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But soon, as once and again
Fore and aft we sped,
(The firing to guide or check,)
You could hardly choose but tread
On the ghastly human wreck,
(Dreadful gobbet and shred
That a minute ago were men!)
Red, from mainmast to bitts!
Red, on bulwark and wale,
Red, by combing and hatch,
Red, o’er netting and vail!
And the Ram, when well up the Bay,
And we looked that our stems should meet,
(He had us fair for a prey,)
Shifting his helm midway,
Sheered off, and ran for the fleet;
There, without skulking or sham,
He fought them gun for gun;
And ever he sought to ram,
The bay is lost and won,
An Empire is lost and won!
Land, if thou yet hast flowers,
Twine them in one more wreath
Of tenderest white and red,
(Twin buds of glory and death!)
For the brows of our brave dead,
Oh, proud was our army that morning,
That stood where the pine darkly towers,
When Sherman said: “Boys, you are weary,
But to-day fair Savannah is ours!”
Then sang we the song of our chieftain,
That echoed o’er river and lea,
And the stars in our banner shone brighter
When Sherman marched down to the sea.
Not Tasso’s soft persuasion unto sin
I find, dear rose, thy withered leaves within,
Nor any precept Epicurus gave;
To me thou dost not breathe
A thought of festivals, or memory
Of woven, wine-dipped wreath,
Or kisses on ripe lips, or fond regret
For bounds by time to fleeting pleasures set,
Beside a farmer’s home
In shade and shine this rose of battle grew,
What time the rolling drum
Announced the crisis of the war at hand,
As Meade pressed swiftly north through Maryland,
And ever closer to Lee’s columns drew;
On that grim, weary march
Rain seldom fell; the June sun fiercely glowed
And seemed all things to parch;
The winds grew still, nor in their motion swung
The dust that round the lithe battalions clung
The women stood in groups
And watched with tear-wet eyes and smiling lips
The marching of the troops;
The smiles came at the sight of manhood stern
Moving to sacrifice with unconcern;
The tears were for the battle’s drear eclipse
That was so soon to fall
It seems another age
When things like these were done; the rose’s bloom
He took as battle gage,
And with his laughing comrades went his way,
Well knowing that the columns wide astray
Were fast converging for the day of doom!
How proud their column moved,
Up the long slope of death with stubborn tread,
Obeying him they loved!
And still against the storm of fire that scourged
Supporting squadrons backward as it surged,
How fierce they held their way unwearièd!
Mayhap with other foes
They might have won; but ever slow to yield
And ever prompt to close
Were Hancock’s men; and the Virginian shaft
That pierced our lines was shattered, head and haft,
What fights he fought, what wounds he wore,
Are all unknown to fame;
Remember, on his lonely grave
There is not even a name!
That he fought well and bravely too,
And held his country dear,
We know, else he had never been
Her roguish smile can well beguile,
Her every look bewitches;
Yet never stir, when tacked to her,
For Tim will wear the breeches;
I've face and mien, am spruce and keen,
And though my heart keeps throbbing,
There's not, in fine, one man in nine,
By Various
’Tis just one year ago to-day,
That I remember well,
I sat down by poor Nelly’s side
A story she did tell;
’Twas about a poor, unhappy slave
That lived for many a year;
But now he’s dead and in his grave,
By Various
One Sunday night we sat together,
Sighing side by side,
Just like two wilted leaves of cabbage
In the sunshine fried;
My heart with love was nigh to split
To ask her for to wed,
Said I: “Shall I go for the priest,”
And what d’ye think she said?
By Various
Don’t be angry mother, mother,
Let the world say what it will,
Though I don’t deserve thy favor,
Yet I fondly love thee still;
We have lived and loved together,
And our hearts ne’er knew a pain
But forgive me, mother, mother,
By Various
Over thy follies I have shed,
Ah! many a bitter tear,
And I have mourn’d for thee as dead
Through all the passing year;
Yet I have pray’d that thou, my son,
Might’st catch my latest breath,
That thy dear hands, and thine alone,
By Various
When twilight approaches, the season
That ever is sacred to song,
Does some one repeat my name over,
And sigh that I tarry so long?
And is there a chord in the music
That’s miss’d when my voice is away,
And a chord in each heart that awaketh
Regret at my wearisome stay,
By Various
“Twas on that dread, immortal day,
I dared the Briton’s band,
A captain raised this blade on me,
I tore it from his hand;
And while the glorious battle raged,
It lighten’d freedom’s will,
For, boy, the God of Freedom bless’d
By Various
Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous kings confederate raise;
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo! our fields and cities blaze;
And shall we basely view the ruin,
While lawless force, with guilty stride,
Spreads desolation far and wide,
With crimes and blood his hands embruing?
By Various
O Liberty! can man resign thee,
Once having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee?
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
Too long the world has wept, bewailing
That falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield,
But freedom is our sword and shield,
By Various
Now the night-bird’s song comes floating
Sweetly down the midnight air,
Waking all the depths, to listen
To the birds that thus should dare
To break the weird and solemn stillness,
That had reign’d so long before,
In the wood, and mead, and valley,