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,
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 a wrack, With a sudden shudder of death, And the cannon's breath

For her dying gasp.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

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,

Go

Thy flag, that is rent in twain,

Shall be one again,

And without a seam!

H. W. Longfellow.

GOD, GIVE US PEACE!

95

OD, give us peace! not such as lulls to sleep,
But sword on thigh, and brow with purpose
knit!

And let our Ship of State to harbor sweep,
Her ports all up, her battle-lanterns lit,

And her leashed thunders gathering for their leap!
J. R. Lowell.

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we

sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all ex

ulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim

and daring;

But O heart! heart! heart!

O 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!

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 anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with ob

ject 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.

VAUDOIS MOUNTAINEERS' HYMN. 97

HYMN OF THE VAUDOIS MOUNTAINEERS.

FOR

OR the strength of the hills we bless Thee,
Our God, our fathers' God!

Thou hast made thy children mighty

By the touch of the mountain-sod;
Thou hast fixed our ark of refuge

Where the spoiler's foot ne'er trod :
For the strength of the hills we bless Thee,
Our God, our fathers' God!

We are watchers of a beacon
Whose light must never die;
We are guardians of an altar
'Midst the silence of the sky;
The rocks yield founts of courage,
Struck forth as by thy rod :

For the strength of the hills we bless Thee,
Our God, our fathers' God!

For the dark resounding caverns,

Where thy still small voice is heard ; For the strong pines of the forests,

That by thy breath are stirred ;

For the storm, on whose free pinions

Thy spirit walks abroad;

For the strength of the hills,—we bless Thee,
Our God, our fathers' God!

The royal eagle darteth

On his quarry from the heights; And the stag, that knows no master, Seeks there his wild delights;

But we, for thy communion,

Have sought the mountain-sod:

For the strength of the hills we bless Thee,
Our God, our fathers' God!

The banner of the chieftain
Far, far below us waves;
The war-horse of the spearman
Cannot reach our lofty caves ;
Thy dark clouds wrap the threshold
Of freedom's last abode :

For the strength of the hills we bless Thee,
Our God, our fathers' God!

For the shadow of thy presence

Round our camp of rock outspread; For the stern defiles of battle,

Bearing record of our dead;

For the snows and for the torrents;
For the free heart's burial sod;

For the strength of the hills,- -we bless Thee,
Our God, our fathers' God!

H

A SEA GLIMPSE.

Mrs. Hemans.

IGH tide, and the year at ebb:

The sea is a dream to-day :

The sky is a gossamer web

Of sapphire, and pearl, and gray :

A veil over rock and boat;

A breath on the tremulous blue, Where the dim sails lie afloat,

Or, unaware, slip from view.