's life to peoples free. Speaking nearer, clearer, dearer, its sweet creed of liberty, To the heights of noblest glory rolling on ! — O. C. A uringer. 244 FOR CUBA. §or Cufto. "^T O precedent, ye say, ' To point the glorious way Towards help for one downtrod in blood and tears ? Brothers, 'tis time there were ! We bare our swords for her, And set a model for the coming years ! This act, to end her pain, Without a hope of gain, v Its like on history's page where can ye read ? Humanity and God Call us to paths untrod ! On, brothers, on ! we follow not, but lead ! — Robert Mowry Bell. 245 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. IT IGH on the world did our fathers of old, Under the stars and stripes, Blazon the name that we now must uphold, Under the stars and stripes. Vast in the past they have builded an arch Over which freedom has lighted her torch. Follow it ! Follow it ! Come, let us march Under the stars and stripes ! We in whose bodies the blood of them runs, Under the stars and stripes, We will acquit us as sons of their sons, Under the stars and stripes, Ever for justice, our heel upon wrong, We in the light of our vengeance thrice .strong ! Rally together ! Come tramping along Under the stars and stripes ! Out of our strength and a nation's great need, Under the stars and stripes, Heroes again as of old we shall breed, Under the stars and stripes. 246 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. Broad to the winds be our banner unfurled ! Straight in Spain's face let defiance be hurled ! God on our side, we will battle the world Under the stars and stripes ! — Madison Cawein. 247 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. $0e JJcmg of Qjlamfa, A S it began to dawn, you know, Just at the peep of day, Ere yet the sun was fully up Above Manila Bay, — We crept into their port, my boy, Their crews were sound asleep ; Crept close upon their forts and ships, Glassed in the quiet deep. But when the Spanish sluggards woke, Upspringing with the sun, They sent across the shining wave A booming, harmless gun. No answer first, — we but swept on ; Then lo ! a flash of flame, A sound of thunder, — ha, my boy, And thus began our game ! How roared the cannon, sang the bombs, And whistled shell and shot ; How crashed their splintered masts and spars As all the air grew hot ! 248 THE SONG OF MANILA. How worked our tars, — a hero each, — Their sooty breasts swelled high, Remembering that on us was fixed Our country's grateful eye ! And that while through black clouds of smoke The snln gleamed fiery red, There flew, with every star undimmed, Old Glory overhead ! And through it all God's hand, my boy, In this fierce fight was plain ; Not one brave lad of ours fell dead, As we avenged the Maine / But scores of Spanish, — and they, too, Had done their duty well, — May God have mercy on their souls, Be they in heaven or hell ! Their ships we captured, sunk or burned, And live a thousand years, I'll thank the Lord I, too, was there, — Hear still our ringing cheers ! Hail to our noble Commodore, For deeds so glorious done, Praise to a greater Captain still, For such a victory won. 249 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. As echoing through all time, will tell About Manila Bay, What manhood dared, how freedom fought, On that immortal day ! — Stuart Sterne. 250 THE RED AND THE BLUE. £0e (geb an& t$t (gfue. /^\H, Johnny Bull ! you know, John, " Since we have been acquaint," Your many little tricks would try The patience of a saint. But with the world against you A sturdy front you show ; I guess we'll have to back you, And let old bygones go ! You've proved a valiant foe, John, In many a bloody fight ; So now we'll stand together, And strike for truth and right. And should the foreign beagles Bay the lion in his lair, You'll find the Yankee eagle's Beak and talons will be bare ! What though our name be changed, John, It has not changed the breed, Both stately trees have sprung from The Anglo-Saxon seed. Both nations' rights are equal, Wrung from a monarch's greed, 251 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Our Seventy-six the sequel Of glorious Runnymede ! Grip hands across the ocean, And should there come a time, — When needed, — I've a notion You'll see the " thin red line." With shoulder pressed to shoulder, Stanch friends and comrades true, Old England's scarlet Tommies, And our bold boys in blue. Fling out the red cross banner ! Too long has it been furled. We'll plant " Old Glory " by its side And then defy the world ! Woe to the foreign foemen Who front the battle-line, Where Johnny's cross and Sammy's stars Their colors bright entwine ! — H. A.Roby. 252 THE NEW TOREADOR. $0e (Tteia $otea&or. "DRAVO, Jonathan ! Now's your time, — We're getting tired of brag and bluster, Make a bid for the true sublime, — Add to honor the final lustre. Banderillos were very well, Waving scarfs and avoiding dances ; Now comes the struggle, — who can tell Upon which side are the better chances? Wait till the ring begins to hum, Ramping and snorting, stamping, raging, With blare of trumpets and roll of drums, But doesn't quite know whom he's engaging. Wait there, Jonathan, calm and cool ; More than your match some people think him. Never mind that, — keep cool, and you'll Remain unhurt while you deftly pink him. Steady, Jonathan ! All mankind Gazes at you in silent wonder. Most, to your virtues deaf and blind, Think your attitude's just a blunder. Britain, however, is stanch and true, On your side are our hearts enlisted ! 253 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Maybe, sir, 'twill occur to you That we might turn the tail you've often twisted. Blood of our blood, we are all for you, Against whomever you make attacks on. The racial tie, though strained, holds true. " Bully for you ! " cries the Anglo-Saxon. Moral support is all you need, Else had we strode " the ring " together, — Until the wide world's saved and freed, Bound are we in a moral tether. Stand firm, Jonathan, let him come. What's the use of some little brushes ? Wait till the ring begins to hum With the wildest rush of his angry rushes. Stand firm, Jonathan ! He's at bay ; His wrath he never can calm or smother. Stand you firm, for the coming fray Means death for one or death for the other. One of his breed, long years ago, With desperate, deadly, stern insistence, With equal wrath and greater show Threatened our national existence. 254 THE NEW TOREADOR. Then we baited him, — drove him back, — The old sea-dogs rushed out to meet him ; Taught him a lesson in attack ; Showed him how Englishmen meant to greet him. Feebler son of that far-off sire, — Still he'll fight, for there's no retreating ; Feebler, aye, but the self-same ire, Still a foe who will take some beating. Stand firm, Jonathan, — show your pluck ; S6oner or later you're bound to meet him. Face him valiantly, and, with luck Helping you, you will soundly beat him. Yours the strength of the Saxon race, Heart of oak, in its steel nerves banded, Death and danger you still may face, Open foe or the underhanded. Quietly does it. Wait his rush, — Keep your power still undiminished. Strike, as upon you he seems to crush, — Strike, and the deadly fray is finished. Bravo, Jonathan ! Now's your time. Gone forever the days of bluster. 255 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Make a bid for the true sublime With all the power that you can muster. Banderillos were very well, Waving scarfs and avoiding dances ; Now comes the struggle ; skill will tell, Conquering weight and compelling chances. — London Fun. 256 BENEATH THE FLAG. (genectf0 f($e Sfag. f~\ N the sunny hillside sleeping, On the calm and placid plain, By the rivers swiftly sweeping, By the rudely roaring main, Lie the men who saved the nation In the dark hour long ago, Meeting death with proud elation From a brave but erring foe. In their earthly sleep unending Do the nations martyred sons Hear the war shouts hoarsely blending With the booming of the guns ? Do they quicken at the rattle As the mighty band sweeps by? Do they see that still in battle Heroes rise to do or die ? Let us hope these warriors knighted In the bright hereafter know That our nation firm united Faces now a common foe ; 257 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. That beneath the dear Old Glory, Clearing freedom's splendid way, Adding lustre to its story, Side by side march Blue and Gray ! — Cleveland Plain Dealer. 258 PATRIOTISM AT SQUAWVILLE. (patriotism at Jiquatofciffe. 'TMMES is mighty dull at Squawville, an' we've nothin' else to do, Fur to serve as daily pastime and to keep from gittin' blue, But to loaf around the gin-mill an' discuss the latest news, An' absorb the fiery substance known to scientists as booze. A-discussin' of the rumpus with the Spaniards, pro and con, Has become the leadin' feature ; we begin the gab at dawn When we sip our mornin' bracer, an' we talk about the fight Till we go a-whoopin' homeward quite how-come- you-so at night. There's a dif'rence of opinion as to how the powers that are Back at Washington assembled should proceed to run the war; But upon the vital question that ol' Cuba should be free As a comprehensive unit we unanimous agree. 259 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. As the news kep' gittin' hotter all our patr'otism riz, In a figgerative manner, till you 'most could hear it sizz, An' at frequent intermissions while a chawin' of the rag, We would cheer fur Uncle Samuel an' the country an' the flag. Never had a bit o' trouble on the argumentive deal Till ol' Poker Billy Davis made a quite disloyal squeal By a-sayin' that he soldiered fur the cause that's vanished hence, An' he's never liked a Yankee wuth a continental sence. He had hit the bowl that mornin' in a too extensive way, Which undoubtedly accounted fur his wild an' fatal play; Fur his craziness resulted in the diggin' of a hole, An' a mortuary drama, — William in the leadin' role. We jes' grabbed the boozy blower, an' we run him to the bar, An' we made him drink a swaller to each indivijul star 260 PATRIOTISM AT SQUAWVILLE. On the flag he had insulted, till we filled him to the throat, An' till every vital organ in his system was afloat. Sich a load o' liquid pizen would have killed* an army mule, Which was what the stuff accomplished fur the Yankee-hatin' fool, An' the only one that mourned him was ol' Crazy Jane McGill, Her that runs the boardin' shanty, whom the same he owed a bill. — Denver Post. 261 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e (Buar&sman, TV /T Y brother Jim, he's in the regiment, an' he Says he's goin' down to fight Soon as the soldiers ever start, an' gee ! Maybe they'll go to-night ! He's got a suit just like a p'liceman, too, An' soldier cap an' gun. He says they'll show the folks what they can do, He thinks it'll be fun ! But ma, she says she don't want him to go, 'Cause she's afraid, I guess. An' so, las' night she was a-cryin' so When Jim said that unless She'd want to have a coward for a son He'd have to go an' fight, That seemed just like she never would get done, But cried an' cried all night. An' sis told Jim that if they went away She thought it was a shame, An' cried when Jim said 'twas a lucky day To show that we are game ; Sis liked Jim in his suit an' cap, an' so I thought she wouldn't care, 262 THE GUARDSMAN. But she took on an' cried just like as though He's goin' to die down there ! But pa, you know he never said a word, Just like he couldn't talk. But just shook hands with Jim, like this, real hard, An' went to take a walk ; An' bimeby I went out to try an' meet The kids, you know, an' do Something, an' pa was walkin' up the street, An' he was cryin', too. — Frank X. Finnegan. 263 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e <£oice of f0e Oregon. "YTTJU have called to me, my brothers, from your far-off eastern sea, To join with you, my brothers, to set a prostrate people free. You have called to me, my brothers, to join to yours my might, The slaughterers of our brethren with our armored hands to smite. We have never met, my brothers, we mailed knights of the sea ; But there are no strangers, brothers, 'neath the Ban- ner of the Free ; And though half a world's between us, and ten thousand leagues divide, Our souls are intermingled, and our hearts are side by side. Did you fail to call me, brothers, 'twere a fault without atone, 'Twas but just to me, my brothers, you should not strike alone. 264 THE VOICE OF THE OREGON. The brethren in the slaughter were no more thine than mine, And the blows that visit vengeance must be mine as well as thine. Through days of placid beauty, and nights when tempests toss, I follow down the billows, my guide the Southern Cross ; Past lands of quiet splendor, where pleasant waters lave ; Past lands whose mountain ramparts fling back the crashing wave. But I see no land of splendor, and I see no land of wrath ; I see before me only the ocean's heaving path, And I plunge along that pathway like a giant to the fray, Who hath no stomach in him for aught that might delay. I am nearing you, my brothers, for the western sea's afar, And the ray that lights my course now is the gleam- ing Northern Star. 265 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. I pray you wait, my brothers, for the air with war is rife, And in courtesy of knighthood I claim to share the strife. In the winds that blow about me the voices of the dead Are calling to me, brothers, to urge my topmost speed. In the foam that's upward flying in whirling wreaths of white, The wraiths of murdered brothers beckon onward to the fight. I am coming to you, brothers, wait but a little while, And on the thunders of our greeting shall the God of Vengeance smile ; And in the flashing and the crashing, the universe shall see How we pay our debts of honor, we mailed knights of the sea. — H. J. D. Browne. 266 WAR POEM. War (Jpoem. C TRIKE for the Anglo-Saxon ! Strike for the Newer Day ! Oh, strike for Heart, and strike for Brain, And sweep the Beast away. Not only for our sailors, The heroes of the Maine, But strike for all the victims Of Moloch-minded Spain. Not only for the Present, But all the Bloody Past, Oh, strike for all the martyrs That have their hour at last. Old stronghold of the Darkness, Come, ruin it with light ! It is no fight of small revenge, 'Tis an immortal fight. Spain is an ancient dragon, That all too long hath curled Its coils of blood and darkness About the new-born world. 267 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Think of the Inquisition ! Think of the Netherlands ! Yea, think of all Spain's bloody deeds In many times and lands. And let no feeble pity Your sacred arms restrain. This is God's mighty moment To make an end of Spain. — Richard La Gallienne. 268 THE VOLUNTEER £0e tyofunfeer. T'HE band was playing " Dixie " when he marched, marched away ; An' never any likelier lad stept time to it that day ; " The finest fellow of 'em all ! " I heard the town- folk say. The band was playin' " Dixie " as he marched, marched away. How fast my wild arms held him, — my boy, who would not stay, — The likeliest lad that answered to the captain's call that day! " The finest fellow of 'em all ! " An' in the red array Of flags that rippled over them they marched my lad away ! But a mother's fears and prayers and tears were nothing. War must slay, And the draped, deep drums were muffled as they brought him home that day! " The finest fellow of 'em all ! " I heard the town- folk say, And his mother bendin' over him, — dead at her feet that day ! — Frank L. Stanton. 269 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. (gegtmenf JJong. 'THE old flag is a-doin' of her very level best, — She's a rainbow roun' the country from the rosy east to west; An' the eagle's in the elements with sunshine on his breast, An' we're marchin' with the country in the We're marchin' to the music that is ringin' fur an nigh; You kin hear the hallelujahs as the regiments go by ; We'll live for this old country, or in Freedom's cause we'll die, — We're marchin' with the country in the mornin' ! — Frank L. Stanton. 270 A PEACE -AT -ANY -PRICE MAN. " V\ 7"AR is coming ! Blood must flow ! " Mary, get my satchel packed — " We must meet the craven foe ! " — Mary, get my satchel packed — " There are wrongs that we must right. Freeborn men, prepare to fight ; 'Tis no time for childish fright " — Mary, get my satchel packed ! " Now let all the world give ear " — Mary, get my satchel packed — « We've begged for war for half a year " - Mary, get my satchel packed — " The President, at last, is stirred ! We have spoken, — he has heard, — Now, then, for the final word " — Mary, get my satchel packed ! Clouds of war obscure the sky " — Mary, get my satchel packed — Cuba's hope is mounting high " — Mary, get my satchel packed — 271 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. " Let our tars prepare to fight, Let them battle for the right " - I start for Halifax to-night, Mary, get my satchel packed ! — Baltimore Life 2'JZ UNCLE SAM'S SPRING CLEANING. QJncfe JJam's JJpring Citaningi. "HP HE RE has been a heap of rubbish dumped about the patient seas, And all cleaning hitherto has been a sham ; It is time for my spring cleaning, — and I hope you catch my meaning, — For I'm going to clean 'em out," says Uncle Sam. " And I'm going to rinse 'em down, And I'm going to soak 'em out, And I'm going to sponge 'em off, and make 'em clean ; And I'll do a handsome job with my scrubbing brush and swab, And I'll give a different aspect to the scene. " On the Philippines, a dumpground for the mediae- val truck, And the old miasmal rubbish heaps of Spain, I began my vernal cleaning, — and I think they know my meaning, — For I turned my hose upon them at full strain, And I guess I swabbed 'em down, And I guess I rubbed it in, 273 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. And I guess I swashed 'em off, and made 'em clean ; And when I've wiped 'em dry with my army mop, says I, There'll be a different aspect to the scene. " And I'll clean off Porto Rico, and I'm going to wipe it dry, And poor filth-infested Cuba must be clean ; Four hundred years of lumber that its rubbish holes encumber, — If you wait you'll see it burn like kerosene. And I guess I'll soap 'em down, And I guess I'll scour 'em off, And I guess I'll turn my hose on at full strain; And then, when I am through, then old Cuba will be new, And there won't be any rubbish heaps of Spain. "She has blotted all the oceans, and I'll wipe her off the seas, And I'll cleanse the cluttered islands of her slime; And this is just the meaning of my vigorous spring cleaning, — Fate's washing day has come, — and it is time ! And I guess when I have soaped 'em, 274 UNCLE SAM'S SPRING CLEANING. And I guess when I have wrung 'em, And I guess when I have hung 'em out to dry, Not a single blot of Spain on an island shall remain, And think that they'll feel cleaner then, says I." — Sam Walter Foss. 275 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e $0anfom0. 'THE phantom sea serenely blue Beneath the sunshine lay, And bold Cervera sailed his ships Through clouds of phantom spray ; With phantom skill he steered his fleet For many a phantom day. One phantom morn the lookout cried, " A sail ! I see a sail ! " The bold Cervera, undismayed, Turned 'round, and then turned pale ; Then tried to turn the subject, and Concluded to turn tail. But closer to Cervera drew That strangely foreign craft ; "Is she a Yank ? " Cervera cried ; For answer phantom laugh t- Er rolled across the phantom foam, Like merriment gone daft. " Wie gehts, alretty, vonce again ! " Came to Cervera's ear ; " Ve haf peen looging ouid py you Dis many und many a year ; 276 THE PHANTOMS. Und now, py Chimineddy, ve Are glat to see you here ! " " Oh, who are you ? " Cervera cried, With terror in each tone. " I vos der Flying Dutchman, yet ! " Came through the megaphone ; " Und I am glat dot nefermore I'll sail der sea alone." And so, across the phantom deep, And through the phantom spray, Through phantom storms, and phantom calms, Through phantom night and day, The Flying Dutchman and the Fly- ing Spaniard sail for aye. — Baltimore News. 277 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e Jgeiroic ©eafc. 'T^HEY are not dead whose names we breathe With trembling voice and tear-dimmed eyes, For whom the marble shaft we wreathe With garlands of immortal dyes ; Not dead, — they sleep, while angel guards Patrol their camp on every hand ; Sweet rest at last their toil rewards Who sought to save their leaguered land. When Liberty assailed, oppressed, Raised up her voice against the wrong, O loyal sons of dauntless breast, How firm ye stood in cordon strong. A hero's soul in every eye Fired with a hero's purpose grand, For liberty, if need, to die, Or, living, for her cause to stand. The screaming shot, the bursting shell, The long-roll echoing through the night, To lead the charge 'mid groan and yell, The deadly struggle might with might. 278 THE HEROIC DEAD. The bivouac on the bloody field Racked with the pangs of wounds and thirst, Too weak to fly — too brave to yield — With bitterness of death accurst. The horrors of the prison pen, Whence few who entered ever came, Starvation in a loathsome den Where life was death and hope a name ; All these and more these heroes dared That freedom's light might shine afar, Each breast to death was freely bared Amid the wild alarm of war. Again across Columbia's plains The war trump peals its thrilling blast, Once more it sings in stirring strains The glorious triumphs of the past ; The answering tread of mustering hosts, The land aglow with bivouac fires, Proclaim that still our Union boasts Sons brave and loyal as their sires. These graves with tears of love bedew, And deck them with the bloom of May In honor of the boys in blue, In memory of the boys in gray. 279 . POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. No more opposed in deadly strife, Brother to brother, sire to son, They proved their valor life for life, Now side by side they sleep, — as one. Sleep on, brave hearts, and take your rest, A hundred million strong and free Shall guard in each heroic breast - Your pure and priceless legacy. 'Twas not in vain, O noble band, Your blood imbued Columbia's sod, United now her children stand, — One flag, one country, and one God. — Geo. D. Emery. 280 STRIKE THE BLOW. §ttifo ffle $fote. 'THE four-way winds of the world have blown, And the ships have ta'en the wave ; The legions march to the trumps' shrill call 'Neath the flag of the free and brave. The hounds of the sea Have trailed the foe, They have trailed and tracked him down, — Then wait no longer, but strike, O land, With the dauntless strength of thy strong right hand, Strike the blow ! The armored fleets, with their grinning guns, Have the Spaniard in his lair ; They have tracked him down where the ramparts frown, And they'll halt and hold him there. They have steamed in his wake, They have seen him go, They have bottled and corked him up ; Then send him home to the underfoam, Till the wide sea shakes to the far blue dome ; Strike the blow ! POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. The Cuban dead arid the dying call, The children starved in the light Of the aid that waits till the hero deed Breaks broad on the tyrant's might. The starved and the weak In their hour of woe Are calling, land, on thee ; Then why delay in thy dauntless sway ? On, on, to the charge of the freedom-way, Strike the blow ! They have ta'en the winds of the Carib seas, Thy fleets that know not fear ; Their ribs of steel have yearned to reel In the dance of the cannoneer. Thy sons of the blue That wait to go Would leap with a will to the charge, Then send them the word so long deferred ; They have listened late, but they have not heard ; Strike the blow ! They have listened late in the desolate land, They have looked through brimming eyes, And starving women have held dead babes To their heart with a thousand sighs. 282 STRIKE THE BLOW. On, on to the end, O land, the foe Beneath thy sword shall fall, Thy ships of steel have tracked them home, Ye are king of the land and king of the foam Strike the blow ! — F. McK. 283 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Jgofb ©of §otf, fot tye nOos Coming. TJ AUL in der plank, full speed ahead, — Undt so dose shteamers sailed avay, Undt tears undt prayers dose ships go mit, Undt aching hearts pehind dem shtay. Vhen dose ships pass der Golden Gate, Undt dot Pacific's swell dey feel, Vat strike deir pows, vat lap deir sides, Undt quiver dem from truck to keel, Say, den a chill vos in mein plood, I lifd mein eyes oop to der sky, Undt from each ship vat sailed avay, I see Old Glory masthead high. " Mein Gott," I cried, " I vos olt mans, But nefer I see dot pefore, Dot Yankee ships mit soltjer poys Vos sailing for a foreign shore." Mit swords undt peestols, undt mit guns, — Mit all war's horrid tools dey go. To haf a picnic ? — No, mein Gott, To pattle mit a foreign foe. HOLD DOT FORT, FOR VE VOS COMING. I'd gif von halluf ov mein life, Ohf by Manila I could shtand, Vhen Dewey hear dose vistles scream, Undt Merritt shake dot hero's hand. Some kings vat lif across der sea — Undt Emp'ror Villiam he vos one — Dey shpeak mean dings der Yankees ov, Undt Villiam he haf blendy fun. Veil, Villiam, all your poys vat lif In Yankee land, dey vos true blue, But in der f aderland — oh, veil — When Shpain vos licked ve shpeak mit you. — Hans Von Dunkerfoodle. 285 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Zfyi J^wiiarb $nsiDereb. The Americans are a cowardly race. — Spanish Newspaper. AITE are not a warlike nation; here of old our fathers settled, Seeking scope for their opinions, in the log house and the hut ; Seeking elbow room and freedom, sober men and quiet mettled, Almost too religious, maybe, peaceful-minded peo- ple; but — Since they wished to farm the meadows, wished to go to church on Sunday, And the redskin would annoy them with his lust for human hair, From far Georgia to the south'ard, to the misty shore of Fundy, Flintlocks kept the plough a-going, bullets helped to speed the prayer. We are not a warlike nation ; though the blood we brought was ruddy, We preferred its cherry runnels in the veins kept tightly shut. 286 THE SPANIARD ANSWERED. We had thews for farm and fishnet ; we had brains to scheme and study ; Brawn and brain for peace and quiet, — that was all we wanted ; but — Ask the fields of sleepy Concord, ask old wrecked Ticonderoga, Of the cost of unjust taxes and old bottles for new wine! Something more than glass was broken on the heights of Saratoga, And the tax was paid at Yorktown by the stiff old buff-blue line. We are not a warlike nation; patterned, rather, for keen trading ; Some will say the style is English, that from them we get the cut ; East and west our ships went speeding, decks awash from heavy lading, Bowsprits poked in every harbor, never seeking quarrels ; but — When our rich Levant trade came, and Tripoli claimed tribute from it, — Tribute paid by other navies trading down the midland sea, — 287 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. We, the least and last of nations, blew her gunboats to Mahomet, Blew the faithful to their houris, made the straits forever free. We are not a warlike nation ; we had states to form and settle, We had stuffs to manufacture, till our markets felt the glut ; We were busy getting headway, busy panning out the metal From the human dust that reached us from the old-world digging ; but — We could slow up for a moment, just to show our elder brother That the bird we put our faith in was not stuffed upon his perch ; And we told him through the cannon, in the sea fights' reek and smother, We had searched the Scripture duly, but had found no " right to search." We are not a warlike nation ; peace sometimes keeps men's souls sleeping ; Some of us still sought our harvests in the old barbaric rut 288 THE SPANIARD ANSWERED. Worn by captive feet, till, one day, party feeling upward leaping, Broke into a flame and blazed on all the startled nations; but — When the smoke from red fields lifted, when the armies were disbanded, — Better armies, all the world knows, never cartridge bit or rammed, — Proud of their own deeds, and proud, too, of the men who, lighter handed, Fought them long and ofttimes whipped them, slavery was dead and damned. We are not a warlike nation ; we love life far more than dying ; We have little time for swagger and the military strut ; Let old Europe pay big armies ; we have better fish for frying, We have nobler tools for manhood than the sword and rifle ; but — Since we are a Christian nation, and the blood our veins are filled with — Anglo-Saxon, Celtic, Teuton — will not keep for- ever cool, 289 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. When we see weak women starving, helpless, ill- starred children killed with Filthy water, air empoisoned, just to eke out Span- ish rule ; Since we find that Cuba's Cuban, and the Spaniard but a tenant Who defiles the house he lives in, then our duty stands out plain ; We are masters in these waters, at the mainmast flies our pennant, End this hell on earth, or, hark ye, eastward lies the path to Spain ! — Robert Cameron Rogers. 290 A SONG FOR THE FLEET. $ ^ong fot tye §feet A SONG for them one and all, The sister-ships of the Maine, They have sailed at a nation's battle-call To save a land from a tyrant's thrall That has struggled long in vain! The coming days shall speak The praise of our valiant tars ! No fear they will wanting prove, or weak, When proudly flutters from every peak The glorious stripes and stars ! Then cheer for the flag unfurled On the dawn of that Sabbath day, When the shot that the gallant Dewey hurled Crushed the hopes of the Spanish world, In the far Manila Bay ! And a cheer for the valorous ones Who are girt for the gory fight, Where the tropic tide-race swirls and runs Under the frown of the Morro's guns — And God be with the right ! — Clinton Scollard. 291 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. War 3E>£mn. /^VH, rise up in your glorious might, America, America! Destroy the wrong, defend the right, America, America ! Oh, see the pleading hand outheld, Behold the fetters tyrants weld ; And shall thine aid be still withheld? America, America ! Thy sons are loyal, brave, and true, America, America! They're burning now to dare and do, America, America! No brother looks to thee in vain ; We'll crush the power of cruel Spain ; Remembered be the martyred Maine. America, America ! Then give three cheers for Dewey, true, America, America ! And for the grand Red, White, and Blue, America, America! 292 WAR HYMN. Our ships are victors on the sea, And Cuba shall be, must be free ! All honor do we give to thee, America, America! — Beidah R. Stevens. 293 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. $0e JSocirin' o' f0e (Ea^fe. r\H, we met the Spanish squadron In the choppy China Sea ; With " Old Glory " up above us, And our Commodore Dewey ; And a brace of Yankee seamen (Every fightin' tar a freeman) — And the way we trounced the haughty Dons Was beautiful to see. We shelled 'em out to seaward, — And we shelled 'em on the shore ; And we trained our guns to leeward For a hundred shots or more ; For the rag that hung above us, And the Yankee hearts that love us — Why, we made the eagle hump himself And show 'em how to soar. Oh, the decks was slippin' bloody, And the guns was smokin' hot ; And the centre o' the scrimmage Was an interestin' spot ; And the beggars kept salutin' In a disrespectful shootin' 294 THE SOARIN' O' THE EAGLE. Till we sent 'em Yankee manners In a dozen ton of shot. Our ears was full o' cotton, And our legs was all a-reel ; But the Yankee grit was in us, And our guns was full o' steel ; And we kept the Greasers hoppin' With the shells that we was droppin' Till we filled 'em full o' blazin' hell From reekin' deck to keel. Oh, we bored 'em full o' trouble As a sieve is full o' holes ; And we chucked 'em under water Like a nest o' drownded moles. With the blessin' o' Saint Mary And the Yankee military — Why, we give 'em twenty volleys For the restin' o' their souls. They fought us square and honest, And they spoiled our purty shine ; And they went down game as chickens When we sunk 'em in the brine ; For while the eagle's screamin', And the stars and stripe's a-streamin', 295 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Why, we hain't the boys to say it, — That they didn't toe the line. Oh, they thought they'd have a bull-fight With your Uncle Sammy's crew ; And they figgered out that dodgin' Was the proper thing to do. But they missed their calculation In a-sizin' up the nation, — Cause there hain't no room fer Spaniards When the eagle soars the blue. — Marion Franklin Ham. 296 THE CALL TO THE COLORS. $0e Caff to tyt Cofowu " A RE you ready, O Virginia, Alabama, Tennessee ? People of the Southland, answer ! For the land hath need of thee." " Here ! " from sandy Rio Grande, Where the Texan horsemen ride ; " Here ! " the hunters of Kentucky Hail from Chatterawha's side ; Every toiler in the cotton, Every rugged mountaineer, Velvet-voiced and iron-handed, Lifts his head to answer, " Here ! Some remain who charged with Pickett, Some survive who followed Lee ; They shall lead their sons to battle For the flag, if need there be." " Are you ready, California, Arizona, Idaho ? ' Come, oh, come, unto the colors ! ' Heard you not the bugle blow ? " Falls a hush in San Francisco In the busy hives of trade ; 297 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. In the vineyards of Sonoma Fall the pruning knife and spade ; In the mines of Colorado Pick and drill are thrown aside ; Idly in Seattle harbor Swing the merchants to the tide ; And a million mighty voices Throb responsive like a drum, Rolling from the rough Sierras, " You have called us, and we come.' O'er Missouri sounds the challenge — O'er the great lakes and the plain ; " Are you ready, Minnesota ? Are you ready, men of Maine ? " From the woods of Ontonagon, From the farms of Illinois, From the looms of Massachusetts, " We are ready, man and boy." Axemen free, of Androscoggin, Clerks who trudge the cities' paves, Gloucester men who drag their plunder From the sullen, hungry waves, Big-boned Swede and large-limbed German, Celt and Saxon swell the call, 298 THE CALL TO THE COLORS. And the Adirondacks echo : " We are ready, one and all." Truce to feud and peace to faction ! All forgot is party zeal When the war-ships clear for action, When the blue battalions wheel. Europe boasts her standing armies, — Serfs who blindly fight by trade ; We have seven million soldiers, And a soul guides every blade. Laborers with arm and mattock, Laborers with brain and pen, Railroad prince and railroad brakeman Build our line of fighting men. Flag of righteous wars ! close mustered Gleam the bayonets, row on row, Where thy stars are sternly clustered, With their daggers towards the foe. — New York Mail and Express. 299 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. T^ROM Cuban shores in ceaseless pain, Out of the calling sea, Long cried the Spirit of the Maine, " Will ye remember me ? " At last the laggard answer comes From 'neath the Eastern suns, Borne westward on the thundering roll, The deep song of the guns. From where the war winds shrieked and sang, The battle bugles blew, And deathless names in history sprang, Proud as man ever knew. Comes the wild, wailing voice of Spain, — While o'er her war-ships stir Such waves as wash the martyred Maine, — " Ye have remembered her ! " — James Lindsay Gordon. 300 A SONG FOR THE HOUR. $ JJong for f0e gout. T ET Tyranny tremble and Cowardice quake, The people have spoken, — their flag is un- furled, And now for our God and humanity's sake, Let Mars' mighty thunders awaken the world. The sobs of the suffering appeal not in vain ; Columbia has lifted her radiant shield, And it's woe to despotic and blood-shedding Spain, When Freedom's brave knighthood has taken the field. The wrath of the Nation is kindled at last, And Liberty's light shall illumine the sky, The Faith of our fathers, that hallows our past, Proclaims from their dust that the despot must die. No longer we parley with tyrants for truce ; Let the war-drum make music to clashing of steel, — The eagle has screamed and the war-dogs are loose, — And it's woe to Havana and woe to Castile. — William F. Dunbar. 301 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. / T*0 the men who fought with Decatur, To the men who with Lawrence died, To the men who fell in that blazing hell Of Mobile by Farragut's side ; Take to them our message stern and plain, Tell them the guns are cast loose again, Men of the Maine! This to the men of the ships of oak From the men of the ships of steel, To the hearts that broke 'mid the flame and smoke From the living hearts that feel, There is no mizzen, nor fore, nor main, But all of the flags are aloft again, Men of the Maine / Not against foes of our own true blood, Nor kin across the sea, But straight in the face of a stranger race Who never, like you, were free. Tell them 'tis thus that our guns we train, And the sights are lined, and the strings astrain, Men of the Maine / 302 A MESSAGE. Take them these tidings, ye who sleep 'Neath the murky waves by the Cuban town, The blow in the night but began the fight Which ends when the Spanish flag comes down, And our guns shall thunder their old refrain Tolling your knell from here — to Spain ! Men of the Maine ! —P.B. 3°3 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 3n f#e £ime of JJfrife. "\1 7"E may not know How red the lilies of the spring shall grow ; What silver flood, Sea-streaming, take the crimson tints of blood. We may not know If victory shall make the bugles blow; If still shall wave The flag above our freedom or our grave. We only know One heart, one hand, one country, meet the foe ; On land and sea Her liegemen in the battle of the free. — Frank L. Stanton. 3°4 THE MARTYRS OF THE MAINE. $0e (JJtatfErs of f0e (gtaine. AND they have thrust our shattered dead away in foreign graves, Exiled forever from the port the homesick sailor craves ! They trusted once in Spain, They're trusting her again ! And with the holy care of our own sacred slain ! No, no, the Stripes and Stars Must wave above our tars. Bring them home ! On a thousand hills the darling dead of all our battles lie In nooks of peace, with flowers and flags, but now they seem to cry From out their bivouac : " Here every good man Jack Belongs. Nowhere but here — with us. So bring them back." And on the Cuban gales A ghostly rumor wails, " Bring us home ! " 305 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Poltroon, the people that neglects to guard the bones, the dust, The reverenced relics its warriors have bequeathed in trust ! But heroes, too, were these Who sentinel'd the seas And gave their lives to shelter us in careless ease. Shall we desert them, slain, And proffer them to Spain As alien mendicants, — these martyrs of our Maine f No ! Bring them home ! — Rupert Hughes. 306 DIES IRAE. ©ies 3rae. VXTHERE is the heritage that once was Spain's — Half the proud world with endless riches piled ? Ah, all hath vanished ; nothing now remains Save one sad island, — one unhappy child, — Cuba, last daughter of the Western seas, Gaunt victim of the she-wolf's ruthless spoil, Whose piteous moans rise on each passing breeze, While drop by drop her life-blood damps the soil. Four hundred years ! God's vengeance tarrieth late ; And yet, at last ! the day of wrath hath come ; Columbia, bare thy steel ! The nations wait To see thee drive the keen-edged weapon home ! 307 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. tfyoBt (gefief Sfags. Discussed by " One of the Yanks." Q HALL we send back the Johnnies their bunting, In token, from Blue to the Gray, That " Brothers-in-blood " and " Good Hunting " Shall be our new watchword to-day ? In olden times knights held it knightly To return to brave foemen the sword ; Will the Stars and the Stripes gleam less brightly If the old Rebel flags are restored ? Call it sentiment, call it misguided To fight to the death for " a rag ; " Yet, trailed in the dust, derided, The true soldier still loves his flag ! Does love die, and must honor perish When colors and causes are lost ? Lives the soldier who ceases to cherish The blood-stains and valor they cost? Our battle-fields, safe in the keeping Of Nature's kind, fostering care, 308 THOSE REBEL FLAGS. Are blooming, — our heroes are sleeping, — And peace broods perennial there. All over our land rings the story Of loyalty, fervent and true ; " One flag," and that flag is " Old Glory," Alike for the Gray and the Blue. Why cling to those moth-eaten banners ? What glory or honor to gain While the nation is shouting hosannas, Uniting her sons to fight Spain ? Time is ripe, and the harvest worth reaping, Send the Johnnies their flags f. o. b., Address to the care and safe-keeping Of that loyal " old Reb," Fitzhugh Lee ! Yes, send back the Johnnies their bunting, With greetings from Blue to the Gray ; We are " Brothers-in-blood," and " Good Hunting " Is America's watchword to-day. — John H. Jewett. 3°9 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. (§titbnnia to Cofumflia. WHAT is the voice I hear On the wind of the Western sea ? Sentinel, listen from out Cape Clear, And say what the voice may be. " 'Tis a proud, free people calling loud to a people proud and free. " And it says to them, « Kinsmen, hail ! We severed have been too long ; Now let us have done with a worn-out tale, The tale of an ancient wrong, And our friendship last long as love doth last, and be stronger than death is strong.' " Answer them, sons of the selfsame race, And blood of the selfsame clan, Let us speak with each other, face to face, And answer as man to man, And loyally love and trust each other as none but free men can. Now fling them out to the breeze, Shamrock, thistle, and rosej 310 BRITANNIA TO COLUMBIA. And the Star Spangled Banner unfurl with these, A message to friends and foes, Wherever the sails of peace are seen, and wherever the war wind blows. A message to bond and thrall to wake, For wherever we come, we twain, The throne of the tyrant shall rock and quake And his menace be void and vain, For you are lords of a strong young land and we are lords of the main. Yes, this is the voice on the bluff March gale, " We severed have been too long; But now we have done with a worn-out tale, The tale of an ancient wrong, And our friendship shall last long as love doth last, and be stronger than death is strong." — A If red A us tin . 3" POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Cfyic&amcMQa — 1898. ''"PHEY are camped on Chickamauga ! Once again the white tents gleam On that field where vanished heroes Sleep the sleep that knows no dream. There are shadows all about them Of the ghostly troops to-day, But they light the common camp-fire, — Those who wore the blue and gray. Where the pines of Georgia tower, Where the mountains kiss the sky, On their arms the Nation's warriors Wait to hear the battle-cry. Wait together, friends and brothers, And the heroes 'neath their feet Sleep the long and dreamless slumber Where the flowers are blooming sweet. Sentries pause, yon shadow challenge ! Rock-ribbed Thomas goes that way, — ■ He who fought the foe unyielding In that awful battle fray. Yonder pass the shades of heroes, And they follow where Bragg leads CHICKAMAUGA- Through the meadows and the river, — But no ghost the sentry heeds. Field of fame, a patriot army Treads thy sacred sod to-day ! And they'll face a common foeman, Those who wore the blue and gray, And they'll fight for common country, And they'll charge to victory 'Neath the folds of one brave banner, — Starry banner of the free ! They are camped off Chickamauga, Where the green tents of the dead Turn the soil into a glory Where a Nation's heart once bled ; But they're clasping hands together On this storied field of strife, — Brothers brave who meet to battle In the freedom-war of life ! — Baltimore News. 3i3 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. 1863. T^ROM shuddering trees the painted leaves Strew redder dyes of crimson sod ; And brave men He in ghastly sheaves, As whirled there by the wrath of God. Gray vapors hum with wings of death, Whose roll-call speeds its fierce alarms ; And life sighs, " Here ! " with parting breath, Where bleeding thousands ground their arms. For brothers face each other's steel, Grim suitors in the last appeal. From laughing leas the bugles sing, More shrill than bird to nesting mate O'er tented slopes the war notes ring, And time again the tramp of fate. Bright oriflamme of liberty, Our bannered blazon flaunts the sky, And hails the " sun-burst " in the sea, A gallant people's anguished cry. Now, brothers, touch in common weal To right that foreign wrong with steel. — G. T. Ferris. 314 ONE BENEATH OLD GLORY. dne Q&eneaf0 <&fo & (gtemoriaf ©&£. " Under the roses the blue ; Under the lilies the gray." /°jH, the roses we plucked for the ^ blue, And the lilies we twined for the gray, We have bound in a wreath, And in silence beneath Slumber our heroes to-day. Over the new-turned sod The sons of our fathers stand, And the fierce old fight Slips out of sight In the clasp of a brother's hand. For the old blood left a stain That the new has washed away, And the sons of those That have faced as foes Are marching together to-day. Oh, the blood that our fathers gave! Oh, the tide of our mothers' tears ! 374 THE NEW MEMORIAL DAY. And the flow of red, And the tears they shed, Embittered a sea of years. But the roses we plucked for the blue, And the lilies we twined for the gray We have bound in a wreath, And in glory beneath Slumber our heroes to-day ! — Albert Bigelow Paine. 375 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Join's gout of ©oom. Written on the declaration of Cuban independence by the American Congress. O PAIN'S hour has struck. No more her ° Hag Shall float o'er Cuba's fateful isle. Her reign of treachery and guile Is o'er. No more shall vengeance lag. Back to their gaunt Iberian crag Her desolating legions hurl, Or let the wild Atlantic's swirl Their souls and bodies hellward drag. Ay, let her new armada flee Westward her tyranny to maintain. We will, in memory of the Maine, Meet it and sink it in the sea. Out of the Western Hemisphere Spain's yellow banner soon shall fade. No more by her shall graves be made Where grain should grow and fruits appear. 376 SPAIN'S HOUR OF DOOM. No more her fiends with sword and fire The Cubans' homes shall devastate, Slay sons, and daughters violate Before their mother and their sire. The infamy of Spain shall loom Black over the devoted isle No longer. Not by force or will Can she put back the hour of doom. That hour has struck. From Morro's height Haul down her old dishonored flag, While back to her Iberian crag, She takes her ignominious flight. — Albert Roland Haven. 377 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. ©eiaes at (JJftanifa. "TWAS the very verge of May When the bold Olympia led Into Bocagrande Bay Dewey's squadron, dark and dread, Creeping past Corregidor, Guardian of Manila's shore. Do they sleep who wait the fray ? Is the moon so dazzling bright That our cruisers' battle-gray Melts into the misty light ? Ah ! the red flash and the roar ! Wakes at last Corregidor ! All too late her screaming shell Tears the silence with its track ; This is but the gate to hell, We've no leisure to turn back. Answer, Concord ! — then once more Slumber on, Corregidor. And as, like a slowing tide, Onward still the vessels creep, Dewey, watching, falcon-eyed, 378 DEWEY AT MANILA. Orders, — " Let the gunners sleep ; For we meet a foe at four Fiercer than Corregidor." Well they slept, for well they knew What the morrow taught us all, — He was wise (as well as true) Thus upon the foe to fall. Long shall Spain the day deplore Dewey ran Corregidor. May is dancing into light As the Spanish admiral From a dream of phantom fight Wakens at his sentry's call. Shall he leave Cavite's lee, Hunt the Yankee fleet at sea ? O Montojo, to thy deck, That to-day shall float its last ! Quick ! To quarters ! Yonder speck Grows a hull of portent vast. Hither, toward Cavite's lee Comes the Yankee hunting thee ! Not for fear of hidden mine Halts our quiet commodore. He, of old heroic line, 379 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Follows Farragut once more, Hazards all on victory, Here within Cavite's lee. If he loses, all is gone ; He will win because he must. And the shafts of yonder dawn Are not quicker than his thrust. Soon, Montojo, he shall be With thee in Cavite's lee. Now, Manila, to the fray ! Show the hated Yankee host This is not a holiday, — Spanish blood is more than boast. Fleet and mine and battery, Crush him in Cavite's lee ! Lo, hell's geysers at our fore Pierce the plotted path, — in vain, Nerving every man the more With the memory of the Maine ! Now at last our guns are free Here within Cavite's lee. " Gridley," says the commodore, " You may fire when ready." Then Long and loud, like lions' roar 380 DEWEY AT MANILA. When a rival dares the den, Breaks the awful cannonry Full across Cavite's lee. Who shall tell the daring tale Of our Thunderbolt's attack, Finding, when the chart should fail, By the lead his dubious track, Five ships following faithfully Five times o'er Cavite's lee ; Of our gunners' deadly aim ; Of the gallant foe and brave Who, unconquered, faced with flame, Seek the mercy of the wave, — Choosing honor in the sea Underneath Cavite's lee ? Let the meed the victors gain Be the measure of their task. Less of flinching, stouter strain, Fiercer combat, who could ask ? And " surrender," — 'twas a word That Cavite never heard. Noon, — the woful work is done ! Not a Spanish ship remains; But, of their eleven, none 38i POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Ever was so truly Spain's ! Which is prouder, they or we, Thinking of Cavite's lee ? But remember, when we've ceased Giving praise and reckoning odds, Man shares courage with the beast, Wisdom cometh from the gods. Who would win, on land or wave, Must be wise as well as brave. — Robert Underwood Johnson. 382 1898 AND 1562. 1898 anb 1562. 'THE evening and the morning have joined in fight at last. Around the Western islands the Old shall fight the New; Columbia and Hispania, the Present and the Past, And Eighteen Hundred and Ninety-eight fights Fifteen Sixty-two. The Nation of the Forward Look that sees the heights ahead Fights with the Backward Glancing Realm that sees the tombs behind. And who shall doubt the conflict of the Quick and of the Dead, — Of the Leaders with the Laggards of Mankind ? To-day joins fight with Yesterday ; the mediaeval years Are grappling with the Modern, and the Old assails the New. But who, who fears the issue? Where's the trem- bling soul that fears When Eighteen Hundred Ninety-eight fights Fif- teen Sixty-two ? — Sam Walter Foss. 383 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. $n (American to %\% (JJM0et\ T^OST thou hear, Columbia, O my mother, That pale suppliant, sobbing at thy feet, — Spat upon, and stripped, and left to starve there, Naked in the street ? With her feeble strength she gropes to grasp thee, But to touch thy hem, and rise up free. Listen ! Shall her blue lips, drawn with hunger, Call in vain on thee ? Oh, her white and branded beauty, mother ! Oh, her virgin, violated fame ! Crawling to thy knees, she cries in anguish, " Save me from this shame ! " By thy sons that hung against thy bosom, Sucking from thy veins their stalwart breath ; By the blood they spilt to guard thy honor, — Save me from this death ! " By thy daughters' fame, thine own fair virtue ; By thy motherhood, that all men know ; By the unborn Future in thy loins, — Kill this loathsome foe ! " 384 AN AMERICAN TO HIS MOTHER. Wouldst thou harken, lend thine eyes, stretch hands of succor ? Useless ! Unless, first, thy vengeance rain In a leaden storm on her seducer. Strike ! — God pity Spain ! — Boston Journal. 385 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. T REMEMBER well the way She looked up at me that day When I first put on the gray, And said good-by, back there in '63. She and I were sweethearts then, And I hear her voice again, As she nestled up to me, Saying, in her gentle way: " Ah, how brave you look in gray, And how tall and handsome, too, — Gray's the color, dear, for you ! " There's a ragged suit of gray She has long had laid away, — There are memories that cling around it, too ; But the years have come and gone, And at present I have on A suit of Uncle Sam's beloved blue. When she saw me yesterday, She wiped a tear away For the memory of the gray, — That dear, old, ragged suit of '63. 3S6 HIS NEW SUIT. And she sweetly spoke again, — Spoke more fervently than then, — As she nestled up to me, Saying, in her gentle way: " Ah, how brave you looked in gray ! But you're braver still in blue, — Blue's the color, dear, for you ! " — S. E. Kiser. 38 7 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. €o tyi Siting JJquafcron. T^IERCE flock of sea gulls, with huge wings of white, Tossed on the treacherous blue, Poising your pinions in majestic flight, — Our hearts take voyage with you. Against the soulless, unregarding Sea Match the high will that dares ! Are ye not driven by mightier gales than she ? — Millions of patriot prayers ! Flock of the terrible talons ! — urged by lungs Monstrous and fury-fed ! Hold your proud course till rot their riotous tongues, Fear-born and treason-bred, Who at this late and ominous hour declaim The jargon of the past, — Forgetful fools, that Freedom, that great name, Hath riven all chains at last. God save us from war's terrors ! May they cease ! And yet one fate how worse ! A bloodless, perjured, prostituting peace, Glutting a coward's purse ! TO THE FLYING SQUADRON. Oh, if yon beaks and talons clutch and cling Far in the middle seas With those of hostile war birds, wing to wing, — Our hearts shall fight with these. God speed you ! Never fared crusading knight On holier quest than ye, — Sworn to the rescue of the trampled Right, — Sworn to make Cuba free ! — Yea, swiftly to avenge our martyred Maine. I watch you curve and wheel In horrible grace of battle, — scourge of Spain, Birds with the beaks of steel ! 389 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. $0e Qjecompen0e. '"pHEY are marching from the Southland, from the North, and from the West, From the sunny hills of vintage, from the crags where eagles nest, From the altars of devotion, from a mother's loving breast, While above them floats Old Glory, boon to all the world oppressed. They are marching to the ocean where the crimsoned waters cry, Where the cowards jeered in anger, laughed to see our heroes die, Little dreaming that in vengeance God was watching from on high, That he heard the blood-stained billows lift their voices to the sky. There's a song comes from the forest, there's a song breaks from the sea, And the echoes ring from heaven in tumultuous ecstasy ; For the flag floats high in splendor, our old flag of liberty, 39o THE RECOMPENSE. Where the mists of night are lifting, and God's people are made free. Oh, be brave, my heart, with courage, and my soul, be ever strong ! To the right or left turn never, but press fearlessly along ; For the God above hath vengeance, and shall recom- pense the wrong, Till the wrath of man shall praise him, and the darkness break with song ! — Chas, H. Dorrie. 39i POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. T 'VE been thinkin' of it over, an' it 'pears to me to-day The war's the biggest blessin' that has ever come our way ; Course, thar'll be some fightin', an' a few more graves'll be Whar the daisies in the medder look their purtiest at me, — For that's to be expected ; but — the thing that makes me feel That the war's a heavenly blessin' is the wounds that it'll heal ! The old wounds that's been ranklin' sence the day that Gin'rul Lee Said we'd rest an' think it over by that old-time apple-tree ! I see the boys that fit us in the Union coats of blue On the same groun', — hale an' hearty, an' a-shakin' howdy-do ! An' I hear the ban' play " Dixie," an' I see 'em march away, Till I can't tell whar the blue is, an' I'm mixed up on the gray ! 39 2 REUNITED. The old war tunes air ringin', an' " Dixie's " on the rise ; ^ But " Yankee Doodle " f oilers 'fore it's half-way to the skies ! An' the old " Star Spangled Banner " is in ever' steeple's chime, An' I tell you, we're a-havin' of a hallelujah time ! I'm glad I've lived to see it; I'm glad the time is come When, North an' South, we answer to the roll-call of the drum ! When thar ain't no line divides us, but North an' South we stan' For jest one common country, — one freedom-lovin' Ian'! That's whar the war's a blessin', that's whar 'pears like I see A brighter mornin' breakin' on the hills for you an' me ! It's shoulder now to shoulder, — thar ain't no blue or gray, — An' we're shoutin' " Hallelujah," an' we're happy on the way ! — F. L. Stanton. 393 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. "Cut f0e CM*." An Incident of Cienfuegos. " /^UT the cables ! " the order read, And the men were there ; there was no delay. The ships hove to in Cienfuegos Bay, — The Windom, Nashville, Marblehead, — Beautiful, grim, and alert were they, It was midway, past in the morning gray. " Cut the cables ! " the order said — Over the clouds of the dashing spray The guns were trained and ready for play ; Picked from the Nashville, Winslow led, — Grim death waits ashore, they say ; " Lower the boats, Godspeed, give way." Did " our untried navy lads " obey ? Away to their perilous work they sped. Now, steady the keel, keep stroke the oar ! They must go in close, they must find the wires ; Grim death is alert on that watching shore, That deadly shore of the " Hundred Fires." In the lighthouse tower, — along the ledge, — In the blockhouse, waiting, — the guns are there ; On the lowland, too, in the tall, dry sedge ; 394 "CUT THE CABLES." They are holding the word till the boats draw near. One hundred feet from the water's edge, Dazzling clear is the sunlit air ; Quick, my men, — the moments are dear ! Two hundred feet from the rifle-pit, And our " untried " lads still show no fear — When they open now they're sure to hit ; No question, even by sign, they ask, In silence they bend to their dangerous task. Quick now ! — the shot from a smokeless gun Cuts close and spatters the glistening brine ; Now follows the roar of the battle begun, But the boys were bent in the blazing sun Like peaceful fishermen, " wetting a line." They searched the sea while a shrieking blast Swept shoreward, swift as the lightning flies, — While the fan-like storm of the shells went past Like a death-wing cleaving the hissing skies. Like a sheltering wing, — for the hurricane came From our own good guns, and the foe might tell What wreck was wrought by their deadly aim ; For the foe went down where the hurricane fell. It shattered the blockhouse, levelled the tower, It ripped the face of the smoking hill, It beat the battle back, hour by hour, 395 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. And then, for a little, our guns were still. For a little, but that was the fatal breath, — That moment's lull in the friendly crash, — For the long pit blazed with a vicious flash, And eight fell, — two of them done to death. Once more the screen of the screaming shot With its driving canopy covered the men, While they dragged, and grappled, and, faltering not, Still dragged, and searched, and grappled again. And they stayed right there till the work was done, The cables were found and severed, each one, With an eighty-foot gap, and the " pieee " hauled in, And stowed in place, — then, under the din Of that deafening storm, that had swept the air For three long hours, they turned from shore (" Steady the keel " there ; " stroke " the oar), To the smoke-wreathed ships, and, under the guns, They went up the side, — our " untried " ones. Quiet, my brave boys ; hats off, all ! They are here, our " untried " boys in blue. Steady the block, now, all hands haul ! Slow on the line there ! — look to that crew ! Six lads hurt ! — and the colors there? Wrap two of them ? — hold ! Ease back the bow ! Slow, now, on the line ! — slack down with care ! 396 " CUT THE CABLES." Steady ! — they're back on their own deck now ! The cables are cut, sir, eighty-foot spread, Six boys hurt, and — two of them dead. Half-mast the colors ! there's work to do ! There are two red marks on the starboard gun, There is still some work that is not quite done, For our " untried " boys that are tried and true. It wasn't all play when they cut the wires, — Well named is that bay of the " Hundred Fires." — Robert Burns Wilson. June 2, i8g8. 397 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. (gtene, (gftene, $eftef, (Upifamn/ "DEHOLD, we have gathered together our battle- ships, near and afar; Their decks they are cleared for action, their guns they are primed for war. From the East to the West there is hurry ; in the North and the South a peal Of hammers in fort and shipyard, and the clamor and clang of steel; And the rush and roar of engines, and clanking of derrick and crane, — Thou art weighed in the scales and found wanting, the balance of God, O Spain! Behold, I have stood on the mountains, and this was writ in the sky : " She is weighed in the scales and found wanting, the balance God holds on high ! " The balance he once weighed Babylon, the Mother of Harlots, in. One scale holds thy pride and power and empire, be- gotten of sin, Heavy with woe and torture, the crimes of a thou- sand years, 398 "MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN." Mortared and welded together with fire and blood and tears ; In the other, for justice and mercy, a blade with never a stain, Is laid the Sword of Liberty, and the balance dips, O Spain ! Summon thy vessels together ! great is thy need for these ! Cristobal Colon, Vizcaya, Oquendo, and Marie The- rese. Let them be strong and many, for a vision I had by night, That the ancient wrongs thou hast done the world came howling to the fight; From the New World shores they gathered. Inca and Aztec, slain, To the Cuban shot but yesterday, and our own dead seamen, Spain! Summon thy ships together, gather a mighty fleet ! For a strong young nation is arming that never hath known defeat. Summon thy ships together, there on thy blood- stained sands ! For a shadowy army gathers with manacled feet and hands, 399 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. A shadowy host of sorrows and of shames, too black to tell, That reach with their horrible wounds for thee to drag thee down to hell; Myriad phantoms and spectres, thou warrest against in vain ! Thou art weighed in the scales and found wanting, the balance of God, O Spain ! — Madison Cawein. FALL INI Sftff 3n! "TMS no time for vain surmising; 1 Fall in ! While the din of war is rising ; Fall in ! See the cloud of conflict falling, Though the danger is appalling ; Hark! your country's voice is calling: Fall in ! Past, the time for speculation ; Fall in ! Peril menaces the nation ; Fall in ! Leave to cravens idle prattle ; Empty vessels loudest rattle ! Trusting in the God of battle ; Fall in ! Waste no precious time in trifles ; Fall in ! Drop all else and grasp your rifles ; Fall in ! Lay your lives on country's altar, Cursed the craven who would falter, For the traitor's neck the halter ! Fall in ! 401 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Son and sire and grandsire hoary, Fall in ! Insult stains our grand " Old Glory ! " Fall in ! By our tars 'neath ocean sleeping, Billowy mounds above them heaping, By the tears their loved are weeping, Fall in ! Spirit of the Revolution ! Fall in ! Reinforce our resolution ; Fall in ! North and South now reunited, Union's covenant replighted, Fire on Freedom's shrine relighted ! Fall in ! — Frank N. Scott. 402 THE OLD ARTILLERIST. £0e <£>fb #rfi«ertef. T_J E never has talked of the war-time and battle, He gives himself wholly to peace and its ways And he loves his small fields and his horses and cattle, And the smell of the corn fields through long sum- mer days. It seems like a dream in his calm daily labors, That once he fought fiercely where swift bullets smote, But always on Sundays at church with his neighbors A little bronze button is worn on his coat. The sixties had found him where bugles rang charges, Where over the batteries the cavalry rode, And the smoke of the guns hung along the field's marges As hotly the battle's tide eddying flowed. His boy's heart had thrilled at the reverberation, As, plying the sponge or the lanyard, he toiled ; His smoke-stifled throat throbbed with fierce exultation The while he stood by till the piece had recoiled. But now ! — not a word of the war-time and battle, No tales of the conflict the veteran will tell ; 403 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. He's at peace in his fields with his horses and cattle, Who once had been rained on by bullet and shell. But he chuckles, these days, as he plods at his labors, Because his two boys have enlisted, and he Walks straighter and prouder when passing the neighbors, For Bill is with Dewey and Jim is with Lee ! — Meredith Nicholson. GREETING FROM ENGLAND. (greeting from (gngfcmb, A MERICA ! dear brother land ! While yet the shotted guns are mute, Accept a brotherly salute, A hearty grip of England's hand. To-morrow, when the sulphurous glow Of war shall dim the stars above, Be sure the star of England's love Is over you, come weal or woe. Go forth in hope ! Go forth in might ! To all your nobler self be true, That coming times may see in you The vanguard of the hosts of light. Though wrathful justice load and train Your guns, be every breach they make A gateway pierced for mercy's sake That peace may enter in and reign. Then, should the hosts of darkness band Against you, lowering thunderously, Flash the word " Brother " o'er the sea, And England at your side shall stand, 405 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Exulting ! For, though dark the night And sinister with scud and rack, The hour that brings us back to back But harbingers the larger light. April 22., i8g8. — London Chronicle. 406 HOBSON AND HIS MEN. igofison &nb %\% (Jtten. f~\ N the girdling circuit, Under sundered seas, Over dale and mountain, Caught by ev'ry breeze, Glory sends a message (Cipherless her pen) That the world is cheering Hobson and his men ! Eight against the fleet and forts, A brook against a sea ! But Santiago's door is shut And Hobson turned the key ! Moon behind a cloud-bank, Fickle Cuban sky, Hobson and his seven tars Steaming boldly by ! Phillips, Murphy, Deignan, Clausen and Charette, Montagu and Kelly, Not a man forget ! — Cho. 407 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. Right athwart the channel, — Hobson's heart the guide, — Swung the bulky collier Hinged upon the tide. Growled the guns of Spaniards, Growled from either shore ; But, his sea legs keeping, Hobson hung his door ! — Cho. Soon shall legions thunder, Cannoned mountains rock, And that door swing open Wide at Freedom's knock ! High at Santiago Rear a column then, Bidding Time remember Hobson and his men ! — Cho. — Edward F. Burns. 408 PRAYER FOR THE NATION. (JptaEet for *0e (ttafton. JUDGE of the earth, to whom The secret things are known, Lo, in this hour of gloom, We come before thy throne. The knees of Freedom's sons are bent To none, O Lord, but thee ; Before thy altar we present Our motive and our plea. Thou knowest all the cause, — The crime and insult both, — Long have we taken pause, And even now are loth To strike the blow, — yet Honor calls, Her summons we obey ; Fit mate were he for knaves and thralls Who yet would urge delay. Not for ourselves we try The final test of war, — A tortured people cry For succor from afar ; Before the bar of Liberty Stands Tyranny arraigned : 409 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. The cup she mixed of misery- Shall by herself be drained. If with a hand unclean We wrongly draw the sword, We pray thee intervene To make our cause abhorred. We would not dim a history In honor clear begun. We crave, O Lord, no victory That is not justly won. Let other nations sneer ; Accountable alone To thee, O Lord, we fear No censure save thine own. The Powers of earth are in thy sight A pageant and a dream ; Thou ever art of Truth and Right The arbiter supreme. The trumpet calls us forth ; The fateful guns are trained ; Oh, may we prove our worth, Our honor keep unstained ! 410 PRAYER FOR THE NATION. We lift the gage ; the issue stands For innocence or guilt ; Our cause we place within thy hands, — Deal with us as thou wilt. — Boston Transcript. POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. £0e §aitiw of *0e ffeef. npWO fleets have sailed from Spain. The one would seek What lands uncharted ocean might conceal. Despised, condemned, and pitifully weak, It found a world for Leon and Castile. The other, mighty, arrogant, and vain, Sought to subdue a people who were free. Ask of the storm-gods where its galleons be, — Whelmed 'neath the billows of the northern main ! A third is threatened. On the westward track, Once gloriously traced, its vessels speed, With gold and crimson battle-flags unfurled. On Colon's course, but to Sidonia's wrack, Sure fated, if so need shall come to need, For sons of Drake are lords of Colon's world. — The New York Tribune. 412 EIGHT VOLUNTEERS. T^IGHT volunteers! on an errand of death ! Eight men ! Who speaks ? Eight men to go where the cannon's hot breath Burns black the cheeks. Eight men to man the old Merrimac's hulk ; Eight men to sink the old steamer's black bulk, Blockade the channel where Spanish ships skulk, - Eight men ! Who speaks ? " Eight volunteers ! " said the Admiral's flags ! Eight men ! Who speaks ? Who will sail under El Morro's black crags ? — Sure death he seeks. Who is there willing to offer his life ? Willing to march to this music of strife, — Cannon for drum and torpedo for fife ? Eight men ! Who speaks ? Eight volunteers ! on an errand of death ! Eight men ! Who speaks ? Was there a man who in fear held his breath ? With fear-paled cheeks ? 4i3 POEMS OF AMERICAN PATRIOTISM. From ev'ry war-ship ascended a cheer ! From ev'ry sailor's lips burst the word " Here ! " Four thousand heroes their lives volunteer ! Eight men ! Who speaks ? — Lansing C. Bailey. FLING OUT THE FLAG. BY THOMAS NIELD. Fling out the flag in freedom's name and let it flutter free, A terror to the tyrant dons who came across the sea— The European centipedes that poison where they tread, And leave in every land they touch a ghastly heap of dead. Remember iTorquemada's rack and Alva's houndish crew. How Cortex harried Mexico, Pizarro cursed Peru, An i Weyler wrote on Cuban soil the Spaniard's bloody name; Then float, flag, in triumph o'er the graveyard of their Fling out the flag ia victory's name, which brightens all its stars, And gives a rainbow splendor to the rose hue of its bars . Wide let it flap o'er sunken ship* and battle battered walls. Until the last hope of the dons before its presence falls. Remind them of Manila and of Santiago's fate; As hints of retribution that may yet their crimes await; Aye, make them tremble as they hear our nearing can- nons roar, Fling out the flag ia glory's name, but let that glory be To drive the tyrant to his den and set his victims free; Then let the eagle roar and scream o'er freedom's lofty crags, While in the valley's dust we drag the foe's dishonored rags. Convince the sordid nations that we have both will and power To act the good Samaritan in dark oppression's hour. Display the true ideal of the duty of the strong To save a weaker neighbor from the talons of the wrong. Fling out tue flag in heaven's high name, that heaven may bless anew That sacred jmblein of the right with blessings like the dew; And while it flutters let us trust in Him to guard our land Who holds the fate of nations in the hollow of his hand . Remember him in sunshine who remembered us in shade, For in the present triumph is the former power displayed; And in the march of progress let us ever keep the van, And lead the nations on to own the brotherhood of man. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 (724)779-2111 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS iiiiiiwiiiiiiEniiiiiiiiiiii 015 793 257 3