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4 
 
PATRIOTISM 
 
 IN 
 
 POETRY AID PROSE: 
 
 BEING 
 
 FROM LECTURES AND PATRIOTIC READINGS 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES E. MURDOCH. 
 
 ALSO, 
 
 POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS BUCHANAN READ, GEORGE H. BOKER, 
 FRANCIS DE HAES JANVIER, 
 
 -A.ISrr) OTHER, AMiERIC^N" -A.XJTHORS, 
 
 COMMEMORATIVE OF THE 
 
 GALLANT DEEDS OF OUR NOBLE DEPENDERS ON LAND AND SEA. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 
 186 5. 
 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 18&4, by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of tlie District Conrt of the United States for th»i 
 
 Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 3 ;i, a S \ U 
 
To Messrs. James L. Claghorn, 
 Ferdinand J. Dreer, 
 
 AND Joseph Harrison, Jr. 
 
 Gentlemen: — Accept my thanks for the generous sympathy 
 in my elBforts to serve this cause which has induced you to 
 undertake the publication of this little book, the proceeds of 
 which are to be applied to the wants of our sick and wounded 
 soldiers. 
 
 Your devotion to our country's cause, your untiring efforts 
 in and your generous contributions to the glorious work of 
 sustaining and comforting such of our noble defenders as 
 stand in need of the Good Samaritan's office, — these good deeds 
 expressed in your individual services are but the types of the 
 noble virtues and generous sympathies of the loyal citizens of 
 Philadelphia, which find an echo in the heart of every Union- 
 loving member of the Great Eepublic. 
 
 I regret that my continued illness compels mo to abandon 
 my original intentions in the publication of the book. And 
 yet I feel assured that it will meet at your hands, and from 
 the favor of the public, attention and appreciation which its 
 merits could not venture to call forth, — that is, at least, as far as 
 my humble contributions to its pages are concerned. 
 
 May God bless the efforts of our loyal countrymen to alle- 
 viate the suffering and Borrows of those who are fighting for 
 
our Government! and may His merciful providence restore 
 peace to the land, and the land to the supremacy of law and 
 order, under that sacred emblem of Liberty and Union, the 
 dear ''Old Flag'M 
 
 Truly, your friend and obedient servant, 
 
 James E. Murdoch. 
 Philadelphia, May 19, 1864. 
 
TO THE 
 
 MOTHERS AND WIVES, SISTERS AND DAUGHTERS, 
 
 WHO HAVE STOOD AS A LIVING WALL 
 
 BETWEEN 
 
 THE NATIONAL UNITY AND HONOR, AND THE ASSAULTS OF 
 ARMED REBELS, 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES E. MURDOCH, 
 
 WHO, IN EXPRESSING HIS VENERATION FOR THE PATRIOTIC SERVICES 
 CONFERRED ON THEIR COUNTRY, IN ITS HOUR OP 
 TRIAL AND SUFFERING, BY THE LOYAL 
 WOMEN OP AMERICA, CALLS TO 
 HIS AID THE FOLLOW- 
 ING BEAUTIFUL 
 LINES. 
 
 1* 
 
%\s: §rak at |flme. 
 
 (Extract from "The Wagoner of the Alleghanies.") 
 
 by t. buchanan read. 
 
 The 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 the story. 
 Her heart has shed a drop as dear 
 
 As e'er bedew'd 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, 
 Doom'd nightly in her dreams to hear 
 
 The bolts of death around him rattlo. 
 Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er 
 
 Was pour'd upon a 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. 
 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 I 
 
PKEFACE. 
 
 It would be unjust to introduce this volume to the reader 
 without some mention of the public services of the patriotic 
 gentleman to whom it owes its origin. With Mr. Murdoch's 
 "Readings'' we are all familiar. In the lecture-room, the 
 hospital, the camp, and under the falling shells of the enemy, 
 he has raised his eloquent voice, since the beginning of our 
 great national contest, with an effect that will not soon be for- 
 gotten by his numerous auditors. He has stimulated the 
 patriotism of our citizens, he has comforted the sufferings of 
 our wounded, and he has inflamed the courage of our soldiers. 
 The pecuniary returns from his Readings have been applied 
 in all cases, and without any deduction for his personal ex- 
 penses or professional labor, to aid in alleviating the condition 
 of the sick and the wounded. In this way he has collected 
 and handed over to the proper disbursing agents not only 
 thousands, but tens of thousands, of dollars, — no trifling con- 
 tribution to be earned and distributed through the exertions 
 of one man, whose health was not always robust, and who was 
 frequently obliged to pause in his noble work and recruit his 
 strength, wasted by the very energy of his charitable labors. 
 
 Without entering into details, we shall give a brief narra- 
 tive of Mr. Murdoch's services to the cause of his country. He 
 is disposed to consider his efforts as humble and of small 
 public importance, when viewed in the light of the tremendous 
 
8 PREFACE. 
 
 events which are daily passing before our eyes, and to wish 
 that Heaven had gifted him with higher attributes and a wider 
 field of action, in order that his achievements might be com- 
 mensurate with his desires. We shall not quarrel with Mr. 
 Murdoch's estimate of himself. Modesty is too rare and too 
 beautiful a quality to be drawn from its seclusion by open 
 criticism. Whatever may have been the value of his labors, 
 they have been earnest, single in their purpose, entirely un- 
 selfish, and perfectly successful within the limits of their 
 sphere. Mr. Murdoch does not claim to be either a poet or an 
 orator: yet he has set before us the most beautiful thoughts of 
 the former with a passion, an energy, and a skilful modulation 
 of voice that have seldom been rivalled by the latter. We are 
 perfectly content with the scope of his work. He fills a place 
 that would have been vacant without him ; and although, since 
 he began his peculiar career, he has raised around him a 
 crowd of imitators, none has equalled him in merit or ap- 
 proached him in usefulness. 
 
 During the popular excitement which followed the firing 
 upon the flag of Sumter, Mr. Murdoch was on his way from 
 Milwaukie to fulfil a professional engagement at Pittsburg. 
 He could not be insensible to the spirit which was rising 
 around him, and which increased in enthusiasm at every step 
 of his journey. The President's first call for volunteers was 
 arriving at every telegraphic station, and the spark which bore 
 the message seemed to have kindled a flame in every heart. 
 On arriving at Pittsburg, Mr. Murdoch was met by the intelli- 
 gence that his younger son, Thomas Forrest Murdoch, had 
 enlisted in a Zouave regiment and was then on his way to 
 Washington. Although on that night Mr. Murdoch was adver- 
 tised to play "Hamlet,'' he threw up his engagement and 
 
PREFACE. 9 
 
 started in search of his brave son. At Lancaster he found his 
 boy in the ranks, patiently awaiting the order to move forward, 
 and resolved to persevere in the course which he had chosen. 
 What could the father do but confirm his son^s choice and 
 bestow a blessing upon him ? Touched with the natural action, 
 the comrades of his son, with a true American impulse, called 
 upon Mr. Murdoch for a speech. The speech was made to 
 them; and in that speech the orator not only animated the 
 regiment, but he also convinced himself as to the line of duty 
 which he was called upon to pursue. He at once abandoned 
 his theatrical career, resolving to devote all his time, talent, 
 and energy to the cause of his country, and not to reappear 
 upon the stage until that cause should be triumphant. Mr. 
 Murdoch made this great pecuniary sacrifice from no distaste 
 to his profession. Like all other professions, he regards it 
 as an honorable one when honorably followed ; and at the close 
 of the war it is his intention to return to a vocation in which 
 he, at least, has always enjoyed the respect and admiration of 
 his countrymen. He has adhered to the resolution thus formed 
 most manfully, although tempted on all sides by the managers 
 of theatres with ofiers of engagements that would have been 
 far more remunerative to him than any which he had previously 
 accepted, and although his failing health has again and again 
 warned him to abandon his arduous, patriotic duties, and, if 
 activity has become a necessity of his nature, to return to the 
 lighter labors of hi» former profession. 
 
 The sacrifice of his professional career has not been the only 
 one which Mr. Murdoch has made for his country. The noble 
 boy with whom he parted in Lancaster is now lying beneath 
 the bloody sod of the battle-field of Chickamauga. Captain 
 Thomas Forrest Murdoch received his first commission as lieu- 
 
10 PREFACE. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 tenant for his gallantry in the campaign which closed with 
 the terrible battle of Shiloh. At the battle of Stone River he 
 served upon the staff of General Van Cleve ; his horse was 
 shot under him ; and for his brave conduct upon that occasion 
 he was promoted to a captaincy. He fell at the head of Gene- 
 ral Van Clove's line of battle in the first day's fight at Chicka- 
 mauga, shouting to the men, ** Come on, boys ! try them once 
 more!'' Memorable words, the spirit of which his country 
 adopted in its subsequent struggles. "Try them again!" has 
 been, and shall continue to be, our motto, until the dying war- 
 cry of the gallant young soldier shall be drowned in the over- 
 Whelming shout of triumph. 
 
 Mr. Murdoch's elder son, Captain James E. Murdoch, found 
 it impossible to remain quietly at home, with the news of battle 
 ringing in his ears and seeming to reproach him for his back- 
 wardness. He therefore shouldered his musket and followed 
 his brother to the field. He was promoted for good conduct 
 soon after he joined the army, in which he served on the 
 staff of Brigadier-General Sill until that distinguished man 
 fell gloriously at the battle of Stone River. Captain James E. 
 Murdoch led his company through the long and bloody actions 
 at Chickamauga, although his physical condition scarcely 
 warranted his bravery ; and at the close of the second day's 
 fight but a handful of men answered to the roll-call of the 
 company, which originally represented one hundred of the 
 brave farmer-boys of his father's immediate neighborhood, 
 Warren county, Ohio, Captain James E. Murdoch was after- 
 wards obliged to quit active military duty, on account of his 
 physical disability. He retired, with an honorable record and 
 the highest recommendations from his corps and division com- 
 manders, and obtained a position in the invalid service. He 
 
PRErACE. 11 
 
 has since, however, returned to civil life, to cheer, as we hope, 
 his father's declining years. 
 
 Mr. Murdoch himself has also seen some active service in 
 the ranks of his country. At the call of the Governor of Ohio, 
 he sallied out with the volunteers when the rebels threatened 
 Cincinnati. He acted as aid to Commodore Duble in the gun- 
 boat flotilla on the Ohio River, and he afterwards served on the 
 staff of that gallant soldier and loyal Kentuckian, Major-Gene- 
 ral Lovel Rousseau. For these services, as for his more peaceful 
 efforts, Mr. Murdoch never received, nor desired to receive, a 
 cent of pay from the Government. 
 
 When Mr. Murdoch came to the East, during the present 
 spring, it was with the intention of continuing his course of 
 ** Readings,'^ of visiting the Army of the Potomac, and inspiring 
 the soldiers with the enthusiasm which his recitations have 
 always created in the Army of the Cumberland, and of col- 
 lecting the money and publishing the volume which he intended 
 to devote to the "Relic Fund.'' He has failed to carry out a 
 part of his plan, through the incapacity produced by many 
 and, at times, serious attacks of illness. This volume is the re- 
 sult of so much labor as he has been able to perform; and the 
 editor asks for it the indulgence which is usually accorded to a 
 work produced under unfavorable circumstances and amidst 
 the distractions of private suffering and unparalleled public 
 excitement. 
 
 Various sums of money have been received as subscriptions 
 to the Ladies' Societies in aid of soldiers' families, sick and 
 wounded soldiers, &c. A copy of the book is to be presented 
 to each subscriber. When that demand is satisfied, the book 
 will be offered to the public, and the proceeds, after defraying 
 expenses, will be handed to such societies as the committee 
 
12 PREFACE. 
 
 may determine, for the relief of the soldiers. Of course, no 
 subscriptions can be received after this date. The original 
 intention of printing the subscribers' names has been aban- 
 doned, on account of the increased size of the book, as it now 
 contains nearly one-third more of printed matter than was at 
 first intended. The entire profits from the publication will be 
 given to the charities above mentioned. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction to "Patriotic Readings" 15 
 
 Poetry a Substitute for Speech-Making 19 
 
 The American Flag 21 
 
 Mr. Lincoln at Home in Springfield, and Mr. Lincoln at the "White 
 
 House in Washington 23 
 
 Lincoln at Springfield, 1861 29 
 
 Mr. Lincoln's Letter to the Kentucky Delegates, April 4, 1864 31 
 
 The President's Letter to Mr. Murdoch, and Poem 34 
 
 The Prescience of the Poet 36 
 
 Extract from "The New Pastoral" 37 
 
 The Relics 41 
 
 Poem by William Cullen Bryant 44 
 
 The Memento to Secretary Chase 46 
 
 Items concerning the Treaty Elm 49 
 
 Incidents in the History of the Old War-Ship the Alliance 62 
 
 Old Ironsides 54 
 
 The Shreds of the Flag-Halliards of the Cumberland 55 
 
 Three Eras 59 
 
 Mr. Boker as a Dramatic Poet 67 
 
 The Ballad of New Orleans 69 
 
 Coming Events Cast their Shadows Before 77 
 
 The Union. — A National Song 79 
 
 The Power of Music and Verse as Incitements to Valor 80 
 
 Our Defenders 82 
 
 Poetry and Painting as Kindred Arts 83 
 
 Victory docs not always reward Valor 87 
 
 2 13 
 
14 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Battle of Lookout Mountain 88 
 
 "The Peculiar Institution," and Stonewall Jackson's Hatred of 
 
 the Old Flag 93 
 
 Barbara Frietchie 98 
 
 An Incident of the War 100 
 
 The Sleeping Sentinel 103 
 
 On Board the Cumberland 108 
 
 An Invocation to Loyalty 114 
 
 The Oath 116 
 
 Gettysburg 118 
 
 The Cemetery and the Battle-Field 121 
 
 The School-Boy's Lesson in Poetry remembered by the Soldier on 
 
 the Field of Battle 125 
 
 Marco Bozzaris 127 
 
 Heroes Die, but Heroism is Eternal : 130 
 
 Count Candespina's Standard 131 
 
 Don't Give up the Ship 135 
 
 The Launching of the Ship 138 
 
 The Dying Soldier 142 
 
 The Rising, 1776 .'. 144 
 
 Before Vicksburg 148 
 
 Our Heroes 150 
 
 Wounded 152 
 
 An Old Friend in a New Dress 154 
 
 Lines on the New American Frigate Alliance 156 
 
 Charleston Harbor in 1776 and 1861 158 
 
 Scott and the Veteran 160 
 
 Paul Jones, and the Navy of the Revolution 162 
 
 The Bonhomme Richard 168 
 
 Paul Jones 169 
 
 Our Heroes 171 
 
PATRIOTISM 
 
 POETEY AND PROSE. 
 
 Intototion ta |atrifl& ^rabings: Mxkxtli m i\t 
 $imtt-€l^mkx ai t^t MuM states. 
 
 (Extract prom Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 It is my ambition to illustrate and defend the great cause 
 in which our country is now engaged, by presenting such 
 specimens of patriotic poetry, written by my own country- 
 men, and by others; as may be influential in exciting 
 national pride, and in keeping alive that feeling, without 
 which no nation ha^ ever been able to defend and preserve 
 itself. 
 
 The great and good cause for which the Administration 
 is battling against a host of traitors and factious enemies 
 at home and a legion of interferers abroad, aroused my 
 deepest sympathies from the very onset, and induced me 
 to give up the profession of the actor for the time-being, 
 and to devote myself to such efforts as would contribute 
 relief to the sick and wounded soldiers of the Republic. I 
 feel assured that the offices of the good physician and 
 surgeon can be wonderfully aided and advanced by pleasant 
 and cheerful thoughts in the patient, which are often ex- 
 
 15 
 
16 INTRODUCTION TO ^^ PATRIOTIC READINGS/^ 
 
 cited and maintained by the tone of the nurse or the 
 sprightly comrade; and hence the home-like ditty, or the 
 time-loved hymn, when sung by lips of hopeful sympathy, 
 expands and secures the good effects produced by the probe 
 and the knife, the potion and the ointment. Hence I 
 have sought occasion to raise my voice, to give utterance 
 to patriotic poetry and prose, together with scriptural re»3i- 
 tations, in our hospitals and ^' Homes," wherever the judg- 
 ment of the surgeons attending sanctioned the perform- 
 ance. 
 
 I know, too, what good results have been attained to the 
 toiling and patient soldier, when he joins in, or listens to, 
 the strains of song or hymn chanted during the long and 
 weary march. How often have I observed, in the bivouac 
 or at the camp-fire, after reading a poem of which the sol- 
 dier's suffering and the honor of his flag have been the 
 theme, the hitherto separate groups of officers and men 
 mingle together, while the silent tear, and the glow of 
 patriotic pride, spoke in eloquent terms of the presence 
 of that generous sympathy which binds man to man, and 
 is, indeed, the corner-stone of all nationality. 
 
 To cherish this spirit, and assist in cementing that bond 
 of unity which should bind us together in this crisis by 
 indissoluble bands, I have attempted, through the medium 
 of my elocutionary and dramatic experience, to interpret, 
 and to intensify, the glorious lyrics, poems, and ballads 
 that have been written by our loyal bards to commemorate 
 the noble deeds of our soldiers and sailors, and dedicated 
 by them to that soul of heroism and self-sacrifice now so 
 beautifully and potently expressed in the spirit and acts of 
 the noblest army ever marshalled to save a suffering and 
 imperilled people. 
 
 I have tendered my services to the cause of the Eepublio 
 
INTRODUCTION TO "PATRIOTIC READINGS." 17 
 
 in a spirit arising from a conviction that the citizen is bound 
 to make the music of the nation's war or fight to it. I 
 prefer to help as the trumpeter was accused of doing in 
 -^sop's fable. I am constrained to say that I have been 
 in a measure impelled to my present course from a sense 
 of gratitude in return for the ample remuneration of the 
 labors of a long professional career so generously tendered 
 by my fellow-citizens. I have striven by my professional 
 donations to prove to my countrymen that, though from 
 physical inability I was unable to continue in the field 
 during a regular campaign, I am still willing to labor that 
 I may help to revive and sustain the proper tone and unity 
 of the free and loyal States in support of our Government. 
 
 It is merely justice to myself to affirm, here, that what- 
 ever I may say or do in defence of the nation and the 
 Administration arises from a deep-seated conviction that 
 my duties as an American citizen are inseparably con- 
 nected with my duties to my Maker, and that I am bound 
 to defend the former in order to obey the commands of the 
 latter, — my country first, my friends afterwards. I oppose 
 the enemies of my country and Government as I would 
 hurl back the intruder on my hearth-stone. 
 
 The man who stands at my door with the torch and the - 
 axe, I am impelled by the promptings of self-preservation 
 to strike down. I acknowledge no tie of kindred and 
 blood under such circumstances; I strike in defence of 
 that which God has given me to protect, — of all that is 
 dear to man on earth. In the language of the law, my 
 house is my castle : the Government is the rock on which 
 my house is built; the hand that undermines the one 
 destroys the other. The Government is the law; the law 
 is the creation of the people, in their sovereign capacity as 
 a tribe or a nation. Therefore, that body to which the people 
 
 2* 
 
18 INTRODUCTION TO ^^ PATRIOTIC READINGS/' 
 
 have delegated the administration of the law becomes for 
 the time-being part and parcel of the Government. It 
 cannot be assailed without attacking the Constitution. 
 The man who, under the conceded right to criticize the 
 acts of the Government, assumes the right first to abuse 
 it, and then to embarrass its operations, by bringing its 
 character under reproach and destroying its influence, 
 and, finally, opposes or incites others to oppose its decrees, 
 becomes by such acts in the eyes of the law a traitor and 
 a rebel, as much as he who takes up arms against the legi- 
 timate Government of his country. This would be the 
 decision in the courts in time of peace ; how much more, 
 then, is the conduct of such men treasonous when the whole 
 nation is in a state of war, and the Government struggling 
 with a rebellion whose object is to dismember the country 
 and destroy the Constitution? Every word and deed cal- 
 culated to destroy the popular confidence in the power of 
 the Government to defend itself, under such circumstances, 
 is a blow aimed at the vitality of the nation, and a stab in 
 the back of every soldier whose face is turned to the armed 
 rebels who strike at him in front. The man who, covertly 
 or openly, seeks the destruction of my country's defenders, 
 or gives aid and encouragement to my country's foes, is a 
 public enemy, for whom I have nothing but the bitter word 
 and, at the proper time, the deadly blow. Those who are 
 not for the Government are against it. 
 
 I have many and dear friends in the disloyal States, as 
 well as disloyal friends in the loyal States, who are opposed 
 to my course and views in the present struggle; and though 
 I am ready to meet them in the field. North or South, to 
 try the justice of the cause I uphold, still, from a sense of 
 gratitude, I frankly affirm that my heart yearns towards 
 them, and, were I swayed by my affections instead of my 
 
POETRY A SUBSTITUE FOR SPEECH-MAKING. 19 
 
 sense of right and wrong, I should be inclined to find 
 excuses for their rebellious attitude. I cannot entirely 
 shut out of my heart and memory recollections of friendly 
 offices and kindly sympathies extended to me, in times gone 
 by, by those who, without doubt, were happier under the 
 then existing state of things than they could ever be were 
 their wildest schemes of sectional aggrandizement perfected 
 and secured. 
 
 I can truly say, ^' Not that I loved Caesar less, but that 
 I loved Rome more,^' is the cause of my antagonism to the 
 rebellious attitude of the seceding States. 
 
 latix% a SttlJStittttt tax ^^wt|-PaMng. 
 
 (An Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 '' The American Flag," by Joseph Rodman Drake, needs 
 no prologue. It is probably the finest lyric the world has 
 ever known or read'; and it is to be regretted that, when it 
 is sung, it is adapted to a mere opera-air. 
 
 When Cincinnati was threatened, and I among the rest 
 of her citizens volunteered to her defence, I was induced 
 to recite this grand national hymn under the following 
 circumstances. 
 
 Our pickets were skirmishing with those of the enemy ; 
 within sight of our intrenchments, our citizens of all classes 
 and ages had been working in the rifle-pits the previous 
 day and night, and during the morning of the day I speak 
 of, and after partaking of their mid-day meal, they were 
 resting from their labors, under the shade of some large 
 beech-trees. In passing from the head-quarters of General 
 
20 POETRY A SUBSTITUTE FOR SPEECH-MAKING. 
 
 A. J. Smitli, to Fort Mitchell, where my duty as officer of 
 the fatigue forces called me that day, I was hailed by a 
 well-known voice and asked to stop and give the amateur 
 upholders of Adam^s profession something to cheer and 
 inspirit them before resuming their labors of the after- 
 noon. "A speech ! a speech V^ was the cry. 
 
 But I had no confidence in my ability to address an 
 assemblage (in which I recognized some of our leading 
 statesmen, judges, and lawyers) in a speech upon so 
 momentous an occasion. 
 
 I simply remarked to them that it was a pleasant sight 
 to see the citizens of a great republic ignoring the con- 
 ventional lines which mark the intercourse of a large city, 
 and working together, .heart and hand, to resist the attack 
 of a common enemy. 
 
 '^ Why not, then, my friends, throw down the old walls 
 of partition which divide you politically, and, until this un- 
 natural strife is ended, present one bold unflinching front 
 to all foes of the Government and our national existence, 
 whoever they may be and from whatever quarter they may 
 come ? Why not unite, and stand fearlessly by the Govern- 
 ment as long as it is assailed, and thus manfully assert 
 your determination to uphold it and preserve it, and thereby 
 prove your love for the couutry, the whole country, and the 
 glorious old flag ?'' 
 
 I then proceeded to recite Drake's poetic address to the 
 American flag. At the close of the recitation, cheer upon 
 cheer went up, that, in the language of Shakspeare, 
 
 " made the welkin ring, 
 And mocVd the deep-mouthed thunder." 
 
 Had the enemy attacked us at that moment, I firmly believe 
 that band of citizens would, in the absence of muskets (for 
 they were not armed), have hurled themselves down the 
 
POETRY A SUBSTITUTE FOR SPEECH-MAKING. 21 
 
 hillside and manfully dealt upon the foe with their picks 
 and spades. 
 
 A sturdy old Irishman stepped out from the crowd and 
 tendered me his hand. " Faith, ^^said he, " I donH know your 
 name, sir, but that's not the matter : 'tisn't to your name 
 I have any thing to say, but ^tis to your speech ! Arrah, 
 my jewel, they brought us out here yesterday, and meself 
 and some of the others were not as well pleased as we might 
 have been at a wake or a wedding. But for meself, I will 
 venture to say, had I heard you make that speech on the 
 other side of the river, the son of Molly Dougherty would 
 have come over without a jaw or a grumble; and, faith, I 
 believe I would have been after having a good musket wid 
 me, instead of the pickaxe and spade. 
 
 " Long life to you, sir, and to your speech about the Stars 
 and the Stripes ; for if any thing can make them better 
 and brighter than they are, it's just the like of such talk as 
 yourself makes over 'em. Sure, sir, we'll all work the longer 
 and the easier because of such music as that/ 
 
 BY JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 
 
 When Freedom, from her mountain height, 
 
 UnfurPd her standard to the air, 
 She tore the azure robe of night. 
 
 And set the stars of glory there ! 
 She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
 The milky baldric of the skies. 
 And striped its pure celestial white 
 With streakings of the morning light, 
 Then, from his mansion in the sun, 
 She call'd her eagle bearer down, 
 
22 POETRY A SUBSTITUTE FOR SPEECH-MAKING. 
 
 And gave into his mighty hand 
 The symbol of her chosen land ! 
 
 Majestic monarch of the cloud, 
 
 Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
 To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, 
 And see the lightning lances driven, 
 
 When strive the warriors of the storm. 
 And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven, — 
 Child of the Sun ! to thee His given 
 To guard the banner of the free, 
 To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
 To ward away the battle-stroke, 
 And bid its blendings shine afar, 
 Like rainbows on the cloud of war. 
 The harbingers of victory ! 
 
 Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
 The sign of hope and triumph high ! 
 When speaks the signal-trumpet tone. 
 And the long line comes gleaming on, 
 Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet. 
 Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, 
 Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 
 To where thy sky-born glories burn, 
 And as his springing steps advance, 
 Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
 And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
 Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud. 
 And gory sabres rise and fall 
 Like shoots of flame on midnight pall, 
 Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 
 
 And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 
 ^ Each gallant arm that strikes below 
 
 That lovely messenger of death. 
 
 Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
 Thy stars shall glitter o*er the brave ; 
 
MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, ETC. 23 
 
 "When death, careering on the gale, 
 Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
 And frighted waves rush wildly back 
 Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
 Each dying wanderer of the sea 
 Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
 And smile to see thy splendors fly 
 In triumph o'er his closing eye. 
 
 Flag of the free heart's hope and home. 
 
 By angel-hands to valor given. 
 Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 
 
 And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
 Forever float that standard sheet , 
 
 "Where breathes the foe but falls before us. 
 With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 
 
 And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! 
 
 Hr. f intflln at fflmf in ^pingMIr, anlj Ht. f in- 
 tflln at i\t M\xtt '§mu m Mu\m^tm. 
 
 (Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 While in Springfield^ Illinois, on professional business, 
 r met Mr. Lincoln in the studio of my friend Thomas 
 Jones, the sculptor, who was modelling Mr. Lincoln's bust 
 at the time; and I had quite a lengthened conversation 
 with the future President. This was before Mr. Lincoln had 
 been inaugurated. Telegrams were received in town that 
 morning, stating that Charleston had been burned down by 
 shells thrown into it by Major Anderson. The Legislature 
 of Illinois had not yet been organized, although the mem- 
 bers were all present. This was a political trick, intended 
 
 i 
 
24 MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, 
 
 to make capital for the Democratic party. The conse- 
 quences were that great excitement prevailed in the city. 
 Mr. Lincoln remarked, in reply to my question of what he 
 thought of the aspect of things, and of our future : — 
 
 '* Sir, it appears to me we are in the midst of a great na- 
 tional crisis, and under the control of circumstances evidently 
 fashioned by the hand of Providence to produce a mighty 
 revolution in the affairs of the American people, and per- 
 haps of the entire world. But I have no fear of the result. 
 If we can only keep the people on the track, and prevent 
 scares and panics, we shall come through all right. Our 
 people, sir, are a very excitable body, apt to switch off on 
 side-tracks and at way-stations, sometimes, for the mere 
 novelty of the change, rather than for any determinate 
 object, merely because ^the lead is taken, and the cry is 
 up.' Now, sir, I do not think this is the sober second 
 thought of the people, but an impulse arising out of ex- 
 citability. Their political rulers know this, and they often 
 raise the cry of ^ Elephant !' and, you know, the popular 
 wish to see that animal is very great. Consequently, the 
 public mind is fired (as our neighbors have been firing the 
 Southern heart) ; and, you know, when the pulse is quick, 
 the muscle is active, and matter is moved, while the judg- 
 ment is very apt, for the time-being, ^to go out wisiting/ 
 as your friend Mr. TVeller says. [I had been reading Pick- 
 wick the evening before.] Xow, sir, I hold in my hands,'' 
 he continued (crumpling up several telegrams), *'some of 
 the most mischievous matters this nation has to contend 
 with, — things gotten up and flashed over the country to 
 create fogs and mists, in order that designing men mav mis- 
 lead their more honest neighbors. But, sir, there is a sun 
 whose beams scatter and dispel all such foul vapors, — the 
 sun of truth ; and if we will only await its coming forth, — 
 
AND MR. LINCOLN IN WASHINGTON. 25 
 
 for, no matter how beclouded it may be, it will come fortli 
 (the longer hidden the brighter it will shine), it will 
 enlighten the vision and gladden the hearts of all who de- 
 sire light and not darkness. Our way is gloomy, and it 
 may become blacker and more murky; but, sir, the light 
 of God's providence will make all clear yet. To be sure, 
 we may not have a bonfire at the beginning of every day's 
 progress, but we shall find illuminations often enough, if 
 we will only keep steadily on the track, be cool and calm 
 in the face of danger, and have faith in the future. We 
 shall come out of all this seeming chaos and confusion a 
 wiser and a better people. There is no doubt that in such 
 a storm as that which is brewing in our country, there 
 must be many wrecks and much suffering; much of valuable 
 matter will have to go overboard ; but enough will be saved 
 to make a good voyage yet, and, I hope, to set the ship all 
 right for another cruise. 
 
 ^^Let the men to whom are intrusted the interests of the 
 people illuminate these truths, and think more of the nation 
 than of themselves. Let them review their oaths of office, 
 and consider how fearfully responsible they are for all 
 their acts in this crisis. Thus influenced and directed, the 
 common enemy will be beaten down, and order restored. 
 Let the people know the facts, let them see the danger; 
 but let every effort be made to allay public fears, to inspire 
 the masses with confidence and hope, and, above all, to 
 frown down every attempt to create a panic. 
 
 " Thus the public pulse will beat healthily, and we can 
 safely judge of and contend with the disease which is de- 
 veloping itself in the social and political body of the nation 
 
 ^^ There is, no doubt, sir, a great conflict for principle im- 
 pending, and we must be, as our forefathers were, in the right, 
 and success is certain. The Almighty will bring us safely 
 
 3 
 
26 MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, 
 
 through this, if we only ke<ep cool; and maintain the right 
 patiently and fearlessly. I have no fears for the result, and 
 I don't intend to have any, no matter how things work/' 
 
 I began my conversation with Mr. Lincoln without intent 
 or purpose. I had no sympathy with him, nor with the 
 Eepublican party of that day; yet I shook his hand, im- 
 pressed, at parting, with the conviction that Abraham Lin- 
 coln had a mission to perform, and that he would perform 
 it according to his convictions of justice and duty. I had 
 long thought that the gathering corruptions in political 
 matters required, for their cure, treatment of a more posi- 
 tive and thorough character than our national doctors had 
 been dealing in for many years past; and I now began to 
 think that the new treatment — under the new school and 
 practice of the President — would, although it might possi- 
 bly be administered with a parable-like story or a pleasant 
 joke, prove any thing but pleasant in its operation to some 
 patients. 
 
 In speaking of this interview to my father, on my return 
 to Ohio, I said, — 
 
 '^ I have seen the man who is, under Providence, to con- 
 trol and direct the crisis and the consequences in this our 
 day of trial and tribulation. A man combining the firm- 
 ness (which may lie concealed under a ^method,' but still 
 is firmness) of General Jackson, with the amiability of 
 Henry Clay; a man not one jot or tittle less imbued 
 with patriotism and love of country than those great 
 and good men were. Abraham Lincoln, if I am not 
 mistaken in him, will disappoint two sets of men, — those 
 who voted for him, thinking to control him in his ad- 
 ministration, and those who voted against him, thinking 
 he was not the man to master the situation of affairs and 
 bring order out of chaos.'' 
 
AND MR. LINCOLN IN WASHINGTON. 27 
 
 * My father was an old-line Democrat, of the Jefiferson 
 and Jackson stamp; and I shall never forget his look 
 when saying to me, the tears choking his utterance : — 
 
 "May God grant that your impressions prove prophe- 
 cies ! We want an Jionest man now, and not a mere politician, 
 to direct us. These are evil times, and evil men are at 
 work, for evil purposes. Honesty and truth may set us 
 right, and if Mr. Lincoln will forget party and self, and 
 serve his God and his country, I may yet be spared the 
 sad fate of going down to a grave dug in the soil of a bleed- 
 ing and a dismembered country. party! party! what 
 a hydra-headed monster thou art ! We must kill party- 
 spirit, my son, or party-spirit will kill the nation.'' 
 
 My father died before the battle of Bull Run took 
 place, and before that next cruel thing was done, — the cow- 
 ardly pleading for peace so basely put forth by the Breck- 
 inridge wing of the Democratic party. Thank God ! these 
 two inflictions were spared the old man, who loved his 
 country, its history, and its institutions, truly and deeply, 
 and who could have conceived of nothing so entirely 
 wicked as to countenance even the supposition that the 
 United States of America could ever become the cZis-united 
 States; and, worse than all, that a Democrat could have 
 been found base enough to say to those who were holding 
 the knife at the throat of their bleeding country, " Let 
 them alone ; let them go ! We know they are murderers 
 and assassins, who have struck a deadly blow at their life- 
 giving mother; but we may want them in the future. Let 
 them alone ; let them go !'' ' 
 
 Let any disinterested man compare the subject-matter of 
 these remarks of Mr. Lincoln, with his course from the 
 time he left Springfield until he arrived in Washington 
 City, together with his suggestions and actions since. Let 
 
28 MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, 
 
 them, I repeat, compare what has gone before of his acts 
 and deeds, with what he is doing, and they cannot fail, I 
 think, to acknowledge that his whole course has been con- 
 sistent and honest, and so shaped as to render available 
 ^'ihe events and circumstances'' which have arisen out of 
 the acts of the Catilines of the South, and the consequences 
 thus forced upon the Administration. 
 
 That Mr. Lincoln is a joker, we know; and that he is a 
 serious thinker, and an honest man, we know also. That 
 this same "levity'' (as some white-haired sinners call it) 
 of Mr. Lincoln has been the " nice fence'^ with which he 
 has foiled many a well-aimed thrust made at his arguments 
 by his opponents, can plainly be seen by any man " who 
 looks through the deeds" as well as the "words of men.'' 
 The following quotation may not be inapplicable to our 
 subject: — 
 
 " He hath a right ready wit and a queasy mode of raillery 
 that to querulous questioners may not sit so nicely as might 
 be on shoulders somewhat bowed with dignities and honors. 
 But yet, beshrew me, his mirth has meaning in it, and I 
 would rather quarrel with than miss it. Ah, he's a merry 
 man, ay, a merry and a proper; and for one like me, whose 
 crutch and spectacles will sometimes chide the quips and 
 quillets of heartier days, there can be no better gossip to 
 counsel, or crack a nut or joke withal, than our good 
 keeper of the seals and parchments." 
 
 Melchior Muhlenburg, the patriot parson of the Revo- 
 lution, said, — 
 
 **Iii this, the morn of Freedom's day, 
 There is a time to fight and pray."* 
 
 * Extract from " The Wagoner of the Alleghanies/' by Thomas 
 Buchanan Read. 
 
AND MR. LINCOLN IN WASHINGTON. 29 
 
 Mr. Lincoln thinks, I suppose, that there is a time to 
 joke and pray; and if, as his detractors affirm, he joked all 
 the way to Washington, if he did not pray also (as we be- 
 lieve he did, and fervently, too), he at least desired the 
 prayers of others, as the circumstances recorded in the fol- 
 lowing poem will show. It is from the pen of a lady of 
 Philadelphia, Mrs. Anna Bache. 
 
 f mtflln at Spingfoto, Ififil 
 
 "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." 
 
 There stood a man in the West Countrie, 
 
 Slender and tall and gaunt was he ; 
 
 His form was not cast in a courtier's mould, 
 
 But his eye was bright, and his bearing bold. 
 
 A crowd had gathered to hear him speak, 
 
 And the blood surged up in his sunburned cheek ; 
 
 Familiar with toil was his outstretched hand, 
 
 For a man of the people was he, 
 Who had learnM to obey, ere calPd to command.— 
 
 Such men are the pride of the West Countrie. 
 
 **My friends, — elected by your choice, 
 
 From the long-cherish'd home I go, 
 Endear'd by heaven-permitted joys, 
 
 Sacred by heaven-permitted woe. 
 I go, to take the helm of state. 
 
 While loud the waves of faction roar, 
 And by His aid, supremely great, 
 Upon whose will all tempests wait, 
 
 I hope to steer the bark to shore. 
 Not since the days when Washington 
 To battle led our patriots on, 
 Have clouds so dark above us met, 
 Have dangers dire so close beset. 
 3* 
 
30 MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, 
 
 And he had never saved the land 
 
 By deeds in human wisdom planned, 
 
 But that with Christian faith he sought 
 
 Guidance and blessing, where he ought. 
 
 Like him, I seek for aid divine, — 
 
 His faith, his hope, his trust, are mine. 
 
 Pray for me, friends, that God may make 
 
 My judgment clear, my duty plain ; 
 For if the Lord no wardship take. 
 
 The watchmen mount the towers in vain/^ 
 
 He ceased ; and many a manly breast 
 
 Panted with strong emotion's swell, 
 And many a lip the sob suppressed, 
 
 And tears from manly eyelids fell. 
 And hats came off, and heads were bow'd, 
 
 As Lincoln slowly moved away ; 
 And then, heart-spoken, from the crowd, 
 In accents earnest, clear, and loud, 
 
 Came one brief sentence, "We loiU pray!'' 
 
 Mrs. Anxa Bache. 
 
 Desiring that Mr. Lincoln's record may be always before 
 the public, we copy here his letter explaining some of his 
 apparent inconsistencies, as they are termed. 
 
 (Extract from the Frankfort (Kentucky) "Commonwealth," 
 April 26, 1864.) 
 
 The circumstances which elicited from the President the 
 letter are, as we understand them, about as follows : — 
 
 The Senior of the Commonwealth, Colonel Hodges, by 
 invitation, accompanied Grovernor Bramlette, and the Honor- 
 able Archie Dixon, on their recent visit to the Executive 
 Mansion at Washington, where they had interviews with 
 the President and the Secretary of War. 
 
 At the close of the interview between President Lin- 
 
AND MR. LINCOLN IN WASHINGTON. 31 
 
 coin, Grovernor Bramlette and Senator Dixon, the President 
 pleasantly remarked, as the other gentlemen were about re- 
 tiring, that he was apprehensive that Kentucky felt un- 
 kindly towards him, in consequence of not properly under- 
 standing the difficulties by which he was surrounded, in 
 his efforts to put down this rebellion, and that he would 
 explain to the gentlemen some of those difficulties, if they 
 felt inclined to hear him. A willingness was at once mani- 
 fested, and the President explained to them the difficulties 
 which he had alluded to. 
 
 On a subsequent occasion, in a conversation with Mr. 
 Lincoln, Colonel Hodges remarked that he was satisfied 
 that the President was greatly misunderstood by many 
 of the citizens of Kentucky, and that he would greatly 
 oblige him if he would write out the remarks made to 
 Governor Bramlette and Senator Dixon, in order that, with 
 the President's permission, they might be published in the 
 *^ Commonwealth 3" that, if published, the Colonel doubted 
 not they would remove much of the prejudice which was 
 attempted to be created against the President in Kentucky. 
 
 The President took the matter into consideration, and, 
 shortly after his return home, the Colonel received the fol- 
 lowing, which we would commend to the deliberate con- 
 sideration of the patriotic people of Kentucky : — 
 
 ''Executive Mansion, | 
 Washington, April 4, 1864. J 
 
 "A. G. Hodges, Esq., Frankfort, Kentucky: 
 
 *'My dear Sir: — You ask me to put in writing the sub- 
 stance of what I verbally said the other day, in your presence, 
 to Governor Bramlette and Senator Dixon. It was about as 
 follows : — 
 
 "I am naturally anti-slavery. If slavery is not wron^;, 
 nothing is wrong. I cannot remember when I did not so think 
 
32 MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, 
 
 and feel. And yet I have never understood that the Presi- 
 dency conferred upon me an unrestricted right to act officially 
 upon this judgment and feeling. It was in the oath I took that 
 I would, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend 
 the Constitution of the United States. I could not take the 
 office without taking the oath. Nor was it my view that I might 
 take the oath to get power, and break the oath in using the 
 power. I understood, too, that in ordinary civil administra- 
 tion this oath even forbade me to practically indulge in pri- 
 mary, abstract judgment on the moral question of slavery. I 
 had publicly declared this many times and in many ways. 
 And I aver that, to this day, I have done no official act in mere 
 deference to my abstract judgment and feeling on slavery. 
 
 **I did understand, however, that my oath to preserve the 
 Constitution to the best of my ability, imposed upon me the 
 duty of preserving, by every indispensable means, that Govern- 
 ment — that nation — of which that Constitution was the organic 
 law. Was it possible to lose the nation and yet preserve the 
 Constitution ? 
 
 " By general law, life and limb must be protected ; yet often 
 a limb must be amputated to save a life ; but a life is never 
 wisely given to save a limb. I felt that measures otherwise 
 unconstitutional might become lawful by becoming indispen- 
 sable to the preservation of the Constitution, through the pre- 
 servation of the nation. Right or wrong, I assumed this 
 ground, and now avow it. I could not feel that to the best of 
 my ability I had even tried to preserve the Constitution, if, to 
 save slavery, or any minor matter, I should permit the wreck 
 of Government, country, and Constitution altogether. When, 
 early in the war, General Fremont attempted military emanci- 
 pation, I forbade it, because I did not then think it an indis- 
 pensable necessity. When, a little later. General Cameron, 
 then Secretary of War, suggested the arming of the blacks, I 
 objected, because I did not yet think it an indispensable neces- 
 sity. When, still later, General Hunter attempted military 
 emancipation, I again forbade it, because I did not yet think 
 the indispensable necessity had come. 
 
AND MR. LINCOLN IN WASHINGTON. 33 
 
 "When, in March and May and July, 1862, I made ear- 
 nest and successive appeals to the border States to favor com- 
 pensated emancipation, I believed the indispensable necessity 
 for military emancipation and arming the blacks would come, 
 unless averted by that measure. They declined the proposition ; 
 and I was, in my best judgment, driven to the alternative of 
 either surrendering the Union, and with it the Constitution, or 
 of laying strong hands upon the colored element. I chose the 
 latter. In choosing it, I hoped for greater gain than loss ; but 
 of this I was not entirely confident. More than a year of trial 
 now shows no loss by it in our foreign relations, none in our 
 home popular sentiment, none in our white military force, — 
 no loss by it anyhow or anywhere. On the contrary, it shows 
 a gain of quite a hundred and thirty thousand soldiers, sea- 
 men, and laborers. These are palpable facts, about which, as 
 faats, there can be no cavilling. We have the men, and we 
 could not have had them without the measure. 
 
 "And now, let any Union man, who complains of the mea- 
 sure, test himself, by writing down in one line that he is for 
 taking these one hundred and thirty thousand men from the 
 Union side, and placing them where they would be but for the 
 measure he condemns. If he cannot face his cause so stated, 
 it is only because he cannot face the truth. 
 
 " I add a word, which was not in the verbal conversation. 
 In telling this tale, I attempt no compliment to my own saga- 
 city. I claim not to have controlled events, but confess plainly 
 that events have controlled me. Now, at the end of three 
 years' struggle, the nation's condition is not what either party 
 or any man devised or expected. God alone can claim it. 
 Whither it is tending seems plain. If God wills the removal 
 of a great wrong, and" wills also that we of the North, as well 
 as you of the South, shall pay fairly for our complicity in that 
 wrong, impartial history will find therein new causes to attest 
 and revere the justice and goodness of God. 
 
 "Yours, truly, 
 
 "A. Lincoln.'^ 
 
34 
 
 The following letter and poem were received on the 15th 
 of February, 1864, and read in the Senate-Chamber, on 
 the occasion of one of my patriotic readings for the bene- 
 fit of the United States Sanitary Commission. 
 
 Previous to commencing my reading, I met the Presi- 
 dent in the private room of the Vice-President, and asked 
 him if the sentiment of the poem met with his approval, 
 as well as the poetry. He replied, — 
 
 ^' Sir, I admire the one and approve the other, entirely 
 and heartily.^' 
 
 I read the poem in the course of the evening, and, judg- 
 ing from the applause (loud and long) bestowed on it, the 
 audience endorsed, in every sense, the poetry and the senti- 
 ment quite as fully and feelingly as Mr. Lincoln. 
 
 "Executive Mansion, 1 
 
 Washington, February 15, 1864. j 
 
 **My dear Sir: — The President of the United States directs 
 me to send you the enclosed little poem, and to request that, if 
 entirely convenient, you will please to read it at the Senate- 
 Chamber this evening. 
 
 "I have the honor to be 
 
 **your obedient servant, 
 ** Jno. G, Nicolay, 
 
 ^^ Frivate Secretary, 
 "James E. Murdoch, Esq.'* 
 
 "The following patriotic lines were written by one of the most dis- 
 tinguished statesmen of the United States, in answer to a lady's inquiry j 
 whether he was for peace." — Editor, J 
 
 |lm|f0r |ra«? |fs! 
 
 For the peace which rings out from the cannon's throat, 
 % And the suasion of shot and shell, 
 
 Till rebellion's spirit is trampled down 
 To the depths of its kindred hell. 
 
AND ME. LINCOLN IN WASHINGTON. 35 
 
 For the peace which shall follow the squadrons' tramp, 
 
 Where the brazen trumpets bray, 
 And, drunk with the fury of storm and strife, 
 
 The blood-red chargers neigh. 
 
 For the peace which shall wash out the leprous stain 
 
 Of our slavery, foul and grim, 
 And shall sunder the fetters which creak and clank 
 
 On the down-trodden dark man^s limb. 
 
 I will curse him as traitor, and false of heart, 
 Who would shrink from the conflict now. 
 
 And will stamp it, with blistering, burning brand. 
 On his hideous, Cain-like brow. 
 
 Out ! out of the way ! with your spurious peace. 
 
 Which would make us rebellion's slaves ! 
 We will rescue our land from the traitorous grasp. 
 
 Or cover it over with graves. 
 
 Out ! out of the way ! with your knavish schemes. 
 
 You trembling and trading pack ! 
 Crouch away in the dark, like a sneaking hound 
 
 That its master has beaten back. 
 
 You would barter the fruit of our fathers' blood, 
 
 And sell out the Stripes and Stars, 
 To purchase a place with rebellion's votes, 
 
 Or escape from rebellion's scars. 
 
 By the widow's wail, by the mother's tears. 
 
 By the orphans who cry for bread, 
 By our sons who fell, we will never yield 
 
 Till rebellion's soul is dead. 
 
36 THE PRESCIENCE OF THE POET. 
 
 Wilt '§xmum tti tlje f ott. 
 
 (Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 The following lines are from a poem by Thomas Bu- 
 chanan Read, Esq., entitled " The New Pastoral,'^ published 
 about ten years ago. They derive their present interest 
 mainly from the fact that they are singularly prophetic of 
 events which now form the murky clouds enshrouding the 
 whole nation in one common gloom, and of the rainbow 
 arch of hope which will hereafter break forth and dispel 
 the darkness in the ordered time of Him who hath said, 
 ^* I make peace and create evil.'' 
 
 Mr. Read seems to have been impressed with the idea 
 of awakening the enthusiasm of the people in favor of 
 their country, by elevating them above mere party strifes, 
 and filling them with the inspiration of a great cause. 
 
 In one of the passages, you will observe, he anticipates 
 the time when, through the machinations of the artful and 
 designing demagogue, this fair land may be divided and 
 desolated by civil war, and, with surprising prescience, 
 signalizes, and almost names, the man who, from the ranks 
 of toil and private life, may arise to redeem the nation. 
 Whether in this peculiar passage he had the present Chief 
 Magistrate in view, it is not for me to say; but certainly the 
 reader cannot fail to distinguish something like a portrait 
 of that President who, born among the people and in his 
 early life devoted to hard toil, may, with the blessing of 
 divine Providence, prove to be the accepted chieftain 
 of the deliverance of the Republic, and the perpetuation 
 of the Union. 
 
THE PRESCIENCE OP THE POET. 37 
 
 This extract was first read in the Hall of Representatives 
 at Washington, on the occasion of a benefit for the sick 
 and wounded soldiers. A large and distinguished audience 
 was present; the extract was part of my introduction; and, 
 as I uttered the prophecy concerning the man of the West, 
 Mr. Lincoln entered the chamber and seated himself in a 
 chair on the right of the Speaker's stand, near the entrance. 
 He was not observed for some moments, but gradually his 
 presence was acknowledged by loud applause, which finally 
 became general, as the application of his position and ser- 
 vices to the poet's language became apparent and general. 
 I was not aware of his presence, till, pausing in respect to 
 the applause, I inadvertently turned, and saw the President 
 in the chair near to the door. He came late, and, not 
 wishing to disturb the speaker, he had entered alone, and 
 quietly seated himself in the vacant chair. 
 
 ^^tratt ixm %\t l^eto |astflral 
 
 BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. 
 
 Oh, to roam, like the rivers, through empires of woods, 
 Where the king of the eagles in majesty broods, 
 Or to ride the wild horse o'er the boundless domain, 
 And to drag the wild buffalo down to the plain. 
 There to chase the fleet stag, and to track the huge bear, 
 And to face the lithe panther at bay in his lair. 
 Are a joy which alone cheers the pioneer's breast, 
 For the only true hunting-ground lies in the West ! 
 
 Leave the tears to the maiden, the fears to the child, 
 While the future stands beckoning afar in the wild ; 
 For there Freedom, more fair, walks the primeval land ; 
 Where the wild deer all court the caress of her hand, 
 
 4 
 
88 THE PRESCIENCE OP THE POET. 
 
 There the deep forests fall, and the old shadows fly, 
 And the palace and temple leap into the sky. 
 Oh, the East holds no place where the onward can rest. 
 And alone there is room in the land of the West 1 
 
 Let contemplation riew the future scene. 
 
 Afar the woods before the vision fly, 
 
 Swift as the shadow o'er the meadow-grass 
 
 Chased by the sunshine, and a realm of farms 
 
 Overspreads the country wide, where many a spire 
 
 Springs in the valleys, and on distant hills, — 
 
 The watch-towers of the land. Here quiet herds 
 
 Shall crop the ample pasture, and on slopes 
 
 Doze through the summer noon. While every beast 
 
 Which prowls, a terror to the frontier fold, 
 
 Shall only live in some remember'd tale, 
 
 Told by tradition in the lighted hall. 
 
 When the red grat-e usurps the wooded hearth. 
 
 Here shall the city spread its noisy streets. 
 
 And groaning steamers chafe along the wharves ; 
 
 While hourly o'er the plain, with streaming plume, 
 
 Like a swift herald bringing news of peace. 
 
 The rattling train shall fly ; and from the East — 
 
 E'en from the Atlantic to the new-found shores 
 
 Where far Pacific rolls, in storm or rest. 
 
 Washing his sands of gold — the arrowy track 
 
 Shall stretch its iron bond through all the land. 
 
 Then these interior plains shall be as they 
 
 Which hear the ocean roar ; and Northern lakes 
 
 Shall bear their produce, and return them wealth , 
 
 And Mississippi, father of the floods, 
 
 Perform their errands to the Mexic Gulf, 
 
 And send them back the tropic bales and fruits. 
 
 Then shall the generations musing here 
 
 Dream of the troublous days before their time. 
 
 And antiquaries point the very spot 
 
 Where rose the first rude cabin, and the space 
 
THE PRESCIENCE OF THE POET. 39 
 
 Where stood the forest chapel with its graves, 
 
 And where the earliest marriage rites were said. 
 
 Here, in the middle of the nation's arms, 
 
 Perchance the mightiest inland mart shall spring ; 
 
 Here the great statesman from the ranks of toil 
 
 May rise, with judgment clear, as strong as wise, 
 
 And, with a well-directed patriot blow, 
 
 Reclinch the rivets in our union-bands, 
 
 "Which tinkering knaves have striven to set ajar I 
 
 Here shall, perchance, the mighty bard be born. 
 
 With voice to sweep and thrill the nation's heart, 
 
 Like his own hand upon the corded harp. 
 
 His songs shall be as precious girths of gold. 
 
 Reaching through all the quarters of the land. 
 
 Inlaid so deep within the country's weal, 
 
 That they shall hold when heavier bands shall fail, 
 
 Eaten by rust, or broke by traitor blows. 
 
 Heaven speed his coming I He is needed now I 
 
 He wisely spake who said, ** Let me but sing 
 
 The songs, and let who will enact the laws." 
 
 There are whose lips are touch'd with living fire ; 
 
 In this great moment are they silent now ? 
 
 Lift up your foreheads, ye glorious few, 
 
 Exalt your laurels in the gusty air ! 
 
 And, like brave heralds on a windy hill. 
 
 Let your clear voices as. a bugle ring ! 
 
 The wild time needs you. There are trembling hearts' 
 
 To strengthen and assure ; and there are tongues. 
 
 Uttering they know not what, that should be drown'd, 
 
 And babbling lips that should be fiU'd with song, 
 
 Lest they breathe treason unaware. Who dares. 
 
 Like that bad angel which dismember'd heaven. 
 
 Stand forth, and, with *' disunion" on his lips. 
 
 Earn endless infamy ? None are so base. 
 
 Or if he lives — the world on land and sea 
 
 Hides many monsters — let his villain tongue, 
 
 In its proclaiming, struck with palsy, cleave — 
 
40 THE PRESCIENCE OP THE POET. 
 
 Cleave to the root, as with a ten years' drought, 
 And rot to ashes in the traitor's throat ! 
 And may his arm which lifts the severing sword 
 Be lightning-shiver'd ere it gives the blow ! 
 And on his brow be branded these black words : 
 " Behold the Iscariot of his native land V' 
 Then drive him forth in all his impotence, — 
 The wide earth's exile, — an abhorred show ! 
 
 thou, my country, may the future see 
 Thy shape majestic stand supreme as now, 
 And every stain which mars thy starry robe, 
 In the white sun of truth be bleach'd away ! 
 Hold thy grand posture with unswerving mien, 
 Firm as a statue proud of its bright form. 
 Whose purity would daunt the vandal hand 
 In fury raised to shatter ! From thine eye 
 Let the clear light of freedom still dispread 
 The broad, unclouded, stationary noon ! 
 Still with thy right hand on the fasces lean, 
 And with the other point the living source 
 Whence all thy glory comes ; and where unseen, 
 But still all-seeing, the great patriot souls 
 Whose swords and wisdom left us thus enrich'd, 
 Look down and note how we fulfil our trust ! 
 Still hold beneath thy fix'd and sandaFd foot 
 The broken sceptre and the tyrant's gyves ; 
 And let thy stature shine above the world, 
 A form of terror and of loveliness ! 
 (Published in 1850.) 
 
THE RELICS. 41 
 
 (Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 I FIRMLY believe Abraham Lincoln, our Chief Magistrate, 
 to be earnest, honest, and truthful, and solely bent on 
 serving the country for the country^s sake. I also believe 
 him to be imbued with unbounded faith in the justice of 
 our country's cause, and with a never-failing hope that the 
 efforts of his loyal countrymen throughout the length and 
 breadth of the land, strengthened by the mercy and grace 
 of Almighty God, will restore peace to the people and unity 
 to the nation. In consideration of these truths, I have pre- 
 pared, and will cause to be presented to the President of 
 the nation, a memorial emblematic of the noble virtues of 
 the people whom he represents, and of that trust in Pro- 
 vidence by which his public acts have ever been impelled. 
 I desire to bring to public remembrance, by the gift I have 
 prepared, and which will be presented to Mr. Lincoln in 
 behalf of the loyal men and women of America, some of 
 those great national events upon which rests the true glory 
 of our American Republic. 
 
 Among other mementoes fondly cherished, I have in my 
 possession a piece of the Treaty Elm of William Penn, a 
 part of the veritable keel of the old United States frigate 
 Alliance, and a fragment of the flag-halliards of the noble 
 fihip Cumberland, lately lost in Chesapeake Bay. 
 
 In the form of an ornamental paper-weight, I have 
 caused to be placed together these authentic relics of 
 three great periods of our national history, — the treaty 
 of William Penn with the aborigines, the unfurling of 
 the flag of our Republic in 76, and the equally heroic 
 
 4* 
 
t2 THE RELICS. 
 
 defence of that flag against the formidable domestic treason 
 with which we are now contending. This memento, though 
 of but little intrinsic value, is to me, and I feel assured it 
 will be to the President, of inestimable price, as a relic of 
 our country's history, and a memorial of the many noble 
 charities which have been established during the present 
 war to aid the sick and wounded soldiers and their suffering 
 families. The cheerful, bountiful, and laborious efforts of 
 these truly humane institutions, aided, and in many instances 
 inaugurated, by the ladies, present a grand and generous 
 offering of a free people to the noble army of patriots 
 ^ whose stalwart arms and undaunted hearts are the bul- 
 warks of the country. This offering was conceived and 
 will be tendered in a truely Christian and patriotic spirit; 
 and its record will forever remain to express the heart- 
 felt sympathy and devotion which the American women 
 manifest for their gallant defenders. It will ever prove 
 how dear to them is the cause their soldiers bleed for, 
 and how precious is every drop of blood shed and every 
 pang endured by their countrymen. The sufferings of our 
 army, and the sustaining sympathy of our noble country- 
 women, have thrown around the nation and its starry 
 emblem a halo of religious sanctity, an atmosphere of self- 
 sacrificing devotion, which will forever vindicate our 
 patriotism from the sneers of foreign critics, and add an 
 almost sacred glory to the history of republican institu- 
 tions. 
 
 In order to revive in the public mind the recollections 
 of the past, of old times and old things, and to connect 
 them with the passing events of the present, I will here 
 introduce a few words of comment and description re- 
 garding the articles which compose the mementoes I have 
 prepared. 
 
THE RELICS. 43 
 
 First, a piece of the elm-tree which stood on the shores 
 of the Delaware near the city of Philadelphia, under whose 
 branches William Penn made his treaty with the Indians. 
 The morning after the old tree had been blown down, about 
 fifty years ago, my father. Lieutenant Thomas Murdoch, a 
 resident of my native city, Philadelphia, cut a piece of 
 the wood to keep as a memento of the locality and the 
 event that had made it memorable. 
 
 Second, a piege of the wood of the keel of the old 
 frigate Alliance, a ship whose log-book recorded triumphs 
 and incidents as glorious as the achievements of any vessel 
 in the navies of the world. 
 
 She carried the pennant of that old sea-king, Com- 
 modore Paul Jones, and bore the first American flag that 
 was ever saluted in a foreign port. 
 
 My father (who, I am proud to say, commanded a volun- 
 teer battery in the War of 1812, and was a great venerator 
 of every thing connected with the history of his country) 
 was familiar with the story of the ship, and with the old 
 hulk which lay in the mud of Petty's Island, opposite the 
 extreme northern section of Philadelphia, for nearly half 
 a century. Fifteen years ago, or more, perhaps, the 
 remains were removed, to make way for improvements; 
 and my father caused the workmen to cut out pieces of 
 the keel, which were found to be in good preservation, to 
 add to his stock of relics. 
 
 Third, and last, a piece of the halliards of the flag of 
 the frigate Cumberland, whose gallant defence against the 
 iron-clad Merrimac has excited the wonder and admiration 
 of the world. This relic was procured from the wreck and 
 presented to me by Mr. George B. Coal, of Baltimore, a 
 ehort time after the conflict. 
 
 These articles are wrought into a stand on which rests a 
 
44 THE RELICS. 
 
 miniature anclior witli a coil of cable attached, forming an 
 emblematical paper-weight. 
 
 The anchor, being the received emblem of faith and 
 hope, suggested the appropriateness of the present to Mr. 
 Lincoln. 
 
 The treaty- tree represents the colonial state of the country. 
 
 The war-ship, the struggle by which our forefathers 
 established the present Grovernment. 
 
 The shreds of the halliards, the foul conspiracy in tho 
 South to overthrow that Government. 
 
 The simplicity and truthfulness of the President's cha- 
 racter, the peaceable and humble nature of his early pur- 
 suits, his manly and determined opposition to wrong, the 
 firmness with which he took his stand at the onset of the 
 rebellion, together with his hopeful dependence on the 
 protecting arm of Providence, and his firm trust in the 
 mercy and goodness of our Father in heaven, — all these 
 traits of a just and good man, holding the helm of state 
 in a crisis involving the happiness and safety of all, point 
 to him as the man of the nation most fitting at this 
 moment to possess these emblems of the noble actions 
 of his countrymen. In order to throw around this pre- 
 sent, so simple in itself, and yet so full of rich historic 
 value, the charm of poetic enforcement and appreciation, 
 I will call to my aid a poem whose sublime sentiment 
 seems to me to be equally applicable to the country and 
 to her honest and able Chief Magistrate, the immortal 
 lines of our own poet and fervent advocate of truth, William 
 Cullen Bryant: — 
 
 " Ah, nerer shall the land forget 
 
 How gush'd the life-blood of the brave, — 
 Qush'd warm with hope and courage yet 
 Upon the soil they sought to save. 
 
THE RELICS. 46 
 
 "Soon rested they who fought; but thou, 
 
 Who minglest in the harder strife. 
 
 For truths which men receive not now, 
 
 Thy warfare only ends with life. 
 
 *' A friendless warfare, lingering long 
 Through weary day and weary year; 
 A wild and many-weapon'd throng 
 Hangs on thy front and flank and rear. 
 
 *'Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof. 
 And blench not at thy chosen lot : 
 The timid good may stand aloof. 
 
 The sage may frown, — but faint thou not. 
 
 " Nor heed the shaft too surely cast. 
 The foul and blasting bolt of scorn ; 
 For with thy side shall dwell, at last. 
 The victory of endurance born. 
 
 Truth crushed to earth shall rise again ; 
 
 The eternal years of God are hers ; 
 But Error, wounded, writhes in pain. 
 
 And dies among her worshippers. 
 
 "Yea, though thou liest upon the dust. 
 When they who helped thee flee in fear, 
 Die full of hope and manly trust. 
 Like those who fell in battle here ! 
 
 " Another hand thy sword shall wield, 
 Another hand the standard wave. 
 Till from the trumpet's mouth is peaFd 
 The blast of triumph o'er thy grave I" 
 
46 THE MEMENTO TO SECRETARY CHASE. 
 
 n 
 
 In every stage of human progress and trial, either in 
 an upward or downward direction, the Almighty prescience 
 and wisdom have called forth some power or persons to 
 master the situation, and to direct and control the means 
 by which the event and circumstance of the period or 
 its crisis has been advanced and perfected. 
 
 In the affairs of the Revolution our forefathers were 
 blessed with a man and a genius by whose direction and 
 example order was brought out of chaos, and the military 
 elements of the struggle so combined and employed that, 
 though baffled and delayed for a time in their operations, 
 success eventually crowned and rewarded them. 
 
 As George Washington was the bright particular star 
 of the struggle whose triumph gave to the world a govern- 
 ment which is the shield and staff of all the weak and the 
 weary of the nations of the earth, who seek its shelter and 
 support, so Eobert Morris was the polar star by whose 
 directing influence the financial affairs of the Revolution 
 (though storm-tossed and buffeted by the waves of adverse 
 seas) were brought to shelter and safe harborage. The 
 star of Washington's popular reward culminated and blazed 
 in the meridian of his own times, and will continue to 
 shine as long as the sacred fires shall burn on the altar of 
 the temple of Fame. 
 
 The services of Morris, though of no less value intrin- 
 sically than those of the nation's general, were not of a 
 character as appreciable to the masses. The eye which can 
 see the result of a military campaign may not discern and 
 comprehend the subtle ramifications of financial diplomacy ; 
 
THE MEMENTO TO SECRETARY CHASE. 47 
 
 therefore the people who could as a body appreciate the 
 services of Washington when victory crowned them with 
 success, might not, and it is to be feared were not able to, 
 distinguish and appreciate the genius and the means by which 
 the brave and suiFering soldiers were fed and clothed, even as 
 poorly and as scantily as it was often their sad fate to be. 
 
 Although the full measure of fame and justice was not 
 awarded to Robert Morris in his lifetime, yet his services 
 and sacrifices are so incorporated with the history of the 
 Revolution, that so long as that record stands he cannot be 
 forgotten. Future historians will regild the bright letters 
 in which his services were first recorded, — the just tribute 
 paid to his merits by those who knew and felt that to the 
 genius and labors of the great financier of 1776 the nation 
 was as largely indebted for its independence and glory 
 as it was to the devoted bravery of its gallant defenders 
 in the field. 
 
 History, it is said, reproduces itself. The great rebellion 
 followed the great revolution. The financial struggle of 
 the one is the history of the other. Old landmarks were 
 swept away, and a new line marked out and followed. A 
 man and a policy were developed in one crisis; a man 
 and a policy arose in the other. The treasury ship was 
 stranded by the pirates who deserted her in 1860, but the 
 wreckers did not board her before a new commander came 
 to her rescue; energy and skill soon floated and manned 
 her; and now, in 1864, she is steadily sailing before the 
 favoring gales of credit and success, riding the waves of 
 that perilous ocean in safety, in whose fogs and on whose 
 shoals and rocks she was threatened with shipwreck. 
 
 Salmon P. Chase has not only accomplished the herculean 
 task of averting all the threatened and existing dangers 
 by which the finances of the nation were surrounded, but 
 
48 THE MEMENTO TO SECRETARY CHASE. 
 
 he has turned peril into security. The elements of weak- 
 ness in our system of banking and currency have become, 
 under the influence of his foresight and genius, a basis of 
 strength. Not only have the finances of the country been 
 so managed as fully to supply the gigantic wants of the 
 national policy (forced into operation by the insurgents 
 and their aiders and abettors at home and abroad), but also 
 to provide for its future requisitions, whether for the pur- 
 poses of commerce or of war, no matter what the situation 
 of affairs may be when the rebellion is crushed, or what 
 may arise from the maintenance of the ^^ Monroe doctrine" 
 in the future. To the bold, though consistent, experiments 
 and plans of our patriotic and energetic Secretary of the 
 Treasury do we owe *Hhe sinews of war," by which the 
 Government has been enabled to protect and defend itself 
 against one of the most wicked and powerful conspiracies 
 ever planned to destroy a nation. 
 
 Mr. Chase may be truly said to possess that inestimable 
 jewel, embodied in the following ancient aphorism : — " The 
 greatest honor a citizen can achieve is to deserve well of 
 the republic." Actuated by a sincere desire to stimulate 
 the public appreciation of such services, I have prepared a 
 ^' paper-weight" of the wood of the "treaty elm" and of 
 the Alliance ; to which I have added a specimen of gold 
 quartz procured by me from a mine in California in 1853. 
 This memento is to be presented to Mr. Chase in the same 
 spirit, and in behalf of the same public benefactions, as 
 those which represent the gift to the President. 
 
 The wood of the ^*' treaty elm" may serve to represent 
 the peaceable character of American institutions. The 
 wood of the old frigate will serve to symbolize the material 
 of the nation's defences and the boundless capacity and 
 power of the people's commerce; for the old Alliance was 
 
ITEMS CONCERNING THE TREATY ELM. 49 
 
 first a war-ship, and afterwards a merchantman. The gold 
 quartz represents the mineral resources of the republic. 
 The combination of these materials in the ^^ paper-weight/^ 
 and the uses to which it is adapted, may not inaptly typify 
 the strength and wealth of the national power and resources, 
 and illustrate their ability when applied as a ^^ weight '^ to 
 secure the national currency from the winds of factious 
 party at home, or from the gales of envy and detraction 
 blowing from abroad. 
 
 These *^ relics" will be of additional value to the re- 
 cipients, as they have been the means of calling forth a 
 generous endorsement from the lovers of the Union, in the 
 form of subscriptions to the funds of the several institu- 
 tions devoted to the soldier's wants. 
 
 At the close of the Philadelphia Sanitary Fair, the 
 directors of that institution will forward the ^^ weights" to 
 Washington, and cause them to be appropriately presented 
 to the distinguished gentlemen for whom they are designed. 
 
 The following interesting facts, compiled from the best 
 authorities, will serve to refresh our historic recollections 
 without going into extensive reviews. 
 
 In the summer of 1682, a small vessel, called the ''Wel- 
 come," sailed from England with William Penn and a 
 company of Quakers for the shores of Delaware Bay and 
 river, — on the borders of which lay a broad domain granted 
 to Penn by Charles the Second. 
 
 Penn arrived, proceeded up the river to Shackamaxon, 
 
 5 
 
50 ITEMS CONCERNING THE TREATY ELM. 
 
 n 
 
 now Kensington, and tHere, under the wide-spreading, but 
 then leafless, branches of an elm-tree on the banks of the 
 Delaware, he purchased the good will of the tribes by kind 
 and gentle words and gift^, to them, of great value. 
 
 " We meet,'' said the man of peace, " in the broad path- 
 way of good faith and good will. No advantage shall be 
 taken on either side, but all shall be openness and love. I 
 will not call you children, for parents sometimes chide 
 their children too severely; nor brothers, for brothers 
 difPer. The friendship between you and me I will not 
 compare to a chain, for that the rains might rust and the 
 falling tree break : we are the same as if one man's body 
 were to be divided into two parts; we are all one flesh 
 and blood." 
 
 This plain talk, and the trnthfal spirit that prompted it, 
 impressed the Indian favorably; and he replied, '^We will 
 live in love with William Penn and his children as long as 
 the sun and moon shall endure." The Quaker kept his 
 simply profi'ered faith, and the Indian dwelt in his. Yol- 
 taire says, " Penn began by making a league with his 
 American neighbors. It is the only treaty between those 
 nations and the Christians which was never sworn to and 
 never broken." 
 
 Thus was established the Commonwealth of Pennsyl- 
 vania, whose principles are expressed in the name of its 
 chief city, Philadelphia, which is brotherly love. 
 
 *' Thou'lt find, said the Quaker, in me and mine 
 But friends and brothers to thee and thine. 
 Who abuse no power, and admit no line 
 
 Twizt the red man and the white. 
 And bright was the spot where the Qumker came. 
 To leave his hat, his drab, and his name, 
 That will sweetly sound from the trump of Fame, 
 Till its final blaet shaU die." 
 
THE TREATY-TREE. 51 
 
 The treaty-tree, as the great elm was ever afterwards 
 called, became an object of veneration. It was blown down 
 during a storm on the night of March 3, 1810. Its con- 
 secutive rings proved it to have been two hundred and 
 eighty years old. The trunk was jbwenty-four feet in cir- 
 cumference. Many valuable articles for preservation were 
 made from the wood. A monument was erected by the 
 Penn Society upon the spot where the old tree had stood 
 BO long. The venerable Judge Peters, the esteemed and 
 personal friend of Washington, thus wrote after the elm 
 had fallen : — 
 
 '' Let each take a relic from that hallowed tree, 
 Which, like Penn whom it shaded, immortal shall be. 
 As the pride of our forests, let elms be renown'd 
 For the justly prized virtues with which they abound. 
 Though time has devoted our tree to decay, 
 The sage lessons it witness'd survive to this day. 
 May our trustworthy statesmen, when caird to the helm, 
 Ne'er forget the wise treaty held under the elm." 
 
 The following are the inscriptions of the monument. 
 North side, *' Treaty-ground of William Penn and the 
 Indian nation, 1682. Unbroken Faith." South side, 
 ^^ William Penn, born 1644, died 1718." West side, 
 "Placed by Penn Society, Anno Domini 1827, to mark 
 the site of the great Elm-tree." East side, " Pennsylvania 
 founded, 1681, by deeds of peace." 
 
52 HISTORY OF THE ALLIANCE. 
 
 Intiknts in % fistorg at % ©to M^xS\^ % 
 
 The Alliance was built at Salisbury, Massachusetts, — a 
 place tbat figured as a building-station even in the seventeenth 
 century. She was launched about the time the treaty was 
 made with France, and named after that event. Cooper 
 says, " She was the favorite ship of the American navy; and 
 it may be said of the American people, during the War of 
 the Revolution, filled some such place in the public mind 
 as has since been occupied by her more celebrated successor 
 the Constitution. She was a beautiful and an exceedingly 
 fast ship, but was rendered less efficient than she might 
 have proved, by the mistake of placing her under the com- 
 mand of a Frenchman, who had entered our service. This 
 was evidently done to pay a compliment to the new allies 
 of the Republic. This unfortunate selection produced muti- 
 nies, much discontent among the officers, and, in the end, 
 grave irregularities. Landais was at last supposed to be 
 insane, and was dismissed the navy.'^ 
 
 The first prominent service this ship was employed in 
 was to carry that gallant and devoted friend of the nation, 
 Lafayette, to France. Then, under the command of Com- 
 modore Barry, one of the most brave and distinguished 
 officers of the navy, she made another trip to France, 
 carrying out Colonel Laurens as a commissioner to the 
 French court. During the voyage back, Commodore Barry 
 engaged two British ships of war, and in the midst of the 
 fight, under every disadvantage, the Commodore was struck 
 in the shoulder by a grape-shot, and carried below. One of 
 his officers, following, stated to him the shattered condition 
 
 / 
 
P HISTORY OF THE ALLIANCE. 53 
 
 of the ship, loss of men, &g., and asked if the colors 
 should be struck. 
 
 ^^No/' said the suiffering Barry : ^^if you cannot fight the 
 enemy, carry me on deck, and I will/' 
 
 When the sailors heard the heroic answer of their com- 
 mander, they rent the air with their shouts, crying that 
 they would stick to the Commodore to the last. The fight 
 was renewed, and the enemy's two ships struck to the Stars 
 and Stripes. 
 
 Without enumerating further conflicts in which the 
 Alliance maintained the honor of the flag of the young 
 Republic, we will quote again from Cooper : — 
 
 ^^The peace of 1783 found the finances of the Govern- 
 ment altogether unequal to the support of a navy. Most 
 of the public cruisers had fallen into the hands of the 
 enemy, or had been destroyed, and the few that remained 
 were sold. 
 
 '^The Alliance, which appears to have been a favorite 
 ship of the service to the very last, was reluctantly parted 
 with; but, a survey being held on her, she was disposed of, 
 in preference to encountering the expense of repairs.'' 
 
 The last mention I find of the venerable pioneer of the 
 sea is the following : — 
 
 In 1787, as an Indiaman, the Alliance frigate made a 
 voyage to Canton, under the command of Captain Kead, 
 formerly of the navy. She still maintained her reputation 
 for fast sailing, and was a pioneer to the last; for it will be 
 remembered this was only two years after the opening of 
 the China trade, she being perhaps the second or third 
 ship of any size engaged in the trafiic. My father used to 
 speak of her in connection with the coffee-trade to Java, 
 and with many other facts not to be found in print. 
 
 There are few instances in the navies of the world of a 
 
 6« 
 
54 HISTORY OF THE ALLIANCE. 
 
 ship of war acMeving so many battle triumplis, and accom 
 plishing so many peaceable missions, as this our old-time 
 warrior. But ships, like men, must yield to the wear and 
 tear of time and action. 
 
 " Towards the close of her career she was frequently re- 
 paired, and, being found at last unseaworthy, was condemned 
 and broken up for her copper and iron, old junk, &c. The 
 hulk was run up on Potty's Island, where for many years 
 it basked in the sunshine or braved the storm; and many 
 a brave fellow, looking at the wreck, wiped away, perchance, 
 a tear, with the sleeve of his coat, muttering to himself, 
 " Perhaps that will be Jack's fate one of these days," and 
 turning the quid in his mouth, with^ '^ Well, she was pluck 
 to the last; and here goes for another cruise." So saying, 
 it may be, he lowered his tarpaulin to the Stars and Stripes, 
 and became once more one of Uncle Sam's men. 
 
 The Constitution frigate, the ship whose glorious record 
 took up, as it were, in 1800, the link dropped in our chain 
 of naval history in 1783, was saved from the fate of the 
 Alliance by Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, whose poem 
 of ^- Old Ironsides" caused our countrymen to pause, and 
 reconsider their intention of breaking up the nation's 
 favorite. This poem, one of the talented author's earliest 
 productions, seems to me to be so apposite in this con- 
 nection that I will take the liberty of making the verse 
 speak for itself 
 
 ©lb "^xmM. 
 
 Ay, tear her tatter' d ensign down ! 
 
 Long has it waved on high, 
 And many an eye has danced to see 
 
 That banner in the sky ; 
 
THE Cumberland's flag-halliards. 55 
 
 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 hero's 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. 
 Nail to the mast her holy flag. 
 
 Set every threadbare sail, 
 And give her to the god of storms, 
 
 The lightning, and the gale ! 
 
 %\t 3\xth at i\t $^-J%llmxh al i\t €umMm^. 
 
 We now turn to an event whose sudden and astounding 
 results caused the European rulers to pause in their survey 
 of maps and charts^ of diagrams, budgets, and estimates, 
 the artisans and workmen to stand and listen while the 
 iron cooled upon the anvil, and generals and admirals, 
 bewildered and confounded, to see their former plans of 
 strategy and their magazines of material vanishing into thin 
 air. 
 
 On a bright Sunday morning, in Chesapeake Bay, the 
 
56 THE Cumberland's flag-halliards. 
 
 f 
 
 roll of drums is heard, and cannon belch forth their 
 thunders. Then a pause, followed by the jar of iron, the 
 crashing of timbers, the rushing of waters, the shriek 
 and the yell of drowning men, mingling with the rattle of 
 musketry and the roar of tremendous guns ; and, behold ! 
 the pride of our ship-yard, the stately Cumberland, flash- 
 ing forth her defiant death-notes even beneath the surging 
 billows, is slowly plunging through the waters of the bay to 
 find a resting-place on the sandy bottom. 
 
 But where is the rebel foe ? Dimly seen through the 
 battle-shroud floats the iron monster, exulting in its new- 
 born power, and seeking another victim. But now appears 
 upon the scene an object whose dark and moving outlines 
 are more inexplicable still. 
 
 Swift as when the sword-fish strikes the huge leviathan 
 of the deep, are its movements. Darting through the startled 
 waters, it lunges its prow of iron against the armored sides 
 of its wondering foe. Fires flash frmn out its bowels, bolts 
 of steel hurtle in the air. The smoke rolls up, and, lo! 
 the dark and wallowing monster whose grinding beak of 
 polished metal had swept the walls of wood from its path- 
 way, is now painfully toiling, wounded and disabled, towards 
 the shelter of less dangerous waters. 
 
 The iron Merrimac had met her match. Desperate craft 
 had been met by deliberate art. Labor and science and 
 mechanical skill triumphed, and laid their trophies at the 
 feet of their guardians and protectors, — the enterprising 
 spirits of the North, whose genius first encouraged and 
 developed artistic invention and willing toil, and blazoned 
 Dn its banners the forge and the foundry, the lathe and 
 the workshop. 
 
 In the same hour, republican valor vindicated the honor 
 and integrity of free institutions, and taught the Old World 
 
THE Cumberland's flag-halliards. 57 
 
 that North America had the nerve and the means, the 
 science, the muscle and the might, to maintain the position 
 she has assumed as the standard-bearer of human progress 
 on the Western Continent. 
 
 The determined spirit of the defence made by the Cum- 
 berland is fully illustrated in the following incident. 
 
 As the ship careened, the waves poured through her 
 shattered side, soon overflowing the deck. In this position, 
 the men, knee-deep in water, fired the last broadside, which, 
 as the guns were depressed by the position of the deck, 
 poured out their shot beneath the gushing billows; while 
 her brave defenders, their defiant shouts mingling with the 
 sullen roar of the cannon, their old flag flying at the peak, 
 sank to a glorious death, leaving to their traitorous foes 
 a damning record, that shall flush the cheek of rebellion's 
 posterity with eternal shame. 
 
 Such deeds are the embodiment of the nation's glory. 
 This is the sublime spirit of noble enthusiasm and patriotic 
 devotion which shuns no danger, counts no loss, but sternly 
 and steadfastly faces the foe wherever found in attitude to 
 strike. 
 
 The ^' Don't give up the ship!" of 1812 has found its 
 echo, and now thunders forth, in these the ever-memorable 
 days of the Republic. That legacy of our fathers, that 
 same unflinching spirit, shines out in the obstinate and 
 fiery courage of our soldiers and sailors in the present 
 struggle against treason. The ever-to-be-United States of 
 America may challenge the annals of the ancient and 
 the modern past, to produce more soul-stirring examples of 
 patriotic sacrifice at the shrine of national honor than 
 these which our loyal defenders in the field have inscribed 
 on the roll of fame. While the glorious achievements of 
 Farragut, Dupont, Foote, Porter, and a host of other gallant 
 
58 THE Cumberland's flag-halliards. 
 
 spirits, tell in tones of thunder that American sailors will 
 brook no attempt to tarnish our glory, or to tear one star 
 from the bright galaxy that floats ^at the mast-head of the 
 good ship ^^The Union/' Woe! woe! to the fratricidal 
 traitors who are leagued against our flag ! Shame, eternal 
 shame and discomfiture to all who encourage or protect 
 them in their thrice-accursed treason ! The intent and mean- 
 ing of the war the North is waging, is written in unmistak- 
 able characters; and the sooner the rebels, and their aiders 
 and abettors at home and their sympathizers abroad, read 
 and learn, the sooner will the peace of America be restored 
 and that of Europe secured. 
 
THREE ERAS. 59 
 
 ^xtt €xm. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 
 
 BY THOMAS BUCHANAN HEAD. 
 
 Some relics, consisting of a piece of Penn*s "Treaty Elm/' of the 
 old frigate "Alliance/' and the halliards of the sloop-of-war "Cumber- 
 land/* wrought into appropriate form, were presented to President Lin- 
 coln by James E. Murdoch, Esq. ; and this poem was written to accom- 
 pany them. 
 
 Wilt irratg (Blm. 
 
 Ere to the honored patriot's mansion yonder 
 These charmed and emblematic relics pass, 
 Upon the sacred fragments let me ponder, 
 While Fancy, to the admiring eye of Wonder, 
 Withdraws the veil, as in a magian's glass. 
 
 I see the *' Treaty Elm,'' and hear the rustle 
 
 Of autumn leaves, where come the dusky troops 
 In painted robes and plumes, to crowd and jostle, — 
 A savage scene, save that the peace-apostle 
 
 Stands central, and controls the untamed groups. 
 
 These are the boughs the forest eagle lit on, 
 
 Long ere he perch'd upon our nation's banner ; 
 Beneath their shade I see the gentle Briton, 
 And hear the contract, binding, though unwritten, 
 And worded in the plain old scriptural manner. 
 
 Across the Delaware the sound comes faintly. 
 
 And fainter still across the tide of time, 
 Though history yet repeats the language quaintly 
 That fell from lips of Penn, the calm and saintly, 
 
 Speaking of love, the only true sublime. 
 
6Q THE ALLIANCE. 
 
 This is his mission, and his sole vocation. 
 
 To hear of this, the savage round him presses. 
 How sweetly falls the beautiful oration 
 Which bids them bear the marvellous revelation 
 
 Of Christian peace through all their wildernesses I 
 
 Not to defraud them of their broad possessions 
 
 He comes, or to control their eagle pinions, 
 But to pledge friendship and its sweet relations, 
 Truth and forbearance, gentleness and patience, 
 To all the people of their wild dominions. 
 
 '^We meet,^' he said, *^upon the open highway 
 
 Of broad good will, and honest faith and duty. 
 Let love fraternal brighten every by-way. 
 And peace inviolate be thy way as my way, 
 Till all the forest blossoms with new beauty .'' 
 
 So spake their friend, and they revered his teaching. 
 
 They said, ^^We will be true to thee and thine.'' 
 And through long seasons toward their future reaching, 
 No act was shown their plighted faith impeaching, 
 
 Marring the compact, loving and divine. 
 
 thou, like noble Penn, who truth adorest, 
 
 A priest at her great shrine in Freedom's temple. 
 While o'er this gift in thoughtful mood thou porest, 
 Point to the faithful children of the forest. 
 And bid the nations learn from their example. 
 
 f |e ^llmm. 
 
 Here is an oaken relic from a bark 
 
 That speaks of olden scenes and ocean mystery,- 
 An anchor from the Revolution ark, 
 Dropt to the present through the twilight dark, 
 
 Linking the troubled periods of our history. 
 
THE ALLIANCE, 61 
 
 It may be that the sapling of this wood, 
 
 CrownM on the coast with vines inviting inland 
 
 Was swaying to the sea- wind's fitful mood, 
 
 Learning the rocking motion of the flood, 
 When roving Norsemen stood agaze at Yinland. 
 
 Or did it feel the westward-sweeping gale — 
 
 The wind that still of God and freedom hymneth — 
 Which landward drove the saintly hero's sail, 
 Until the sea-toss'd pilgrims, worn and pale, 
 Were landed on the icy rock of Plymouth ? 
 
 Where'er it grew, the woodman found the oak, 
 It knew the teamster and the hewer's trestle, 
 It felt the hammers, snufiPd the pitchy smoke. 
 Then seaward, like a steed from stall, it broke, 
 While Salisbury hail'd her favourite warrior vessel. 
 
 Those were the days wherein we flung defiance 
 Unto a tyrant monarch and his henchmen. 
 
 We ask'd for friendship, France gave her compliance ; 
 
 And hence we calPd our vessel the Alliance, 
 In honor of the noble-hearted Frenchmen. 
 
 Then France was generous France : her well-earned fame 
 Shed round the world a lustre of pure glory. 
 
 No Italy breathed curses on her name. 
 
 No Mexico stood pointing at her shame 
 With feeble fingers, desperate and gory. 
 
 The royal vessel sought her future realm, — 
 Royal, because her parent oak was regal ; 
 And sceptred Science shaped her prow and helm, 
 And crowned Courage, naught could overwhelm, 
 Breathed in the bosom of that fierce sea-eagle. 
 
 The ocean cormorants fled before her path. 
 Her wing, descried afar, was fearful omen ; 
 6 
 
62 THE ALLIANCE. 
 
 Full oft her desolating vengeance hath, 
 In the great tempest of her iron wrath, 
 
 Sent a wild shudder through the hearts of foemen. 
 
 Hers was the enyiable pride to bear 
 
 The unselfish hero's well-beloved exemplar, 
 A Paladin whose heart was full of prayer 
 For freedom's Palestine — his soul was there. 
 Forever honored be the good knight-templar. 
 
 O Gratitude, forget not the ovations 
 
 Due to a noble country's nobler scion. 
 Let Lafayette, before the gaze of nations, 
 Stand canonized amidst our constellations. 
 Belted with starry fame, like brave Orion. 
 
 Old Europe's waters bore her graceful keel, 
 
 And heard the rolling of her threatening thunder ; 
 She taught the insolent buccaneer to kneel 
 And sue for quarter, — taught their homes to feel 
 A mingled sense of due respect and wonder. 
 
 Though she a while the doubtful Landais bore, 
 
 It was her glorious privilege to carry 
 The pennant of Paul Jones, the Commodore, 
 The pride and terror of the sea and shore, 
 
 And his, the hardy and intrepid Barry, 
 
 And when the war was o'er, she laid aside 
 The latest vestige of the past commotion, 
 And to the winds of Commerce, far and wide, 
 Shook out her sails for other realms untried, 
 And brought home treasure from the farthest ocean. 
 
 There have been doubtful Landais' on our deck, — 
 
 The deck of state, — that wellnigh brought disaster ! 
 But thou, obedient to a nation's beck. 
 Didst save the flag-ship of the world from wreck, 
 ' noble patriot and unswerving master ! 
 
THE Cumberland's halliards. 63 
 
 And still thou ruFst this stormy deck of state, 
 
 With all your sea-worn councillors in communion, 
 Still, with your manned and well-tried guns in wait, 
 Stand by your charge, Captain, calm and great, 
 Beneath the steadfast banner of the Union ! 
 
 And when the Southern buccaneer at last 
 
 Shall strike her colors, saying, *'It is over," 
 Lash on the prize and raise her jury-mast, 
 Stop all her leaks, make all her rigging fast, 
 And bring her homeward, a repentant rover. 
 
 And when anon our battle-flag is furl'd, 
 
 If that no insolent gauntlet lies before us, 
 By dastard in the hour of danger hurFd, 
 Then let our ship of commerce sweep the world. 
 Her deck made musical with Freedom's chorus. 
 
 ^t |ifte flf |»Uiarif ixm Wit Jlag af i\t €ttm- 
 
 This simple cord, by unknown fingers spun, 
 
 Holds history in every slender fibre, — 
 Telling more baseness in one action done, 
 And of more heroism, than the sun 
 
 E'er saw upon the storied tide of Tiber. 
 
 A shred from ofi" the halliards of our hope, 
 Our battle-banner, seldom lowered or baffled ! 
 
 Did he who twined the fellow to that rope 
 
 Behold, in his imaginary scope, 
 
 The trembling traitor on his well-earn'd scaffold ? 
 
 He should have seen, methinka, the dance of death. 
 
 The traitors' dance in this rebellious season, 
 While the gaunt wizards on the Southern heath. 
 Like the foul hags encountered by Macbeth, 
 With hell-born charm and chant are brewing treason. 
 
64 THE ATTACK. 
 
 Fierce maledictions, breathed with desperate might 
 
 By trodden nations, longing to be freemen, 
 Shall fall upon them with the withering blight 
 Of leprous pestilence that walks at night. 
 Till th^ir own hearts shall curse their reigning demon. 
 
 %\t ^iUth 
 
 In Hampton Roads, the airs of March were bland, 
 
 Peace on the deck and in the fortress sleeping, 
 Till in the look-out of the Cumberland, 
 The sailor, with his well-poised glass in hand. 
 Descried the iron island downward creeping. 
 
 A sudden wonder seized on land and bay, 
 
 And Tumult with her train was there to follow, 
 
 For still the stranger kept its seaward way, 
 
 Looking a great leviathan blowing spray. 
 Seeking with steady course his ocean wallow. 
 
 And still it came, and largen'd on the sight, — 
 A floating monster, — ugly and gigantic, — 
 
 In shape a wave, with long and shelving height. 
 
 As if a mighty billow, heaved at night. 
 Should turn to iron in the mid- Atlantic. 
 
 Then ship and fortress gazed with anxious stare. 
 Until the Cumberland's cannon, silence breaking, 
 
 Thundered its guardian challenge, "Who comes there?'' 
 
 But, like a rock-flung echo in the air. 
 
 The shot rebounded, no impression making. 
 
 Then roared a broadside : — though directed well. 
 
 On, like a nightmare, moved the shape defiant! 
 The tempest of our pounding shot and shell, 
 Crumbled to harmless nothing, thickly fell 
 From off the sounding armor of the giant ! 
 
THE APOSTROPHE. 65 
 
 UncheckM, still onward through the storm it broke, 
 
 With beak directed at the vesseFs centre, — 
 Then through the constant cloud of sulphurous smoke 
 Drove, till it struck the warrior's wall of oak, 
 Making a gateway for the waves to enter. 
 
 Struck, and, to note the mischief done, withdrew, 
 And then, with all a murderer's impatience, 
 
 Kush'd on again, crushing her ribs anew, 
 
 Cleaving the noble hull wellnigh in two. 
 And on it sped its fiery imprecations. 
 
 Swift through the vessel swept the drowning swell, 
 With splash and rush and gulfy rise appalling, 
 
 While sinking cannon rung their own loud knell. 
 
 Then cried the traitor from his sulphurous cell, 
 
 '* Do you surrender V Oh, those words were galling ! 
 
 How spake our captain to his comrades then? 
 
 It was a shout from out a soul of splendor. 
 Echoed from lofty maintop, and again 
 Between-decks, from the lips of dying men, 
 
 "Sink, sink, boys, sink! but never say surrender !'' 
 
 Down went the ship ! Down — down — but never down 
 
 Her sacred flag to insolent dictator ! 
 Weep for the patriot heroes doomed to drown! 
 Pledge to the sunken Cumberland's renown ! 
 
 She sunk — thank God ! — unsoiPd by foot of traitor I 
 
 % |ipstr0#. 
 
 Great ruler, these are simple gifts to bring thee, — 
 Thee, — doubly great, the land's embodied will ; — 
 And simpler still the song I fain would sing thee: — 
 In higher towers let greater poets ring thee 
 Heroic chimes on Fame's immortal hill. 
 
66 THE APOSTROPHE. 
 
 A decade of the years its flight has taken, 
 
 Since I beheld and pictured with my pen 
 How yet the land on ruin's brink might waken 
 To find her temples rudely seized and shaken 
 By traitorous demons in the forms of men. 
 
 And I foresaw thy coming, — even pointed 
 The region where the day would find its man 
 
 To reconstruct what treason had disjointed. 
 
 I saw thy brow by Honesty anointed, 
 "While Wisdom taught thee all her noblest plan. 
 
 Thy natal stars by angels' hands suspended, 
 
 A holy trine, where Faith, and Hope, and Love,- 
 By these celestial guides art thou attended. 
 Shedding perpetual lustre, calm and splendid. 
 Around thy path wherever thou dost moye. 
 
 No earthly lore of any art or science 
 
 Can fill the places of these heavenly three ; 
 Faith gives thy soul serene and fix^d reliance ; — 
 Hope to the darkest trial bids defiance ; — 
 
 Love tempers all with her sublime decree, 
 
 'Tis fitting, then, these relics full of story, 
 Telling ancestral tales of land and sea, — 
 Each fragment a sublime memento mori 
 Of heroes mantled in immortal glory, — 
 Should be consigned, great patriot, unto thee. 
 
MR. BOKER AS A DRAMATIC POET. 67 
 
 (Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 Th£ naval conflict below New Orleans — a conflict with- 
 out a parallel in the world's history — has been graphically 
 sketched by Mr. George H. Boker, of Philadelphia, — a 
 writer who, until the rebellion broke out, had devoted 
 himself entirely to dramatic and contemplative poetry, 
 but who, when our flag was assailed, threw off his indif- 
 ference to national subjects, and from that time to the 
 present has been one of the most enthusiastic poets of the 
 war. Mr. Boker's productions, in all the forms of verse, 
 are marked by distinguished ability, which has been fully 
 acknowledged by the best critics both in Europe and Ame- 
 rica. His dramas have met with decided success on the 
 stage, his "Calaynos'' having passed the ordeal of London 
 criticism, and occupied the stage of one of the leading 
 theatres in that city for sixty consecutive nights, Mr. Phelps, 
 the acknowledged rival of Macready, performing the prin- 
 cipal character. It affords me pleasure to say, here, that, 
 among several original characters which I have introduced to 
 American audiences, "Calaynos^' stands foremost in the 
 list, both in the gratification that its study and performance 
 have afforded me, and in the remunerative applause and 
 treasurer's returns of its audiences, in all the principal 
 cities of the West (my favorite field of labor), and also in 
 my native place, Philadelphia, having acted it in that city 
 over fifty nights. 
 
 Apart from a consideration of his versification, one of 
 the most striking features of Mr. Boker's poetry is the 
 naturalness of his dramatic combination and progress. His 
 
 < 
 
 I 
 
63 MR, BOKXB AS A DRAMATIC POET. 
 
 fithf I 
 
 argument is inrrodiiced. as it were, with a chord, hat wii 
 out further prelude; the action begins at once, and we 
 follow, as the urchin follows the drum, not for the per- 
 former, but for the music : his feet keep time to the beat^ 
 distance and hours having no measure for eye or sense. 
 So with Mr. Boker's ballads : his characters speak and 
 act for a purpose, and that is to illustrate the stoiy and 
 express the sentiment. Hence we follow the music, 
 realizing the poetic idea so feelingly and entirely that the 
 imagination triumphs over the colder elements af our nature, 
 and we are fiUed with that essence to which the fairy-crea- 
 tion owes its origin, and at last we awake &om our dream 
 of enjoyment to find that we haye been feasting on fimcies, 
 brief but beautiful. This is the effect produced on the 
 plastic mind by true art in dramatic action. The imagery 
 and form of expression, however elevated or grand, 
 becomes, by the proper exercise of true talent, so natural 
 and nnobtmsive that it fits the person it is intended 
 to illustrate as a garment, while situation and surround- 
 ings are toned into the general coloring of life. Nothing 
 is suffered to offend the eye as unnatural in form, nor any 
 thing so exaggerated permitted in action as to repel sense 
 or outrage the proprieties of probability or reason. To 
 possess intuitively, and to employ feelingly and fearlessly, 
 this perceptive sense (7 the true in nature, as well as thB 
 beautiful in art, is to be a dramatist. This fiiculty of 
 story-telling and of mental portrait-painting, whose pro- 
 ductions require neither preface nor catalogue for the 
 reader's or hearer's enlightenment, is the perfection of the 
 "art which conceals art," and is the foundation that under- 
 lies the whole dramatic structure, and, when combined 
 with the wealth of ideal and intellectual beauty, is the 
 sum and substance of dramatic power. 
 
I 
 
 THE BALLAD OF NEW ORLEANS. 69 
 
 Ballad verse, in its effects on the emotional system, comes 
 nearer dramatic force than either the epic or the lyric, 
 because it is the true vehicle of narrative. It seems to be 
 the natural offspring of the Thespian monologue. What 
 that ancient exhibition of poetry was to the classic drama, 
 ballads were to the sublime and heroic verse of Shakspeare, 
 Milton, and Byron. It is a combination of the minstrel's 
 song and legend, and the harper's chanted narrative to 
 which he tuned the chords of his harp, when the deeds of 
 chivalry and the devotion of the lover arose above the 
 hum of the banquet or the din of assembled warriors. 
 Mr. Boker's ballads are dramas in action and character; 
 he tells a story clearly and well ; he clothes his personages 
 in fitting garb, and causes them to move gracefully and 
 grandly to the measure of his verse. 
 
 Having proved his capability to accomplish dramatic 
 success, he brings thereby to his narrative poems a power 
 and a grace which enable him, through their instrument- 
 ality, to impart the glow and fervor of chivalric homage 
 and eulogy of the olden time to the heroic circumstance 
 and incident of this less romantic age. 
 
 Just as the hour was darkest, 
 Just between night and day, 
 
 From the flag-ship shone the signal, 
 ** Get the squadrons under way/' 
 
 Not a sound but the tramp of sailors. 
 And the wheeling capstan's creak, 
 
 Arose from the busy vessels 
 As the anchors came apeak* 
 
70 THE BALLAD OP NEW ORLEANS. 
 
 The men worked on in silence, 
 With never a shout or cheer, 
 
 Till Hwas whispered from bow to quarter, 
 " Start forward ! All is clear." 
 
 Then groan'd the ponderous engines, 
 Then floundered the whirling screw ; 
 
 And, as ship joined ship, the comrades 
 Their lines of battle drew. 
 
 The moon through the fog was casting 
 
 A blur of lurid light, 
 As the captain^s latest order 
 
 "Was flashed into the night : — 
 
 " Steam on ! and, whatever fortune 
 
 May follow the attack. 
 Sink with your bows all northward : 
 
 No vessel must turn back/' 
 
 It was hard, when we heard that order, 
 To smother a rising shout ; 
 
 For it wakened the life within us, 
 And we burnM to give it out. 
 
 All wrapped in the foggy darkness, 
 Brave Bailey moved ahead ; 
 
 And stem after stern his gunboats 
 To the starboard station led. 
 
 Next Farragut's stately flag-ship 
 To port her head inclined ; 
 
 And midmost, and most in danger, 
 BelFs squadron closed behind. 
 
 Ah ! many a prayer was murmured 
 For the homes we ne'er might see ; 
 
THE BALLAD OP NEW ORLEANS. 
 
 And the silence and night grew dreadful 
 With the thought of what must be. 
 
 For many a tall, stout fellow 
 
 Who stood at his quarters then, 
 In the damp and dismal moonlight, 
 
 Never saw the sun again. 
 
 Close down by the yellow river, 
 
 In their oozy graves they rot ; 
 Strange vines and strange flowers grow o'er them, 
 
 And their far homes know them not. 
 
 But short was our time of musing ; 
 
 For thej:ebel forts discerned 
 That the whole great fleet was moving, 
 
 And their batteries on us turned. 
 
 71 
 
 Then Porter burst out from his mortars, 
 
 In jets of fiery spray, 
 As if a volcano had opened 
 
 Where his leaf-clad vessels lay. 
 
 Howling, and screeching, and whizzing, 
 The bomb-shells arch'd on high. 
 
 And then, like gigantic meteors. 
 Dropped swiftly from the sky, — 
 
 Dropped down on the low, doom'd fortress 
 
 A plague of iron death, 
 Shattering earth and granite to atoms 
 
 With their pufls of sulphurous breath. 
 
 The whole air quaked and shudder'd 
 As the great globes rose and fell. 
 
 And the blazing shores looked awful 
 As the open gates of hell. 
 
72 THE BALLAD OF NEW ORLEANS. 
 
 Fort Jackson and Fort St. Philip, 
 And the battery on the right, 
 
 By this time were flashing and thundering 
 Out into the murky night. 
 
 Through the hulks and the eables, sunder'd 
 
 By the bold Itasca's crew, 
 "Went Bailey in silence, though round him 
 
 The shells and the grape-shot flew. 
 
 No answer he made to their welcome, 
 
 Till abeam St. Philip bore ; 
 Then, oh ! but he sent them a greeting 
 
 In his broadsides' steady roar ! 
 
 Meanwhile, the old man in the Hartford 
 Had ranged to Fort Jackson's side : 
 
 What a sight ! he slow'd his engines 
 Till he barely stemmed the tide. 
 
 Yes, paused in that deadly tornado 
 Of case-shot and shell and ball, 
 
 Not a cable's length from the fortress, 
 And he lay there, wood to wall ! 
 
 Have you any notion, you landsmen, 
 Who have seen a field-fight won, 
 
 Of canister, grape-shot, and shrapnel 
 Hurl'd out from a ten-inch gun ? 
 
 I tell you, the air is nigh solid 
 With the howling iron flight ; 
 
 And 'twas such a tempest blew o'er us 
 Where the Hartford lay that night. 
 
 Perch'd aloft in the forward rigging, 
 With his restless eyes aglow. 
 
THE BALLAD OP NEW ORLEANS. 
 
 Sat Farragut, shouting his orders 
 To the men who fought below. 
 
 And the fort's huge faces of granite 
 "Were splinter'd and rent in twain, 
 
 And th^ masses seemed slowly melting, 
 Like snow in a torrid rain. 
 
 Now quicker and quicker we fired, 
 
 Till between us and the foe 
 A torrent of blazing vapor 
 
 Was leaping to and fro ; 
 
 While the fort, like a mighty cauldron, 
 Was boiling with flame and smoke, 
 
 And the stone flew aloft in fragments, 
 And the brick into powder broke. 
 
 So thick fell the clouds o'er the river, 
 You could hardly see your hand, 
 
 When we heard from the foremast rigging 
 Old Farragut' s sharp command : 
 
 '* Full head ! Steam across to St. Philip ! 
 
 Starboard battery, mind your aim ! 
 Forecastle, there, shift your pivots ! Now 
 
 Give them a taste of the same !" 
 
 73 
 
 St. Philip grew faint in replying. 
 Its voice of thunder was drown'd. 
 
 **But, ha ! what is this ? Back the engines I 
 Back, back I The ship is aground !" 
 
 And down the swift current came sweeping 
 A raft spouting sparks and flame ; 
 
 Push'd on by an iron-clad rebel. 
 Under our port side it came, 
 7 
 
THE BALLAD OP NEW ORLEANS. 
 
 At once the good Hartford Tras blazing, 
 
 Below, aloft, fore and aft. 
 *' We are lost !" " No, no ; we are moving V 
 
 Away whirled the crackling raft 
 
 The fire was soon qnench'd. One last broadside 
 
 We gave to the surly fort ; 
 For above ns the rebel gimboats 
 
 "Were wheeling like devils at sport. 
 
 And into our vacant station 
 
 Had glided a bulky form : 
 'Twas Craven's stout Brooklyn, demanding 
 
 Her share of the furious storm. 
 
 We could hear the shot of St. Philip 
 
 Ring on her armor of chain, 
 And the crash of her answering broadsides 
 
 Taking and giving again. 
 
 We could hear the low growl of Craven, 
 And Lowry's voice, clear and cabn. 
 
 While they swept off the rebel ramparts 
 As clean as your open palm. 
 
 Then, ranging close under our quarter, . 
 
 Out burst from the smoky fogs 
 The queen of the waves, the Yaruna, 
 
 The ship of bold Charley Boggs. 
 
 He waved his blue cap as he passed lis ; 
 The blood of his glorious race. 
 
 Of Lawrence the hero, was burning 
 Once more in a living face. 
 
 Right and left flash'd his heavy broadsides ; 
 Rams, gunboats, — it mattered not ; 
 
THE BALLAD OF NEW ORLEANS. 
 
 Wherever a rebel flag floated 
 Was a target for his shot. 
 
 All burning and sinking around him 
 
 Lay five of the foe ; but he, 
 The victor, seem'd doomM with the vanquished, 
 
 When along dash'd gallant Lee. 
 
 And he took up the bloody conflict, 
 
 And so well his part he bore, 
 That the river ran fire behind him. 
 
 And glimmered from shore to shore. 
 
 75 
 
 But while powder would burn in a cannon, 
 Till the water drown'd his deck, 
 
 Boggs pounded away with his pivots 
 From his slowly-settling wreck. 
 
 I think our old captains in heaven, 
 As they looked upon those deeds, 
 
 Were proud of the flower of that navy 
 Of which they planted the seeds. 
 
 Paul Jones, the knight-errant of ocean, 
 
 Decatur, the lord of the seas, 
 Hull, Lawrence, and Bainbridge, and Biddle, 
 
 And Perry, the peer of all these. 
 
 If Porter beheld his descendant 
 With some human pride on his lip, 
 
 I trust, through the mercy of Heaven, 
 His soul was forgiven that slip. 
 
 And thou, living veteran, *' Old Ironsides," 
 
 The last of the splendid line, 
 Thou link 'twixt the old and new glory, 
 
 I know what feelings were thine. 
 
76 THE BALLAD OF NEW ORLEANS. 
 
 When the sun look'd over the tree-tops, 
 "We found ourselves — Heaven knows how — 
 
 Above the grim forts ; and that instant 
 A smoke broke from Farragut's bow ; 
 
 And over the river came floating 
 
 The sound of the morning gun, 
 And the Stars and Stripes danced up the halliards, 
 
 And glittered against the sun. 
 
 Oh ! then what a shout from the squadrons, 
 
 As flag followed flag, till the day 
 Was bright with the beautiful standard, 
 
 And wild with the victors' huzza ! 
 
 But three ships were missing ; the others 
 Had passed through that current of flame ; 
 
 And each scar on their shattered bulwarks 
 Was touched by the finger of Fame. 
 
 Below us the forts of the rebels 
 
 Lay in the trance of despair ; 
 Above us, uncovered and helpless, 
 
 New Orleans clouded the air. 
 
 Again in long lines we went steaming 
 
 Away towards the city's smoke ; 
 And works were deserted before us, 
 
 And columns of soldiers broke. 
 
 In vain the town clamored and struggled, 
 The flag at our peak ruled the hour ; 
 
 And under its shade, like a lion, 
 
 Were resting the will and the power. 
 
COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. 77 
 
 Coming €Ms m$t t\m ^\MM Mm, 
 
 (Extract prom Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 The truly national lyric of ^'The Union/' written by 
 JVancis De Haes Janvier, was first read by me in Cin- 
 cinnati at the anniversary celebration of a well-known 
 literary institution in that city. This was before the in- 
 surgents had struck the blow which left no doubt, if any 
 had before existed in the niinds of the people, of the 
 hellish intentions of our ^^ wayward sisters.^' I suggested 
 the reading of this poem on the occasion, and referred it to 
 the committee. Some of the members objected, not on the 
 ground of impropriety of sentiment, but of inopportunity 
 of occasion. The institution, it was argued, was not of 
 a political but of a literary character, and therefore it was 
 not expedient for it to put forth such strong sentiments at 
 a time in which every thing should be left to the influence 
 of conciliation and compromise. On the other hand, it was 
 decided that the sentiment was noble and just; and as the 
 question before the American people was not one of 
 politics, but of right and wrong, there was no good reason 
 to object to the assertion of right at any time and any- 
 where. The poem was read to at least two thousand people; 
 and I can safely say that never before or since were my 
 ears greeted with more hearty and rapturous applause than 
 that which burst forth from an audience composed of the 
 citizens of as loyal a city as the loyal States contain. 
 
 Mr. Janvier had the words set to music and printed on 
 a neat enamelled card, and distributed gratuitously to the 
 soldiers and friends of the Army of the Potomac in Wash- 
 ington, in the camps and the hospitals. Many and many a 
 
78 COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. 
 
 brave fellow, perchance, cheered the march to ^^ Bull's Run/' 
 chanting the inspiring words of this cong, and, it may be, 
 died with its burden faintly but fervently breathed with 
 his parting breath. All honor to such poets as Mr. Jan- 
 vier, and to all who have, like him, devoted time and talents 
 without stint to cheer and sustain the brave and devoted 
 soldiers of the Republic, from the very hour in which the 
 flag was first unfurled to the breeze in defiance to traitors, 
 — the old flag of thirty-four stars, which, under the pro- 
 vidence of Grod, shall yet wave in triumph over every 
 State represented on its azure field, in spite of the desperate 
 valor of the misguided men who must fall beneath the 
 mighty power invoked by justice and legitimate authority 
 to punish or to crush them. I will pause here to include the 
 names of Mr. Janvier's friends and fellow-poets, Mr. Boker 
 and Mr. Read, whose generous efi'orts in the same holy 
 cause have won for them the meed of praise and honor 
 due to patriotic acts and deeds. These gentlemen, I am 
 proud to say, are all citizens of Philadelphia. 
 
 In lauding the patriotic efi'orts of the above-named 
 gentlemen, I do not wish to be understood as speaking as 
 one having authority in literary matters, and more espe- 
 cially in the poetic form, but simply as desiring to impress 
 upon the public mind the extent and value of the services 
 rendered to the ^-good cause'^ by the many and glorious 
 lines they have written and placed at my disposal, so nobly 
 calculated to keep alive the public interest in the labors I 
 am engaged in, and to swell the current of generous and 
 loyal sympathy in favor of the brave men who have left 
 their homes and firesides to fight the battles of the nation. 
 
THE UNION. 79 
 
 A NATIONAL SONG. 
 
 BY FRANCIS DE HAES JANVIER. 
 
 "Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable V* — Webster. 
 
 The Union ! The Union ! The hope of the free I 
 
 Howsoever we may differ, in this we agree: — 
 
 Our glorious banner no traitor shall mar, 
 
 By effacing a stripe, or destroying a star ! 
 
 Division ! No, never ! The Union forever ! 
 
 And cursed be the hand that our country would sever I 
 
 The Union I The Union! 'T was purchased with blood I 
 
 Side by side, to secure it, our forefathers stood: — 
 
 From the North to the South, through the length of the land^ 
 
 Ran the war-cry which summoned that patriot band 1 
 
 Division ! No, never ! The Union forever ! 
 
 And cursed be the hand that our country would sever! 
 
 The Union ! The Union ! At Lexington first. 
 
 Through the clouds of oppression, its radiance burst : — 
 
 But at Yorktown rolFd back the last vapory crest. 
 
 And, a bright constellation, it blazed in the West! 
 
 Division ! No, never ! The Union forever ! 
 
 And cursed be the hand that our country would sever I 
 
 The Union ! The Union ! Its heavenly light 
 
 Cheers the hearts of the nations who grope in the night,— 
 
 And, athwart the wide ocean, falls, gilding the tides, 
 
 A path to the country where Freedom abides! 
 
 Division! No, never! The Union forever! 
 
 And cursed be the hand that our country would sever! 
 
80 THE POWER OP MUSIC AND VERSE. 
 
 The Union ! The Union ! In God we repose ! 
 
 We confide in the power that vanquishM our foes ! 
 
 The God of our fathers, — oh, still may He be 
 
 The strength of the Union, the hope of the free I 
 
 Division ! No, never I The Union forever ! 
 
 And cursed be the hand that our country would sever I 
 
 (Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 During my association with the Army of the Cumberland, 
 in Kentucky, and while I was suflfering from a severe attack 
 of neuralgia, I was compelled to exchange the saddle for an 
 ambulance, in which I had the good fortune to make the 
 acquaintance of Colonel Bumford, of the regular army, 
 who had been severely wounded at the battle of Chaplin 
 Hills, Kentucky. I, being the least afflicted, waited on 
 him, and endeavored to while away the time for him by 
 reading and reciting. 
 
 I remember one evening, several officers being present 
 in our quarters, I was asked to recite Mr. Read's war 
 lyric of "Our Defenders.'^ I complied; and as I turned 
 in conclusion to the cot where the colonel lay, with his 
 pale face and bright eyes turned towards me, he said, 
 " Oh, Mr. Murdoch, if our brave fellows could only hear 
 words like those on the eve of battle, how it would thrill 
 their hearts and nerve their arms !' 
 
 He then related an incident of a charge made upon his 
 regiment; in Mexico, in which the enemy came down upon 
 
I 
 
 THE POWER OF MUSIC AND VERSE. 81 
 
 them with a kind of fierce chant, in which the words 
 '^ God, Santa Anna, and Liberty V' were the burden. The 
 effect was exciting and grand in the extreme. 
 
 ^^Even our own soldiers/^ said he, ^^ caught the enthu- 
 siasm, and fought with more determined valor, routing the 
 enemy and driving him before them.^^ 
 
 Here, then, was a practical realization of the idea I have 
 endeavored to develop and enforce in my patriotic read- 
 ings and recitations. Let our poets continue to wreathe 
 around the national banner the ideal beauty of heroism 
 and self-sacrifice ; let them paint, in words of fire, those 
 glorious sentiments which were promulgated and fought 
 for in 1776, contended for anew in 1812, and which 
 aroused the patriotic enthusiasm of the nation, sweeping 
 through the length and breadth of the loyal States, in 
 1861. Let music add its magic force to swell the mighty- 
 theme. Let our soldiers learn to chant and sing such 
 glorious strains : then would their feet forget their weari- 
 ness, their hearts swell with renewed fervor, and their 
 arms be nerved with tenfold vigor to strike in defence 
 of government, laws, religious toleration, and universal 
 freedom, 
 
 ^' Our Defenders'^ was written by Mr. Read, in the city of 
 Rome, while there engaged in painting historical pictures 
 for some of our art-loving citizens. 
 
 It was first recited by him at a dinner given by our 
 minister, Mr. Cass, in Rome, on the Fourth of July fol- 
 lowing the attack on Sumter. 
 
 Mr. Read returned to this country in the following June; 
 since which he has served as aid and secretary to one of 
 our distinguished major-generals, and may yet be able to 
 take part in a battle and afterwards describe it, as did 
 
82 OUR DEFENDERS. 
 
 Euripides, who, after leading the Grecian forces at Salamis, 
 wrote the tragedy of " The Persians/' in which he immortal- 
 ized the heroic valor of the soldiers of that great republic. 
 
 BY T. BUCHANAN READ. 
 
 Our flag on the land and our flag on the ocean, 
 
 An angel of peace wheresoever it goes : 
 Nobly sustained by Columbia's devotion, 
 The angel of death it shall be to our foes I 
 
 True to its native sky 
 
 Still shall our eagle fly, 
 Casting his sentinel glances afar ; 
 
 Though bearing the olive-branch. 
 
 Still in his talons staunch 
 Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war ! 
 
 Hark to the sound ! There's a foe on our border, — 
 
 A foe striding on to the gulf of his doom ; 
 Freemen are rising and marching in order, 
 Leaving the plough and the anvil and loom. 
 
 Rust dims the harvest-sheen 
 
 Of scythe and of sickle keen ; 
 The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar ; 
 
 Veteran and youth are out, 
 
 Swelling the battle-shout. 
 Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war ! 
 
 Our brave mountain eagles swoop from their eyrie. 
 
 Our lithe panthers leap from forest and plain ; 
 Out of the "West flash the flames of the prairie, 
 Out of the East roll the waves of the main. 
 Down from their Northern shores, 
 Swift as Niagara pours. 
 
POETRY AND PAINTING AS KINDRED ARTS. 83 
 
 They march, and their tread wakes the earth with its jar ; 
 
 Under the Stripes and Stars, 
 
 Each, with the soul of Mars, 
 Grasping the holts of the thunders of war ! 
 
 Spite of the sword or assassin's stiletto. 
 
 While throbs a heart in the breast of the brave, 
 The oak of the North, or the Southern palmetto, 
 Shall shelter no foe except in the grave ! 
 
 "While the Gulf billow breaks, 
 
 Echoing the Northern lakes, 
 And ocean replies unto ocean afar. 
 
 Yield we no inch of land 
 
 While there's a patriot hand 
 Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war ! 
 
 |0itrg m]i fainting m f into ^xtL 
 
 I WILL here take occasion, in connection with the sub- 
 ject of Mr. Read's patriotic services, which have been 
 many and important during the rebellion, to thank him, 
 as well as his brother poets, for the generous aid so freely 
 tendered me, and by which I have been enabled to keep 
 alive the public interest in my readings and lectures. 
 
 Especially am I indebted to Mr. Read for the use of his 
 noble and patriotic poem, "The Wagoner of the Alle- 
 ghanies;*' the manuscript of which he placed at my dis- 
 posal in 18G2, with the exclusive privilege of employing 
 it in my " patriotic readings'' for a period of not less than 
 one year, — in the mean time foregoing the right to publish 
 it; although offers of considerable pecuniary importance had 
 
84 POETRY AND PAINTING AS KINDRED ARTS. 
 
 (I 
 
 I 
 
 been made to him to induce him to give his poem to the 
 public at an earlier period. 
 
 It was a just and grateful tribute to the sacred Unio 
 cemented by the blood of the fathers of 1776, to dedicate 
 a work commemorative of their virtues and sacrifices to 
 their heroic sons, who were fighting to defend the glorious 
 legacy bequeathed to them by their sires. 
 
 The following is a beautiful tribute to Mr. Read's professional abili- 
 ties. The language breathes the spirit of one fully alive to the im- 
 pressions of poetry, as well as to the generous sympathy of friendship 
 and kindred associations ; and, judging from our knowledge of Mr. 
 Murdochs early professional experience, we should say that his friend's 
 career is as dear to him as his own. This will account for the enthu- 
 siasm and warmth of eulogy expressed in the article. — Editor's Note. 
 
 (Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 A poet and a painter ! The qualifications which accom- 
 plish distinction in either profession are possessed by few 
 persons. Therefore, to attain to excellence in both is a 
 rare achievement. Poetry and painting, these sister arts, 
 are wedded to id^al passion and sublimity. They are the 
 handmaids to the Loves and the Graces, and they are the 
 recording spirits of history and fame. 
 
 The painter seizes upon all that is lovely, simple, and 
 grand in nature, of form and color, transferring it to his 
 canvas to charm the eye and delight the mind. He re- 
 produces the rainbow hues, the mellowing tints, and sombre 
 shades, which compose the grandeur and simplicity of earth 
 and air, of sunshine and storm ; and humanity owes to his 
 pencil the pictured lineaments of heroes and martyrs desig- 
 nated by the finger of Fame for the admiration and emula- 
 tion of man's latest posterity. 
 
 The poet, filled with that divine essence which pervades 
 
POETRY AND PAINTING AS KINDRED ARTS. 85 
 
 and breatlies tlirougli all the glorious works of creation, 
 mental or physical, raises his voice in notes tuned to the 
 music of the stars when they sang in the fulness of per- 
 fected glory, and calls on all his fellow-mortals to listen 
 and be glad. His song warms the heart with the genial 
 glow of imagination and fancy, causing it to throb in unison 
 with heroic deeds and virtuous actions. To perfect his 
 mastery over these attributes of the '^ lyre and the palette/' 
 by the exercise of his genius, has been the aim and ambi- 
 tion of a man glorying in the proud title of an American 
 citizen, and honored by his loyal countrymen as an un- 
 swerving patriot and a distinguished artist. 
 
 Thomas Buchanan E-ead has attained to the honors of 
 both poetry and painting in a high degree. In boyhood a 
 dreamer and a wanderer, he sought the far West (or 
 what was the far West a quarter of a century since), to 
 find amidst the excitement of artistic labor that knowledge 
 of the world which comes to men so often through the 
 channels of privation and suffering. 
 
 Toiling for daily bread amid the wrangle and the strife 
 of the jostling crowd, or revelling in the bliss and beauty 
 of nature, with no care for the present, wholly absorbed 
 in that wealth of pleasure possessed by the youthful mind, 
 that knows ^^ no such word as fail,^^ writing sonnets to ideal 
 loveliness, and ^' making faces'^ practically, were the employ- 
 ments of the future man. His pleasures in relaxation were 
 sought, angle and line in hand, beneath the scorching sun 
 by a meadow brook, or lounging with pen and pencil in 
 the moist shade of some primeval forest, where tangled 
 undergrowth and exuberant foliage served to temper the 
 heat of the day and invite man to communion with the 
 spirit and beauty of the Maker^s works. 
 
 There is not, perhaps, a living artist in either department 
 
 8 
 
86 POETRY AND PAINTING AS KINDRED ARTS. 
 
 in which Mr. Read shines so conspicuously who is so 
 entirely and exclusively an offspring of natural growth and 
 culture as is the subject of these remarks. If they could 
 sit and listen, as I have done in my log cabin in the West 
 (till " Chanticleer has piped his challenge to the morn''), to 
 the fervent and eloquent pouring out of a nature ^' steeped 
 to the very lips'' in poetic and pictured gifts, his readers 
 would know how little Mr. Read has placed on record — 
 although his published works are not inconsiderable — " of 
 that world of wealth" in the spiritual, the fanciful, and 
 the beautiful, by which his nature is etherealized and com- 
 pacted. The wonderfully exuberant and gorgeous fancy 
 of Shelley, the romantic and chivalric spirit and the national 
 pride of Scott, and the sweetness and simplicity of Burns, 
 all blend and breathe in gentle sympathy in the inner life 
 and soul of the painter-poet, — of whom I have heard a 
 giant in American literature say, '^His poetry is the 
 embodiment of nature's fanciful creation, of the exquisitely 
 bright and the delicately beautiful, as expressed in the loves 
 of the fairies and the poetry of the stars, in maiden purity 
 and youthful heroism. His pictures are poems, and his 
 poems are pictures." 
 
 Mr. Read has not been overwhelmed with a superabun- 
 dance of impartial and generous notices from the public 
 press, in certain localities ; and yet critical endorsement of 
 the highest and best authority has not been wanting, in 
 both hemispheres, to make good his title to the rank he 
 holds in the estimation of his admirers as one of America's 
 most gifted poets and distinguished painters. The artist 
 who as a boy, from pure love of art, donned the staff, the 
 scallop-shell, and sandal shoon of the true disciple will 
 not be likely to weary in his pilgrimage ; but, if I mistake 
 
VICTORY DOES NOT ALWAYS REWARD VALOR. 87 
 
 not the spirit of the man, he will ever be found bearing 
 aloft the banner of his boyhood's love and ambition, 
 " Excelsior r 
 
 Widax^ hti Mi altoags rttoarb Max. 
 
 (Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 I SHALL never forget the pleasure with which I read Mr. 
 Boker's poem commemorating the crossing of the Rappa- 
 hannock by our brave troops under the gallant Burnside. 
 
 The soul of the true poet^ burning with sympathy for 
 heroism, romance, and chivalry, glowing with the rose- 
 colored tints of hope and faith, poured forth all its fresh- 
 ness and beauty to honor the brave men who were seeking 
 to achieve, not ^^ the bubble reputation,^' but the glory and 
 honor of their ^^ country's cause,'' ^' in the cannon's mouth." 
 Mr. Boker, with a generous and hopeful spirit, has caused 
 his muse to sing the praises not only of those who have 
 ^^won the battle for the free," but of those also who have 
 valiantly fought the fight, trusting in the strength of the 
 ^^ God of Battles" to turn the tide of war in their favor. 
 It was this noble impulse which prompted him to sing 
 ^^ Hooker's Across!" not waiting to know the result of the 
 expedition. 
 
 And is not this the province of the poet's art, — to arouse, 
 encourage, and sustain the warrior who draws his sword 
 and couches his lance for justice and truth whenever the 
 herald's trump proclaims the conflict? To win a battle is 
 his glory; but to do or die, contending for the victory, is 
 his honor and duty. True to his glorious mission, Mr. 
 Boker (not in the vain spirit of boasting, but in the ardent 
 desire to cheer and encourage) sang the praises of those 
 
88 THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 
 
 who crossed the Rappahannock and struggled and bled to 
 achieve that victory which, though it failed to alight upon 
 our banner, refused to perch on that of the enemy. They 
 returned, if not victorious, at least not dishonored. 
 
 Burnside and Hooker (true types of the patriot soldier) 
 have won renown enough for their gallant soldiers to make 
 amends for the ungenerous censure of ^Hhe people,'^ who 
 award no honors but where victory claims the laurel. 
 Both of these sturdy chieftains have, since their repulse 
 before the massed and intrenched columns of the foe at 
 Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, wrenched from the 
 fickle goddess Fortune the well-earned honors of the gory 
 field, and compelled ^Hhe many-headed and the many- 
 minded'^ to bring garlands and decorate their brows, and, 
 through them, to cheer and honor the gallant soldiers who 
 do and die that others may live and be honored. 
 
 BY GEO. H. BOKER. 
 
 "Give me but two brigades/' said Hooker, frowning at fortified 
 Lookout, 
 
 *' And I'll engage to sweep yon mountain clear of that mock- 
 ing rebel rout!'' 
 
 At early morning came an ofder that set the general's face 
 aglow : 
 
 ''Now," said he to his staif, "draw out my soldiers. Grant 
 says that I may go !" 
 
 Hither and thither dash'd each eager colonel to join his regi- 
 ment, 
 
 While a low rumor of the daring purpose ran on from tent to 
 tent; 
 
THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 89 
 
 For the long-roll was sounding in the valley, and the keen 
 
 trumpet^ s bray, 
 And the wild laughter of the swarthy veterans, who cried, 
 
 '*We fight to-day r' 
 
 The solid tramp of infantry, the rumble of the great jolting 
 gun, 
 
 The sharp, clear order, and the fierce steeds neighing, ** Why's 
 not the fight begun ?^' — 
 
 All these plain harbingers of sudden conflict broke on the 
 startled ear ; 
 
 And, last, arose a sound that made your blood leap, — the ring- 
 ing battle-cheer. 
 
 The lower works were carried at one onset. Like a vast roaring 
 sea 
 
 Of steel and fire, our soldiers from the trenches swept out the 
 enemy ; 
 
 And we could see the gray-coats swarming up from the moun- 
 tain's leafy base. 
 
 To join their comrades in the higher fastness, — for life or death 
 the race ! 
 
 Then our long line went winding round the mountain, in a 
 
 huge serpent track. 
 And the slant sun upon it flashed and glimmered, as on a 
 
 dragon's back. 
 Higher and higher the column's head push'd onward, ere the 
 
 rear moved a man ; 
 And soon the skirmish-lines their straggling volleys and single 
 
 shots began. 
 
 Then the bald head of Lookout flamed and bellow'd, and all 
 
 its batteries woke, 
 And down the mountain pour'd the bomb-shells, puffing into 
 
 our eyes their smoke ; 
 
 8* 
 
90 THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 
 
 And balls and grape-shot rain'd upon our column, that bore 
 
 the angrv shower 
 As if it were no more than that soft dropping which scarcely 
 
 stirs the flower. 
 
 Oh, glorious courage that inspires the hero, and runs through 
 
 all his men I 
 The heart that fail'd beside the Rappahannock, it was itself 
 
 again ! 
 The star that circumstance and jealous faction shrouded in 
 
 envious night 
 Here shone with all the splendor of its nature, and with a freer 
 
 light ! 
 
 Hark! hark! there go the well-known crashing volleys, the 
 
 long-continued roar, 
 That swells and falls, but never ceases wholly, until the fight 
 
 is o'er. 
 Up towards the crystal gates of heaven ascending, the mortal 
 
 tempest beat, 
 As if they sought to try their cause together before God's very 
 
 feet: 
 
 We saw our troops had gain'd a footing almost beneath the 
 
 topmost ledge, 
 And back and forth the rival lines went surging upon the 
 
 dizzy edge. 
 Sometimes we saw our men fall backward slowly, and groan'd 
 
 in our despair ; 
 Or cheer'd when now and then a stricken rebel plunged out 
 
 in open air, 
 Down, down, a thousand empty fathoms dropping, his God 
 
 alone knows where ! 
 
 At eve, thick haze upon the mountain gathered, with rising 
 
 smoke stain'd black, 
 And not a glimpse of the contending armies shone throngh 
 
 the swirling rack. 
 
I 
 
 THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 91 
 
 Night fell o'er all ; but still they flashed their lightnings and 
 
 roird their thunders loud, 
 Though no man knew upon what side was going that battle in 
 
 the cloud. 
 
 Night! what a night! — of anxious thought and wonder; but 
 still no tidings came 
 
 From the bare summit of the trembling mountain, still wrapped 
 in mist and flame. 
 
 But towards the sleepless dawn, stillness, more dreadful than 
 the fierce sound of war, 
 
 Settled o'er Nature, as if she stood breathless before the morn- 
 ing star. 
 
 As the sun rose, dense clouds of smoky vapor boiFd from the 
 
 valley's deeps. 
 Dragging their torn and ragged edges slowly up through the 
 
 tree-clad steeps, 
 And rose and rose, till Lookout, like a vision, above us grandly 
 
 stood, 
 And over his black crags and storm-blanch' d headlands burst 
 
 the warm, golden flood. 
 
 Thousands of eyes were fix'd upon the mountain, and thou- 
 sands held their breath. 
 
 And the vast army, in the valley watching, seem'd touched 
 with sudden death. 
 
 High o'er us soar'd great Lookout, robed in purple, a glory on 
 his face, 
 
 A human meaning in his hard, calm features, beneath that 
 heavenly grace. 
 
 Out on a crag walk'd something, — What ? an eagle, that treads 
 
 yon giddy height? 
 Surely no man ! But still he clamber'd forward into the full, 
 
 rich light ; 
 
92 THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Then up he started, ' with a sudden motion, and from the 
 
 blazing crag 
 Flung to the morning breeze and sunny radiance the dear old 
 
 starry flag ! 
 
 Ah ! then what followed ? Scarred and war-worn soldiers, like 
 
 girls, flushed through their tan. 
 And down the thousand wrinkles of the battles a thousand 
 
 tear-drops ran ; 
 Men seized each other in returned embraces, and sobbed for 
 
 very love ; 
 A spirit which made all that moment brothers seem'd falling 
 
 from above. 
 
 And, as we gazed, around the mountain's summit our glitter- 
 ing files appeared ; 
 
 Into the rebel works we saw them marching; and we, — we 
 cheer'd, we cheer'd ! 
 
 And they above waved all their flags before us, and joined our 
 frantic shout. 
 
 Standing, like demigods, in light and triumph, upon their own 
 Lookout ! 
 
THE PECULIAR INSTITUTION. .93 
 
 " i|« fMiar Institution/' miii BtsmMl ^ul$m'$ 
 
 (Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 I HAVE frequently been requested to recite poetry in 
 wHch the heroism of rebels has been eulogized, and have 
 always refused, on the ground that I would not acknowledge 
 a single manly trait to exist in a traitor to his country. 
 This rebellion is so supremely wicked and selfish, so 
 entirely causeless upon any just grounds hitherto claimed 
 by those who have sought the arbitration of the sword, 
 that I would not recognize a single virtue in them, even 
 if it existed. AVhen has the world ever known before 
 of a people, professing to be Chrigtians, and claiming before 
 the world a foremost position among the generous, the 
 brave, the chivalrous, and the free, yet holding an inferior 
 race in bondage, deriving all their wealth from the labor 
 of that people, denying the slave the right of property in 
 his own child, and rudely seizing and selling them into 
 bondage whenever the wants of the master render it con- 
 venient and necessary, — separating man and wife, or hold- 
 ing all to labor and stripes without the hope of redemp- 
 tion, until old age secures to the worn-out carcass the right 
 to nibble the bitter weed of the roadside and to die, while 
 from the stores of his owner's prosperity the fruits of a 
 long life of unrequited labor stare in his face and mock his 
 closing eye ? 
 
 When, I repeat, have we known of a people so lost to 
 all the humanizing qualities of the heart as madly to seek 
 at the cannon's mouth to perpetuate such unheard-of 
 
94 THE PECULIAR INSTITUTION. 
 
 cruelties, and rudely to sever the fraternal bonds which 
 bound them to the fellowship of those who, in compliance 
 with the compact of their fathers, justified such injustice, 
 at least so long as it was not allowed to gain growth and 
 strength by sweeping over the barriers set around it to cir- 
 cumscribe its increase and power? 
 
 Rebellion upon just ground arises from gradually ac- 
 cumulated wrong and tyranny, on the part of the govern- 
 ment, inflicted on the governed. But where the governed 
 tyrannize over the government, the necessity for rebellion 
 cannot exist. Conspiracy and insurrection then are the 
 means taken to overthrow legitimate authority. Then the 
 disaffected few inspire the many with distrust and hatred 
 of their governors, until the public mind, restless and 
 excited, yields to the pressure of party and faction, and 
 becomes inflamed and bewildered with apprehensions of 
 suffering, oppression, and tyranny. Thus the seeds of 
 sedition and violence are sown, the weak and the ignorant 
 misled, until the masses, gazing at that which they are 
 told is a monster, begin to see the " horns and tail," and 
 fly from a phantom that exists only in their own excited 
 imagination. 
 
 The slaveholding States held within themselves the ele- 
 ments whence emanated that injustice and evil they falsely 
 accused the General Government of inflicting upon them. 
 
 The institution for which they drew the sword and 
 struck the traitorous blow was, in itself, the cause of all 
 the trouble and discontent which excited them to rebel. 
 Our forefathers fought the mother-country for the privilege 
 of petition and representation; they said these were "sacred 
 rights" of which they would not be deprived, and had 
 Great Britain granted that right at the outset, the rebellion 
 would have terminated before the maternal bond was severed. 
 
THE PECULIAR INSTITUTION. 95 
 
 The haters of tyranny and oppression in the North said, 
 ^^ Slavery is wrong; it oughf to be restricted or abolished/^ 
 and they petitioned Congress for the privilege to debate 
 the question. The upholders of stripes and chains in the 
 South said, ^' You shall not agitate the question ; you shall 
 not petition Congress to grant the right to discuss the 
 question. We know our Constitution provides for its own 
 alteration and amendment ; but you shall not bring before 
 the people's representatives the subject in any form. We 
 will hang all of you who shall come south of Mason and 
 Dixon to argue the point, and we will bludgeon and shoot 
 your representatives who shall dare to say that ^ our mild 
 form of holding persons to service' is oppressive or unjust/' 
 
 Southern law-makers and teachers of divinity say, " It is 
 a God-protected institution; our negroes are taught to 
 worship God ; they marry and are given in marriage, and 
 their offspring are baptized in the Church. It is no sin,'' 
 they assert, ^' to hold a weaker race in subjection, — to turn 
 their sweat and blood into luxury and wealth for ourselves 
 and our children; and, when they dispute our right to 
 enforce this doctrine, or are unwilling to labor, it is not op- 
 pressive or tyrannical to scourge and starve them until they 
 become obedient. It is not wicked to part man and wife 
 in their case. The words, ^whom God hath joined to- 
 gether let no man put asunder,' refer only to white people, 
 not to negroes. 'Tis not God that joins them in marriage; 
 their masters or mistresses only sanction the ceremonies, be- 
 cause, if they were really joined in accordance with God's 
 ordinance, they could not be sold apart from each other 
 and from their little ones." This refers more particularly 
 to the custom on plantations. Marriage in the white 
 church. South, means one thing, marriage in the black 
 church, South, means another. The ^^ man-seller" of the 
 
96 THE PECULIAR INSTITUTION. 
 
 South says tliat tlie negro is ordained of God for endless 
 servitude; lie was not intend^ for that milder form to 
 which the Israelitish slave was consigned, and which 
 guaranteed to the bondman, after seven years' bondage, 
 the right to depart from his master, taking with him his 
 wife and children, together with a portion of the worldly 
 goods he had helped to acquire. Ail this was secured to 
 him in accordance with the provisions of a merciful law, 
 and with the blessing of the hand that bestowed it, with 
 the assurance that there was no more servitude for him, 
 nor for his wife, nor for their children. 
 
 Rebeldom says, " I will buy and sell the ' nigger,' chain 
 and scourge him, as it pleases me and as my State laws 
 permit; moreover, I will have my righteous right per- 
 petuated by national legislation, so that my ' blessed insti- 
 tution' shall come and go hither and thither as it pleaseth 
 it, nor shall any ^ mudsill ' in ^ Yanl eedom ' gainsay that 
 right.'' 
 
 Such is the platform on which stand the insurgents of 
 the South, and such is the attitude they maintain in the 
 face of, and in defiance of, the whole civiHzed world. 
 
 ^^ Let justice be done, though the heavens fall," saith the 
 proverb. Then why should we not act justly, even though 
 the slaveholder should fall ? But I am talking '^ abolition 
 talk," when I only meant to speak of rebels, and shall be 
 accused of belonging to the " Wendell Phillips wing" of 
 progress and reform. 
 
 To return to my refusal to eulogize traitors. Much has 
 been written of the heroism and religious enthusiasm of 
 Stonewall Jackson's character. I have no doubt that he 
 was a conscientious man in many respects, and a Christian 
 in a certain sense of the word ; but, as he was a rebel in 
 arms against his country, I can only afford him the acknow- 
 
THE PECULIAR INSTITUTION. QZ 
 
 ledgment that is expressed in the following sentiment: 
 " When men are dead, they cease to be our enemies '/^ and 
 as Stonewall Jackson has been called to answer for his 
 actions on earth before a higher tribunal than man's, we 
 can afford to deal gently with his memory, and to tread 
 lightly over his grave. The sod* of his native country, 
 saturated with the blood of her noble and loyal sons, will 
 lie none the less heavily on the breast of one who devoted 
 his energies and talents to strike down his countrymen 
 who were battling in defence of human freedom, the sacred 
 obligations of rightful allegiance, and the laws of God and 
 man. 
 
 The beautiful and graphic picture of ^^ Barbara Frietchie's'' 
 heroism is from the pen of John G. Whittier, the Quaker 
 poet, — a writer whose bold and withering rebuke of injustice 
 and error has always been as outspoken and marked as his 
 gentle laudations of truth and honor have ever been grace- 
 ful and generous. The poem is a touching tribute to the 
 memory of one who, true to a sacred instinct of our nature, 
 love of country, — which, properly expressed, is love of 
 kindred and love of God, — rebuked the base and bitter 
 spirit of the so-called Christian hero, while he was per- 
 forming an act which savored of neither the spirit of a 
 knight of chivalry nor of a soldier of God, — the only re- 
 deeming point being that he expressed his contrition for 
 the act when a nobler nature reminded him of its base- 
 ness. As Christians we are called on to forgive our 
 enemies ; but we are not required to embalm their memories 
 in praise or tears. 
 
BARBARA FKIETCHIE. 
 
 BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. 
 
 Up from the meadows rich with corn. 
 Clear in the cool September morn, 
 
 The clustered spires of Frederick stand, 
 Green-waird by the hills of Maryland. 
 
 Round about them orchards sweep, 
 Apple and peach tree fruited deep, 
 
 Fair as a garden of the Lord, 
 
 To the eyes of the famished rebel horde. 
 
 On that pleasant morn of the early Fall, 
 When Lee marched over the mountain wall, 
 
 Over the mountains winding down, 
 Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 
 
 Forty flags with their silver stars, 
 Forty flags with their crimson bars, 
 
 Flapped in the morning wind : the sun 
 Of noon look'd down, and saw not one. 
 
 Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
 Bow^d with her fourscore years and ten ; 
 
 Bravest of all in Frederick town, 
 
 She took up the flag the men hauFd down. 
 
 In her attic-window the staff she set. 
 To show that one heart was loyal yet. 
 
BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 99 
 
 Up the street came the rebel tread, 
 Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 
 
 Under his slouch'd hat left and right 
 He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 
 
 " Halt !'' — the dust-brown ranks stood fast ; 
 *' Fire V^ — out blazed the rifle-blast. 
 
 It shivered the window-pane and sash, 
 It rent the banner with seam and gash. 
 
 Quick, as it fell from the broken staff, 
 Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. 
 
 She lean'd far out on the window-sill, 
 And shook it forth with a royal will. 
 
 " Shoot, if you must, this old gray head. 
 But spare your country's flag/' she said. 
 
 A shade of sadness, a blush of shame. 
 Over the face of the leader came ; 
 
 The nobler nature within him stirr'd 
 To life at that woman's deed and word. 
 
 " Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
 Dies like a dog ! March on !'' he said. 
 
 All day long through Frederick street 
 Sounded the tread of marching feet ; 
 
 All day long that free flag toss'd 
 Over the heads of the rebel host. 
 
 Ever its torn folds rose and fell 
 
 On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 
 
100 AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR. 
 
 And, through the hill-gaps, sunset light 
 Shone over it with a warm good-night. 
 
 Barbara Frietchie's work is o^er, 
 
 And the rebel rides on his raids no more. 
 
 Honor to her ! and let a tear 
 
 Fall, for her sake, on StonewalFs bier. 
 
 Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 
 Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! 
 
 Peace and order and beauty draw 
 Round thy symbol of light and law ; 
 
 And ever the stars above look down 
 On thy stars below in Frederick town. 
 
 ^ 
 
 (Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 " The Sleeping SentineP^ is not alone a poem : it is an ani- 
 mated pageant, a series of events and incidents grouped in 
 actual existence^ moving and glowing with all the spirit of 
 life and truth. We see, and weep for, the boy soldier Scott. 
 "We behold and mourn with his sorrow-stricken parents. 
 How entirely do we sympathize with that soul, crushed 
 by the weight of shame and dishonor, but not shaken by 
 the terrors of death ! We become conscious of the restless 
 midnight step of our kind-hearted President, who, in his 
 solitary chamber, walks pondering on the necessity of dis- 
 cipline and example, and the offices of gentle and life- 
 giving mercy. How human, too, is the shout, in which we 
 
AN INCIDENT OF THE WAIL 101 
 
 join, to hail the coming of the glad tidings brought in the 
 spirit of the Saviour's errand ! 
 
 Without the ability or will to criticize the poet and his 
 numbers, I simply say, I love the poem and delight in the 
 movement of the verse. The opening words always call to 
 my mind those peculiar and impressive lines of Dr. Holmes, 
 addressed by the Puritan father to his son : — ^^ Come hither, 
 <Grod be glorified,' and sit upon my knee/' not that there 
 is any similarity in construction or sentiment, but for the 
 savor of the old ballad-opening which hangs about them, — 
 the old legendary bell-tone, which, like the Sabbath-toll- 
 ing, seems to ring out, — 
 
 ** Come, all ye toiling people, round, 
 And unto me give ear." 
 
 Old times and old themes come forth from the mould 
 and the dust of the past, to sun themselves in the glow of 
 the present, when such key-notes are sounded; under 
 their genial influence, we are moulded and impressed with 
 the true seal of Romance and Poetry, and, like Desdemona, 
 with a greedy ear we '^ devour up'' the measured story. 
 
 As an illustration of this tendency of the popular heart 
 to throb with the passion of storied verse, let me say, I 
 have seen a thousand faces, over which were alternating 
 the varying emotions of pride, joy, pity, and defiance, as 
 the lookers-on sat in groups or circles on a barren hill-side 
 (while the rebels were bombarding Chattanooga), silent 
 and absorbed, listening to my recital of heroism, suffering, 
 and devotion as portrayed in the ballads and lyrics of my 
 favorite war-poets, who have sung so feelingly and fittingly 
 of the soldier's deeds. Indeed, the attention and interest 
 have been so profound that it might scarcely be disturbed 
 even by the dull boom of an occasional shell bursting in 
 the mid-air a little nearer "the audience" than the usual 
 
 9* 
 
102 AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR. 
 
 harmless range of Bragg's "Lookout'^ batteries. TKe tears, 
 as they trickled down the cheeks of age and youth alike, — 
 officers and men, — and then the shouts and cheers that 
 would in turn burst forth as freely and unrestrainedly, all 
 gave truthful evidence of the strong grasp fixed by the 
 narrative and the verse on the heart and the imagination 
 of the soldier. 
 
 Under such and other circumstances of an equally ex- 
 citing character the listeners never tired of hearing ^'The 
 Oath,^' ^'On Board the Cumberland, ^^The Sleeping Sen- 
 tineV and other poems by the same authors, many of which 
 I have recited to citizens and soldiers, in large assemblies, 
 amounting in the aggregate to over a hundred thousand 
 persons. Such poems cannot fail to excite and develop 
 all the gentle emotions of our nature, , whenever read or 
 recited. At the same time, they are calculated to fan the 
 fire of patriotism in every loyal breast into a fiercer flame. 
 They purify and elevate our moral nature, making us better 
 and happier, casting round the social circle, the fireside- 
 group, and the camp-gathering, a mantle of human sym- 
 pathy and love. Truly, the poet's mission is — 
 
 '^ To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, 
 To raise the genius, and to mend the heart." 
 
 I had the pleasure of reading this beautiful and touch- 
 ing poem, for the first time, to Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln, and a 
 select party of their friends, at the White House, by invi- 
 tation of Senator Foot, of Vermont, who took a great in- 
 terest in the poem, not only for its high excellence, but 
 also on account of young Scott being from his native State. 
 
 Its second reading was in the Senate-chamber of the 
 United States, which was appropriated for the purpose, — 
 the proceeds being for the aid of our sick and wounded 
 soldiers. 
 
THE SLEEPING SENTINEL. 103 
 
 ^t Slw^ing Stntinel 
 
 FRANCIS DE HAES JANVIER, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the SKELETON MOXK," ''THE VOYAGE OF LIFE," ''tHB 
 PALACE OF THE CJESARS," AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 The incidents here woven into verse relate to William Scott, a young 
 soldier from the State of Vermont, who, while on duty as a sentinel at 
 night, fell asleep, and, having been condemned to die, was pardoned 
 by the President. They form a brief record of his humble life at home 
 and in the field, and of his glorious death. 
 
 " The quality of mercy is not strained ; 
 It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
 *Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown : 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power. 
 The attribute to awe and majesty. 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; 
 But mercy is above this sceptred sway, 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
 When mercy seasons justice." — Shakspeare. 
 
 %\t ^Iwping Stntincl 
 
 ^TwAS in the sultry summer-time, as War^s red records show, 
 AVhen patriot armies rose to meet a fratricidal foe — 
 AVhen, from the North, and East, and AVest, like the upheav- 
 ing sea, 
 ISwept forth Columbia's sons, to make our country truly free. 
 
104 THE SLEEPING SENTINEL. 
 
 I 
 
 "Within a prison's dismal walls, where shadows veiVd decay — ' 
 In fetters, on a heap of straw, a youthful soldier lay : 
 Heart-broken, hopeless, and forlorn, with short and feverish 
 
 breath, 
 He waited but the appointed hour to die a culprit's death. 
 
 Yet, but a few brief weeks before, untroubled with a care. 
 He roamed at will, and freely drew his native mountain air — 
 Where sparkling streams leap mossy rocks, from many a wood- 
 land font. 
 And waving elms, and grassy slopes, give beauty to Vermont ! 
 
 Where, dwelling in an humble cot, a tiller of the soil, 
 
 Encircled by a mother's love, he shared a father's toil — 
 
 Till, borne upon the wailing winds, his suffering country's 
 
 cry 
 Fired his young heart with fervent zeal, for her to live or die. 
 
 Then left he all : — a few fond tears, by firmness half conceaPd, 
 A blessing, and a parting prayer, and he was in the field — 
 The field of strife, whose dews are blood, whose breezes War's 
 
 hot breath. 
 Whose fruits are garner'd in the grave, whose husbandman is 
 
 Death ! 
 
 Without a murmur, he endured a service new and hard ; 
 But, wearied with a toilsome march, it chanced one night, on 
 
 guard. 
 He sank, exhausted, at his post, and the gray morning found 
 His prostrate form — a sentinel, asleep, upon the ground ! 
 
 So, in the silence of the night, aweary, on the sod. 
 Sank the disciples, watching near the suffering Son of God ; — 
 Yet, Jesus, with compassion moved, beheld their heavy eyes. 
 And, though betray'd to ruthless foes, forgiving, bade ihem 
 rise ! 
 
THE SLEEPING SENTINEL. 105 
 
 But God is love, — and finite minds can faintly comprehend 
 How gentle Mercy, in His rule, may with stern Justice blend ; 
 And this poor soldier, seized and bound, found none to justify, 
 While War's inexorable law decreed that he must die. 
 
 'Twas night. — In a secluded room, with measured tread, and 
 
 slow, 
 A statesman of commanding mien, paced gravely to and fro. 
 Oppressed, he ponder'd on a land by civil discord rent ; 
 On brothers arm'd in deadly strife : — it was the President ! 
 
 The woes of thirty millions fill'd his burdened heart with grief; 
 Embattled hosts, on land and sea, acknowledged him their 
 
 chief; 
 And yet, amid the din of war, he heard the plaintive cry 
 Of that poor soldier, as he lay in prison, doomed to die ! 
 
 'Twas morning. — On a tented field, and through the heated 
 
 haze. 
 Flashed back, from lines of burnish^ arms, the sun's effulgent 
 
 blaze ; 
 While, from a sombre prison-house, seen slowly to emerge, 
 A sad procession, o'er the sward, moved to a muffled dirge. 
 
 And in the midst, with faltering step, and pale and anxious 
 
 face. 
 In manacles, between two guards, a soldier had his place. 
 A youth — led out to die; — and yet, it was not death, but 
 
 shame, 
 That smote his gallant heart with dread, and shook his manly 
 
 frame I 
 
 Still on, before the marshalFd ranks, the train pursued its 
 
 way 
 Up to the designated spot, whereon a coffin lay — 
 His coffin ! And, with reeling brain, despairing — desolate — 
 He took his station by its side, abandoned to his fate ! 
 
106 THE SLEEPING SENTINEL. 
 
 Then came across his wavering sight strange pictures in the 
 
 air: — 
 He saw his distant mountain home ; he saw his mother there ; 
 He saw his father bow^d with grief, through fast-declining 
 
 years ; 
 He saw a nameless grave ; and then, the vision closed — in 
 
 tears ! 
 
 Yet, once again. In double file, advancing, then, he saw 
 
 Twelve comrades, sternly set apart to execute the law — 
 
 But saw no more : — his senses swam — deep darkness settled 
 
 round — 
 And, shuddering, he awaited now the fatal volley^ s sound ! 
 
 Then suddenly was heard the noise of steeds and wheels 
 
 approach, — 
 And, rolling through a cloud of dust, appeared a stately 
 
 coach. 
 On, past the guards, and through the field, its rapid course was 
 
 bent, 
 Till, halting, ^mid the lines was seen the nation's President ! 
 
 He came to save that stricken soul, now waking from despair ; 
 And from a thousand voices rose a shout which rent the air ! 
 The pardoned soldier understood the tones of jubilee. 
 And, bounding from his fetters, blessed the hand that made 
 him free ! 
 
 'Twas Spring. — Within a verdant vale, where Warwick's 
 
 crystal tide 
 Reflected, o'er its peaceful breast, fair fields on either side — 
 Where birds and flowers combined to cheer a sylvan solitude — 
 Two threatening armies, face to face, in fierce defiance stood ! 
 
 Two threatening armies ! One invoked by injured Liberty — 
 Which bore above its patriot ranks the Symbol of the Free ; 
 And one, a rebel horde, beneath a flaunting flag of bars, 
 A fragment, torn by traitorous hands, from Freedom's Stripes 
 and Stars ! 
 
THE SLEEPING SENTINEL. 107 
 
 A sudden shock which shook the earth, ^mid vapor dense and 
 
 dun, 
 Proclaimed, along the echoing hills, the conflict had begun ; 
 While shot and shell, athwart the stream with fiendish fury 
 
 sped. 
 To strew among the living lines the dying and the dead I 
 
 Then, louder than the roaring storm, peaFd forth the stern 
 
 command, 
 '* Charge ! soldiers, charge!'^ and, at the word, with shouts, a 
 
 fearless band, 
 Two hundred heroes from Vermont, rush'd onward through 
 
 the flood. 
 And upward o'er the rising ground, they mark'd their way in 
 
 blood ! 
 
 The smitten foe before them fled, in terror, from his post — 
 While, unsustainM, two hundred stood, to battle with a host ! 
 Then, turning, as the rallying ranks, with murderous fire, 
 
 replied 
 They bore the fallen o'er the field, and through the purple 
 
 tide! 
 
 The fallen ! And the first who fell in that unequal strife. 
 Was he whom Mercy sped to save when Justice claimed his 
 
 life— 
 The pardon'd soldier ! And, while yet the conflict raged 
 
 around — 
 While yet his life-blood ebb'd away through every gaping 
 
 wound — 
 
 While yet his voice grew tremulous, and death bedimm'd his 
 eye— 
 
 lie call'd his comrades to attest he had not fear'd to die ! 
 
 And, in his last expiring breath, a prayer to heaven was sent — 
 
 That God, with His unfailing grace, would bless our Presi- 
 dent! 
 
108 ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND. 
 
 6n §oarlj % Cwmljjrlanly, 
 
 MARCH 7, 1862. 
 
 BY GEORGE H. BOKER. 
 
 ^^On Board the Cumherlandy^ it will be observed, is in 
 the old ballad form of verse, — that simple and unadorned 
 style in which the deeds of Robin Hood and his merry 
 men, and the chivalry of ^' Chevy Chase,^' won and retained 
 the admiration of a rude age, and also that of those in 
 which the epic, the dramatic, and the lyric forms advanced 
 and culminated in the highest honors of the classic school 
 of English literature. The very simplicity of the ballad 
 form gives it the element of native energy, and as such 
 the dramatic reader feels the full force of its surging 
 numbers and syllabic impulses ; they enable him to gather 
 up and hurl in a mighty mass, as it were, the soul of 
 heroic passion, or to swell into one gushing current the 
 tender sympathies of love and pity in extended quantities 
 or abrupt explosions of the voice. This is the process by 
 which the reader carries his auditor along with him, 
 enchaining his attention, enlisting his feelings, and exciting 
 his imagination, until the acts described, and not the 
 manner of description, fill the eye of the mind, and the 
 soul becomes captive to the imagery of the poet. 
 
 ** Stand to your guns, men !" Morris cried ; 
 
 Small need io pass the word ; 
 Our men at quarters ranged themselves 
 
 Before the drum was heard. 
 
 And then began the sailors' jests : 
 "• What thing is that, I say?'' 
 
ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND. 109 
 
 **A 'long-shore meeting-house adrift 
 Is standing down the bay !'' 
 
 A frown came over Morris' face ; 
 
 The strange, dark craft he knew : 
 ** That is the iron Merrimac, 
 
 Manned by a rebel crew. 
 
 " So shot your guns and point them straight ; 
 
 Before this day goes by, 
 We^ll try of what her metaFs made.'' 
 
 A cheer was our reply. 
 
 ** Remember, boys, this flag of ours 
 
 Has seldom left its place ; 
 And where it falls, the deck it strikes 
 
 Is cover'd with disgrace. 
 
 '* I ask but this : or sink or swim, 
 
 Or live or nobly die, 
 My last sight upon earth may be 
 
 To see that ensign fly !" 
 
 Meanwhile the shapeless iron mass 
 
 Came moving o'er the wave. 
 As gloomy as a passing hearse, 
 
 As silent as the grave. 
 
 Her ports were closed ; from stem to stern 
 
 No sign of life appear'd : 
 We wonderM, question'd, strain'd our eyes, 
 
 Joked — every thing but fear'd. 
 
 She reach'd our range. Our broadside rang ; 
 
 Our heavy pivots roar'd ; 
 And shot and shell, a fire of hell, 
 
 Against her side we pour'd. 
 10 
 
110 ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND. 
 
 Grod's mercy ! from her sloping roof 
 
 The iron tempest glanced, 
 As hail bounds from a cottage-thatch. 
 And round her leap'd and danced; 
 
 Or when against her dusky hull 
 "We struck a fair, full blow, 
 
 The mighty, solid iron globes 
 "Were crumbled up like snow. 
 
 On, on, with fast increasing speed, 
 
 The silent monster came, 
 Though all our starboard battery 
 
 "Was one long line of flame. 
 
 She heeded not ; no guns she fired ; 
 
 Straight on our bows she bore ; 
 Through riving plank and crashing &ame 
 
 Her furious way she tore. 
 
 Alas I our beautiful, keen bow, 
 
 That in the fiercest blast 
 So gently folded back the seas, 
 
 They hardly felt we pass'd I 
 
 Alas ! alas ! my Cumberland, 
 That ne'er knew grief before. 
 
 To be so gored, to feel so deep 
 The tusk of that sea-boar ! 
 
 Once more she backward drew apace ; 
 
 Once more our side she rent, 
 Then, in the wantonness of hate, 
 
 Her broadside through us sent. 
 
 The dead and dying round us lay. 
 But our foeman lay abeam ; 
 
ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND. Ill 
 
 Her open port-holes maddened us, » 
 
 We fired with shout and scream. 
 
 We felt our vessel settling fast ; 
 
 We knew our time was brief: 
 " Ho! man the pumps V^ But they who workM, 
 
 And fought not, wept with grief. 
 
 ** Oh ! keep us but an hour afloat ! 
 
 Oh ! give us only time 
 To mete unto yon rebel crew 
 
 The measure of their crime V' 
 
 From captain down to powder-boy, 
 
 No hand was idle then : 
 Two soldiers, but by chance aboard, 
 
 Fought on like sailor men. 
 
 And when a gun*s crew lost a hand, 
 
 Some bold marine stepped out, 
 And jerked his braided jacket off, 
 
 And hauPd the gun about. 
 
 Our forward magazine was drown'd. 
 
 And up from the sick-bay 
 CrawFd out the wounded, red with blood. 
 
 And round us gasping lay; — 
 
 Yes, cheering, calling us by name. 
 
 Struggling with failing breath 
 To keep their shipmates at the post 
 
 Where glory strove with death. 
 
 With decks afloat and powder gone. 
 
 The last broadside we gave 
 From the guns' heated iron lips 
 
 Burst out beneath the wave. 
 
112 ON BOARD THE CUlfBKRTiAND. 
 
 So sponges, rammers, and handFpiki 
 Afi men-of-irar's men should — 
 
 We placed within their proper racks, 
 And aU our quarters stood. 
 
 •• Up to the spar deck ! saTC yoorselTeB V* 
 Cried Selfridge. ** Up, mv men ! 
 
 God grant that some of ns may liye 
 To fight yen ship again !'^ 
 
 We tam*d : we did not like to go ; 
 
 Yet staying se^n'd but Tain, 
 Knee-deep in water ; so we left ; 
 
 Some swofe, srane groan'd with pain. 
 
 We reach'd the deck. Tliere Randall stood : 
 
 ** Another torn, men — so I'' 
 Calmly he aim'd his piTot gon : 
 
 " Xow, Tenny, let her go !" 
 
 It did our sore hearts good to hear 
 
 The song our |MTot eauig, 
 As rushing on firom ware to wave 
 
 The whirring bomb-shell sprang. 
 
 Brave Randall leap'd upon the gun. 
 
 And wave^i his cap in sport : 
 ** Well done I well aim'd ! I saw that sheU 
 
 Go throngh an open port V* 
 
 It was oor last, oar deadliest shot; 
 
 The deck was OTerflown ; 
 The poor ship stagger'd, lurch'd to port; 
 
 And gave a living groan. 
 
 Bown, down, as headlong through the wmfes. 
 Car gallant Teasel roah'd ; 
 
ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND. 113 
 
 A thousand gurgling watery sounds 
 Around my senses gush'd. 
 
 Then I remember little more ; 
 
 One look to heaven I gave, 
 Where, like an angel's wing, I saw 
 
 Our spotless ensign wave. 
 
 I tried to cheer. I cannot say 
 
 Whether I swam or sank ; 
 A blue mist closed around my eyes. 
 
 And every thing was blank. 
 
 When I awoke, a soldier lad, 
 
 All dripping from the sea. 
 With two great tears upon his cheeks, 
 
 Was bending over me. 
 
 I tried to speak. He understood 
 
 The wish I could not speak. 
 lie turned me. There, thank God ! the flag 
 
 Still fluttered at the peak ! 
 
 And there, while thread shall hang to thread, 
 
 Oh, let that ensign fly ! 
 The noblest constellation set 
 
 Against the northern sky, — 
 
 A sign that we who live may claim 
 
 The peerage of the brave ; 
 A monument that needs no scroll. 
 For those beneath the wave. 
 
 10* 
 
114 AN INVOCATION TO LOYALTY. 
 
 |ln Intoratifltt to f opltg. 
 
 (Extract rROii 3Ir. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 "the oath/' by THOMAS BUCHANAN READ, ESQ. 
 
 This poem was written by Mr. Read, a few days after 
 the news reached Cincinnati of the brutal murder of 
 General Robert McCook, who was shot by guerrillas, while 
 sick and travelling, in Kentucky. It was a master-stroke 
 of artistic effect and poetic inspiration which prompted Mr. 
 Read to seize on the oath of the ghost in Hamlet and apply 
 it to the sons of the men who have fought, bled, and died 
 for our country. 
 
 Apart from the general merits of the poem, the appeal of 
 the poet to the heroes of the past, and their answer, is in- 
 tensely affecting, and reflects the highest credit upon one 
 of the first lyrical writers of the age. I cannot refrain 
 from referring to an exhibition of the grand and imposing 
 effect of the recitation of this poem, under circumstances 
 everyway calculated to test its power as an agent in arous- 
 ing the sensibilities of those who are sometimes rendered, 
 by frequent contact with violence, indifferent to the appeals 
 of poetic imagery and inspired numbers. 
 
 While on a flying visit to my friend, General A. McDowell 
 McCook, a few days after the battle of Chaplin Hills, in 
 passing through Danville, Kentucky, I made a visit, in 
 company with the general and his staff, to the house of a 
 distinguished Kentucky statesman and loyal gentleman. 
 While partaking of his hospitalities, and surrounded by 
 many leading men of the neighborhood and several mili- 
 tary gentlemen, the question of allegiance to the General 
 
AN INVOCATION TO LOYALTY. 115 
 
 Government became the topic of discussion. Our host 
 remarked that many of his friends, although patriotic and 
 loyal men, were not so clear on the subject of putting 
 down the rebellion as he could wish them to be. Upon this 
 I remarked I did not feel disposed to argue the question in 
 debate, but, if permitted, I would arouse their patriotic 
 sympathies in behalf of the Government and its defenders 
 by an invocation to duty and principle in the shape of 
 an oath; or, in other words, I would *^ swear them aiy — as 
 I possessed authority, in a poetic sense, and had the docu- 
 ments in my pocket. This proposition caused some astonish- 
 ment, but it was agreed that I should administer the oath. 
 I stood in the centre of a large drawing-room, or parlor, 
 the gentlemen standing around me, and there I read the 
 poem which is the subject of these remarks. 
 
 Intense silence pervaded the assembly during my re- 
 cital, and at the close of it the entire group seemed spell- 
 bound; tears were streaming down the cheeks of many, 
 while others, with a solemnity that marked the absorbing 
 interest awakened by the poet, turned and grasped the 
 hands of their neighbors. The host turned to the side-board 
 in silence, and, as each guest raised his glass to his lips, 
 there was a pause and a look, which seemed to render 
 audible the words, "We swear!" while the bowed heads 
 and measured steps of the retiring auditors as clearly ex- 
 pressed the sentiment of their hearts as though their 
 tongues had uttered it. 
 
 General McCook was much affected by the recitation; 
 and the unexpected mention of his murdered brother's 
 name caused the gallant and impulsive soldier to shed 
 tears, at once tender and bitter. 
 
 Who shall say that such an incident was not calculated 
 to confirm the faith of the true patriot, and to cause the 
 
116 THE OATH. 
 
 disaffected or wavering man to think more deeply of his 
 duty to his country and his allegiance to that Government 
 under whose protection he enjoys those precious rights to 
 secure which his forefathers fought and bled, and for whose 
 •perpetuation he will be held responsible by his own pos- 
 terity ? 
 
 BY THOMAS BUCHAXAK READ. 
 
 '^Hamlet, — Swear on my sword. 
 Ghost (below). — Swear !'* — Shakspeabe. 
 
 Ye freemen, how long will ye stifle 
 
 The vengeance that justice inspires ? 
 With treason how long will ye trifle 
 
 And shame the proud names of your sires ? 
 Out, out with the sword and the rifle, 
 
 In defence of your homes and your fires I 
 The flag of the old Revolution 
 
 Swear firmly to serve and uphold, 
 That no treasonous breath of pollution 
 
 Shall tarnish one star on its fold. 
 Swear I 
 And hark I the deep voices replying 
 From graves where your fathers are lying, 
 ** Swear I Oh, swear I'' 
 
 In this moment, who hesitates, barters 
 
 The rights which his forefathers won ; 
 He forfeits all claim to the charters 
 
 Transmitted from sire to son. 
 Kneel, kneel at the graves of our martyrs. 
 
 And swear on your sword and your gun ; 
 Lay up your great oath on an altar 
 
 As huge and as strong as Stonehenge, 
 
THE OATH, 117 
 
 And then, with sword, fire, and halter, 
 Sweep down to the field of revenge. 
 
 Swear ! 
 And hark ! the»deep voices replying 
 From graves where your fathers are lying, 
 
 *' Swear! Oh, swear P' 
 
 By the tombs of your sires and brothers, 
 
 The host which the traitors have slain ; 
 By the tears of your sisters and mothers. 
 
 In secret concealing their pain ; 
 The grief which the heroine smothers 
 
 Consuming the heart and the brain ; 
 By the sigh of the penniless widow, 
 
 By the sob of our orphans' despair, 
 Where they sit in their sorrowful shadow. 
 
 Kneel, kneel, every freeman, and swear I 
 Swear ! 
 And hark ! the deep voices replying 
 From graves where your fathers are lying, 
 ** Swear! Oh, swear!'' 
 
 On mounds which are wet with the weeping 
 
 Where a nation has bow'd to the sod, 
 Where the noblest of martyrs are sleeping. 
 
 Let the wind bear your vengeance abroad, 
 And your firm oaths be held in the keeping 
 
 Of your patriot hearts, and your God ; 
 Over Ellsworth, for whom the first tear rose. 
 
 While to Baker and Lyon you look, 
 By Winthrop, a star among heroes. 
 
 By the blood of our murder'd McCook, 
 Swear ! 
 And hark ! the deep voices replying 
 From graves where your fathers are lying, 
 ** Swear! Oh, swear!" 
 
118 GETTYSBURG. 
 
 (Extract prom Mr. Murdoqsi's Lectures.) 
 
 . ''And he lay like a warrior taking his rest. 
 With his martial cloak around him." 
 
 To stand upon what has been a great battle-field, but 
 what is now a vast cemetery, — to view the countless mounds 
 of the humble many and the decorated resting-places of 
 the more worldly-gifted few, and there solemnly to reflect 
 upon the many ills that flesh is heir to, — is to feel that war 
 is the monster evil that afflicts our race ; but when we look 
 for the cause from which arose the outpouring of that vial 
 of wrath, and the upheaving of that before peaceful sod, 
 then do we know that civil war is the lower pit of that 
 lowest hell depicted by the poet. 
 
 As the spectator casts his saddened eye over the rural 
 Golgotha, his mind, refusing to dwell too long on the stern 
 mementoes of human passion and frailty, arrests the thought 
 of the present, and he turns and gazes down the vistas of 
 the past. His fancy starts at the trumpet's blast, while the 
 strife of battle and the roar of its fatal engines are conjured 
 up to his mind^s eye and ear, realizing all the terrors of the 
 dreadful scene. Then with an excited imagination he sits 
 down to think upon the seeming hollowness of glory and 
 the folly of war. When he reflects, however, upon the 
 causes of that strife, the fruits of which are before him, he 
 feels that the pride of national honor inspired the brave 
 men who opposed that horde of rebels and of traitors, and 
 drove them back to starve and die amid that desolation 
 their own misguided counsels had produced. Then he feels 
 that love of country is pride, just pride; that a nation to 
 fulfil its mission must protect its honor and repel its 
 
Il GETTYSBURG. 119 
 
 assailers. This is war, just war ! and war is glory, — glory 
 is the shroud as well as the banner of the hero who dies 
 contending for his country and his God ! How natural, 
 then, is the reaction of the mind when, — leaving the sad 
 spectacle on which his eyes have rested and over which 
 his thoughts have wandered, — he feels his cheek glow 
 with a just indignation at the guilt of the traitorous 
 foe, and his heart throb with gratitude for the heroism 
 of the loyal dead, whose glory is his country's glory and 
 whose deeds are the embodiment of patriotism and honor. 
 Such are the pictured scenes and solemn thoughts held up 
 to our mental gaze in the mirror of Mr. Janvier's poem 
 entitled " Gettysburg.^' 
 
 The cemetery and the battle-field are before us, and we 
 are compelled to bow to the solemnity of the one, while 
 we are startled and fired with the tramp and shock of the 
 other. 
 
 I have been impressed with awe, overwhelmed with pity 
 and grief, and excited to all the fierceness of strife, at its 
 recital. Alternating between tears and curses, I have risen 
 from its perusal, and felt that only a Christian spirit and 
 a poetic inspiration combined could produce such efiects 
 upon one who has not been unaccustomed to restrain his 
 emotions. Since my judgment first led me to admire this 
 production of Mr. Janvier, I have found, by the intensified 
 attention of the audiences (and they have been many and 
 large) to whom I have recited the poem, that they re- 
 sponded to my own appreciation of the sentiment; while 
 the applause that followed at the close of the recital always 
 spoke for their estimation of the poet and the poetry. 
 
 There are few writers who possess such exquisite and 
 delicate perceptions of the pure and the beautiful as the 
 gentleman who is the subject of my remarks. His numbers 
 
12(X GETTYSBURG. 
 
 are harmonious and flowing, and always in strict accordance 
 with the laws of versification. If there be any objection 
 to his poetic productions, — for I am free to confess I have 
 not the critical ability to detect the existence of any posiJ 
 tive one, — it may be in his over-exactness and too-sustained 
 artistic consistency. This sometimes imparts an appearance 
 of labored regularity to his verse, which makes us desirei 
 the use of the spur rather than the curb to the gait of hiii 
 muse. But I am falling into a needless criticism of Mr.' 
 Janvier's poetry, rather than adhering ta my duty of dis- 
 playing its patriotic fire, heroic eulogy and Christian spirit. 
 This I profess to accomplish by attempting through the 
 medium of my voice a reproduction of that soul-stirring 
 spirit which called forth the language and sentiment of a 
 poem in which is embodied one of the most beautiful 
 tributes that has been paid to the illustrious dead of Get- 
 tysburg, — that gallant host whose remains repose beneath 
 the soil of their country, but whose memories are embalmed 
 in the hearts of their countrymen. . 
 
 BY FRANCIS DE HAES JANVIER. 
 
 This poem is prefaced with an extract from the Farewell 
 Address of the Father of our Country. 
 
 ^^ The unity of Government, which constitutes you one 
 people, is also dear to you. It is justly so; for it is a main 
 pillar in the edifice of your real independence, the support 
 of your tranquillity at home, your peace abroad; of your 
 safety; of your prosperity; of that very Liberty which you 
 so highly prize. 
 
 ^^ But as it is easy to foresee thar, from difi*erent causes 
 and from different quarters, much pains will be taken, 
 
GETTYSBURG. 121 
 
 many artifices employed, to weaken in your minds the con- 
 viction of this truth, — as this is the point in your political 
 fortress-^gainst which the batteries of internal and external 
 enemies will be most constantly and actively (though often 
 covertly and insidiously) directed, it is of infinite moment 
 that you should properly estimate the immense value of 
 your national Union to your collective and individual 
 happiness ; that you should cherish a cordial, habitual, and 
 immovable attachment to it; accustoming yourselves to 
 think and speak of it as the palladium of your political 
 safety and prosperity ; watching for its preservation with 
 jealous anxiety; discountenancing whatever may suggest 
 even a suspicion that it can in any event be abandoned ; 
 and indignantly frowning upon the first dawning of every 
 attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the 
 rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together 
 
 the various parts. 
 
 "George Washington.'' 
 
 Two hostile hosts are gathered here — 
 
 Two armies rest around ; 
 And yet, no picket guard is near, 
 No pacing sentinels appear 
 
 To watch the camping-ground ! 
 
 No rattling drum, no screaming fife, 
 
 No braying trumpet's breath, 
 Gives token of impending strife ; 
 There comes no sound of martial life — 
 
 It is the camp of Death ! 
 
 The camp of Death ! — The warrior's pride, 
 
 The sword, and sash, and plume, 
 Are here forever laid aside — 
 Distinction banisliM, rank denied, 
 
 And every tent a tomb ! 
 11 
 
122 GETTYSBURG. 
 
 Peace breathes a requiem o'er the past, 
 
 When, down this tranquil vale, 
 In smoke and flame, swept war's wild blast, 
 While thundering guns peaFd fierce and fast. 
 Through storms of iron hail 1 
 
 The battle broke o'er field and grove 
 
 Like a resistless flood. 
 And on through living ramparts clove, 
 Where Life and Death for mastery strove. 
 
 In agony and blood 1 
 
 The serried squadrons charged and fell 
 
 Before devouring fire — 
 And hissing shot, and blazing shell, 
 Sent like some blasting bolt from hell, 
 
 Heap'd one vast funeral pyre ! 
 
 And Slaughter strew'd the purple plain 
 
 With torture and dismay — 
 Till strength seem'd weak, and valor vain ; 
 And grim and gasping, mid the slain. 
 
 Full many a hero lay ! 
 
 Then rose, with "Victory's joyous tones, 
 
 The wailings of Despair — 
 And mangled flesh, and shattered bones, 
 And oaths and curses, shrieks and groans, 
 
 Commingled wildly there I 
 
 And who were those that, hand to hand, 
 
 Thus closed in deadly strife ? 
 Met patriots here a savage band, 
 Who swarm' d from some far, barbarous land, 
 
 To strike at Freedom's life ? 
 
 No ! — let the infernal vaults below. 
 Resound with fiendish glee — 
 
GETTYSBURG. 123 
 
 A brother was each patriot's foe ; 
 Fraternal hands struck every blow 
 At bleeding Liberty I 
 
 Degenerate sons of sires whose names 
 
 Undying fame shall own — 
 Who, in the Revolution's flames, 
 From fusing fetters, forged the frames 
 
 Of Freedom's lofty throne ! 
 
 Degenerate sons, who, scorn'd and bann'd, 
 
 Eternal shame shall know — 
 Who, recreant to their native land, 
 Lured by Ambition, madly plann'd 
 
 Their country's overthrow! 
 
 And here, upon this bloody ground. 
 
 To Freedom consecrate — 
 The traitorous host advancing, found, 
 As mark'd henceforth, in many a mound, 
 
 The traitor's righteous fate I 
 
 So when at first, in Heaven above, 
 
 Foul perfidy was known — 
 When vile Ambition tainted love, 
 And impious treason rashly strove 
 
 Against the Eternal Throne — 
 
 Before Omnipotence, dispersed, 
 
 The rebel armies fell. 
 Their dazzling dreams of power reversed, 
 Dismay'd, defeated, crush'd, and cursed, 
 
 And headlong hurPd to hell ! 
 
 So perish all our country's foes !- 
 
 So ever, frustrate be 
 The desperate designs of tlioso 
 Who, in our destiny, oppose 
 
 God and Humanity ! 
 
124 GETTYSBURG. 
 
 Two hostile hosts are gathered here ; 
 
 Yet, but one banner waves — 
 Its starry folds, now doubly dear, 
 UnfurFd by Victory, appear 
 
 Above ten thousand graves ! 
 
 Two hostile hosts — ^but never-more 
 
 To meet in mortal strife ; 
 Defiance and defeat are o'er, 
 Nor love, nor hate, can now restore 
 
 One prostrate form to life ! 
 
 Ten thousand graves — so, far and wide. 
 
 Before War's withering breath. 
 Fall friends and foes, on every side — 
 So rolls, through ruin, glory's tide, 
 Down to the wastes of Death I 
 
 Yet here, where many a patriot fought. 
 
 And many a martyr bled. 
 Shall Memory dwell — and painful thought 
 IVill often turn, with pity fraught, 
 
 To treason's nameless dead ! 
 
 But every patriot's dust will claim 
 
 Affection's tender est tears — 
 And, blazon'd on the scroll of Fame, 
 Shall shine each martyr'd soldier's name 
 Through Time's remotest years 1 
 
 And still, upon this sacred sod. 
 
 The children of the Free, 
 "Who follow where our fathers trod. 
 Shall learn to trust our fathers' God — 
 
 The God of Liberty I 
 
THE school-boy's LESSON. 125 
 
 t\t SfllM^r flit t|e |i£to ai §atllt. 
 
 ^ (Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 B I SHALL here narrate an incident of the war as an 
 
 ^plustration of the lasting impression made on the youth- 
 
 JPul mind by the recitation of patriotic poetry, at school 
 
 I or elsewhere. And how true is that instinct of our 
 kature which impels us, in moments of trial or danger, to 
 look within ourselves or towards others for the expression 
 of some ennobling sentiment, by which to fan the flame 
 of heroic valor and excite the ardor of enthusiasm, — that 
 spirit which spurs men on to dare and do in defence of 
 principle and right! 
 
 Hence it is that, in the preparations for battle, martial 
 music becomes a necessity. Then, too, does the language 
 of heroism, and manly devotion in the cause we fight for, 
 prove the steel to the flint, while the sparks that flash from 
 the contact serve to create a flame, which, firing the veins 
 and swelling the heart, leaves no room for the cooler facul- 
 ties to operate on the nervous system. Then do men, bor- 
 rowing courage from the words of heroes, burn with so 
 fierce a flame of venturous daring that they themselves 
 are struck with wonder when the deeds are done. The 
 following incident I am about to relate proves how univer- 
 sally poetry is allied to heroic deeds, and how spontaneous 
 is the growth of sublime courage under the excitement of 
 danger and trial in the defence of our country's honor. 
 
 During Kirby Smith's raid in Kentucky, I was enjoying 
 the hospitality of Colonel Jack Casement (as he is fami- 
 liarly called), of the 103d Ohio. While eating our dinner 
 
126 THE school-boy's lesson. 
 
 n 
 
 of hard bread* and coffee^ the pickets were driven in, the 
 order to form in line of battle was given, the trenches were 
 manned, and, after a short speech from the Colonel, in 
 which he exhorted his men to keep cool, load quick, and 
 fire low, we stood awaiting the enemy, who, as we sup- 
 posed, were about to make an assault upon the works from 
 the cover of a thickly-wooded ravine on our left. My 
 sensations were new and strange, as I had never been under 
 fire, and, turning to the Colonel, I asked his advice as to the 
 way in which I could be most useful to him. 
 
 He replied, ^^ While they are advancing up the turnpike 
 yonder, the best thing you can do will be to stand by the 
 regimental colors and give the boys a verse or two of 
 Marco Bozzaris, — 
 
 "'Strike ! — till the last arm'd foe expires ! 
 Strike ! — for your altars and your fires !' etc. 
 
 ^^Do that, and, I'll pledge my life for it, there is not a 
 drop of blood in the 103d that will not fire up and burn 
 as long as a foe dare face them. Throw down your car- 
 bine, captain, and give us the poetry of war. That's the pre- 
 lude to remind us of mother and father, of sister and 
 brother, of our country and God! That's the music to 
 make the boys fight, and that's the weapon you know how 
 to strike with." I was not called upon to make the experi- 
 ment; for the rebel advance we were waiting for turned 
 out to be a party of our own forces, who, while on a re- 
 connoissance, mistook their road. Being in a strip of wood, 
 covered with a thick and tangled undergrowth, where the 
 ground was broken by the winding course of a small stream, 
 the advancing party did not realize their position until they 
 saw the guns of Fort Mitchell frowning down upon them* 
 Thus they narrowly escaped receiving the fiery greeting 
 we had in readiness for the foe. 
 
MARCO BOZZARIS. 127 
 
 BY FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. 
 
 At midnight, in his guarded tent, 
 
 The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
 When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 
 
 Should tremble at his power ; 
 In dreams, through camp and court he bore 
 The trophies of a conqueror; 
 
 In dreams, his song of triumph heard ; 
 T]jpn wore his monarch's signet ring; 
 Then pressed that monarch^s throne — a king: 
 As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing. 
 
 As Eden^s garden bird. 
 
 9 
 
 At midnight, in the forest shades, 
 
 Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 
 True as the steel of their tried blades, 
 
 Heroes in heart and hand. 
 There had the Persian's thousands stood, 
 There had the glad earth drunk their blood. 
 
 On old Plataea's day; 
 And now there breathed that haunted air 
 The sons of sires who conquered there, 
 "With arm to strike, and soul to dare. 
 
 As quick, as far, as they. 
 
 An hour passed on : the Turk awoke. 
 
 That bright dream was his last. 
 He woke to hear his sentries shriek, 
 "To arms! they come! the Greek 1 the Greek!*' 
 He woke, to die 'midst flame and smoke, 
 And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroko, 
 
 And death-shots falling thick and fiist 
 
128 MARCO BOZZARIS, 
 
 As lightnings from the mountain cloud, 
 And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 
 
 Bozzaris cheer his band : 
 ** Strike! — till the last arm'd foe expires ; 
 Strike I — for your altars and your fires; 
 Strike I — for the green graves of your sires ; 
 
 God, and your native land !^' 
 
 They fought like brave men, long and Tvell ; 
 
 They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
 They conquered ; — but Bozzaris fell, 
 
 Bleeding at every vein. 
 His few surviving comrades saw 
 His smile when rang their loud hurrah 
 
 And the red field was won. 
 Then saw in death his eyelids close, 
 Calmly as to a night^s repose, — 
 
 Like flowers at set of sun. 
 
 Come to the bridal chamber. Death ! 
 
 Come to the mother^s, when she feels, 
 For the first time, her first-born^ s breath ; 
 
 Come when the blessed seals 
 That close the pestilence are broke, 
 And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 
 Come in consumption's ghastly form, 
 The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; 
 Come when the heart beats high and warm 
 
 "With banquet song, and dance, and wine ; 
 And thou art terrible : — the tear. 
 The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier. 
 And all we know, or dream, or fear, 
 
 Of agony, are thine. 
 
 But to the hero, when his sword 
 
 Has won the battle for the free. 
 Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
 And in its hollow tones are heard 
 The thanks of millions yet to be. 
 
MARCO BOZZARIS. 129 
 
 Come when his task of fame is wrought ; 
 Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought ; 
 
 Come in her crowning hour, — and then 
 Thy sunken eye^s unearthly light, 
 To him is welcome as the sight 
 
 Of sky and stars to prisoned men ; 
 Thy grasp is welcome as the hand 
 Of brother in a foreign land ; 
 Thy summons welcome as the cry 
 That told the Indian isles were nigh 
 
 To the world-seeking Genoese, 
 When the land-wind, from woods of palm. 
 And orange-groves, and fields of balm, 
 
 Blew o'er the Haytian seas. 
 
 Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 
 
 Greece nurtured in her glory's time. 
 Rest thee : there is no prouder grave. 
 
 Even in her own proud clime. 
 She wore no funeral weeds for thee, 
 
 Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, 
 Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, 
 In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, 
 
 The heartless luxury of the tomb ; 
 But she remembers thee as one 
 Long loved, and for a season gone ; 
 For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, 
 Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; 
 For thee she rings the birthday bells ; 
 Of thee her babes' first lisping tells ; 
 For thine her evening prayer is said, 
 At palace couqji and cottage bed ; 
 Her soldier, closing with the foe. 
 Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; 
 His plighted maiden, when she fears 
 For him, the joy of her young years, 
 Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears ; 
 
130 HEROES DIE, BUT HEROISM IS ETERNAL. 
 
 And she, the mother of thy boys, 
 Though in her eye and faded cheek 
 Is read the grief she will not speak, 
 
 The memory of her buried joys, — 
 And even she who gave thee birth, 
 Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth. 
 
 Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; 
 For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's. 
 One of the few, the immortal names 
 
 That were not born to die. 
 
 fOTfS lie, M "§mm h €itxml 
 
 (Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 On the 21st of February, 1862, a battle was fought in 
 Texas between the Federal forces and the Rebels. Captain 
 McRea, of the Federal artillery, was in command of a bat- 
 tery supported by a force of Xew Mexican levies. The 
 Texan Rangers made a dash for the guns : the infantry 
 gave way and in gloriously fled at the first charge, thus 
 leaving the battery unsupported. Nothing daunted, the 
 gallant McRea fought on until, finding himself surrounded, 
 and seeing no chance of redeeming the fortunes of the 
 day, in defiance of the summons to surrender, he drew his 
 revolvers, and, leaping on one of his guns, maintained the 
 fight, falling in the midst of foes, covered with wounds, — 
 thus gallantly sealing with his blood his fidelity to his 
 country's cause. Who would withlifeld from such valor the 
 meed of praise, or feel his pulse beat sluggishly when the 
 poet sings in glowing strains the gloirous deeds of those 
 who die in defence of country and Government, covered 
 with the benediction of a sorrowing people? 
 
COUNT CANDESPINA's STANDARD. 131 
 
 The circumstances attending the glorious death of the 
 lero of our fight^ and that of the hero of Mr Boker's 
 poem, are the property of different ages and of diflferent 
 nations; yet the soul which shines through them beloDgs 
 to all time and all nations : it is the generous outpouring 
 of that spirit which burns in the bosom of every man loyal 
 to honor, to woman, and to country, and which sustains the 
 possessor in every trial of danger and of suffering, and in 
 the solemn hour of death. True honor and chivalry are 
 the same now as they were in the days of romance, and are 
 always found beneath the banners on which are emblazoned 
 Justice, Truth, and Virtue ; and there, till Fame's trump 
 shall sound no more, will be found such glorious and self- 
 sacrificing champions as Olea and McRea. 
 
 BY GEORGE H. BOKER. 
 
 " The King of Aragon now entered Castile by way of Soria and Osma 
 with a powerful army; and, having been met by the queen's forces, 
 both parties encamped near Sepulveda, and prepared to give battle. 
 
 '' This engagement, called, from the field where it took place, de la 
 Espina, is one of the most famous of that age. The dastardly Count 
 of Lara fled at the first shock, and joined the queen at Burgos, where 
 ghe was anxiously awaiting the issue ; but the brave Count of Candcs- 
 pina (Gomez Gonzalez) stood his ground to the last, and died on the 
 field of battle. His standard-bearer, a gentleman of the house of Olea, 
 after having his horse killed under him, and both hands cut off by sabre- 
 strokes, fell beside his master, still clasping the standard in his arms, 
 and repeating his war-cry of *01ea!*" — Mrs. George: Annals of the 
 Queens of Spain, 
 
 Scarce were the splintered lances dropped, 
 Scarce were the swords drawn out, 
 
 Ere recreant Lara, sick with fear, 
 Had whecl'd his steed about ; 
 
132 COUNT candespina's standard. 
 
 His courser reared, and plunged, and neigh' d, 
 
 Loathing the fight to yield ; 
 But the coward spurred him to the bone, 
 
 And drove him from the field. 
 
 Gonzalez in his stirrups rose : 
 
 " Turn, turn, thou traitor knight ! 
 
 Thou bold tongue in a lady's bower, 
 Thou dastard in a fight V 
 
 But vainly valiant Gomez cried 
 
 Across the waning fray : 
 Pale Lara and his craven band 
 
 To Burgos scour'd away. 
 
 **Now, by the God above me, sirs. 
 
 Better we all were dead. 
 Than a single knight among ye all 
 * Should ride where Lara led ! 
 
 " Yet, ye who fear to follow me, 
 
 As yon traitor turn and fly ; 
 For I lead ye not to win a field: 
 
 I lead ye forth to die. 
 
 "Olea, plant my standard here. 
 
 Here, on this little mound ; 
 Here raise the war-cry of thy house, 
 
 Make this our rallying ground. 
 
 ** Forget not, as thou hop'st for grace. 
 
 The last care I shall have^ 
 Will be to hear thy battle-cry. 
 
 And see that standard wave.'' 
 
 Down on the ranks of Aragon 
 
 The bold Gonzalez drove, 
 And Olea raised his battle-cry, 
 
 And waved the flag above. 
 
 1 
 
COUNT CANDESPINA'S STANDARD. 133 
 
 Slowly Gonzalez' little band 
 
 Gave ground before the foe ; 
 But not an inch of the field was won 
 
 Without a deadly blow ; 
 
 And not an inch of the field was won 
 
 That did not draw a tear 
 From the widow'd wives of Aragon, 
 
 That fatal news to hear. 
 
 Backward and backward Gomez fought, 
 
 And high o^er the clashing steel, 
 Plainer and plainer, rose the cry, 
 
 *^01ea for Castile P' 
 
 Backward fought Gomez, step by step, 
 
 Till the cry was close at hand, 
 Till his dauntless standard shadow'd him ; 
 
 And there he made his stand. 
 
 Mace, sword, and axe rang on his mail, 
 
 Yet he moved not where he stood. 
 Though each gaping joint of armor ran 
 
 A stream of purple blood. 
 
 As, pierced with countless wounds, he fell. 
 
 The standard caught his eye, 
 And he smiled, like an infant hush'd asleep, 
 
 To hear the battle-cry. 
 
 Now one by one the wearied knights 
 
 Have fallen, or basely flown ; 
 And on the mound where his post was fix'd 
 
 Olea stood alone. 
 
 " Yield up thy banner, gallant knight ! 
 
 Thy lord lies on the plain ; 
 Thy duty has been nobly done ; 
 
 I would not see thee slain.'' 
 12 
 
134 COUNT candespina's standard. 
 
 " Spare pity, King of Aragon ; 
 
 I would not hear thee lie : . 
 My lord is looking down from heaven, 
 
 To see his standard fly/' 
 
 ** Yield, madman, yield ! — Thy horse is down, 
 Thou hast nor lance nor shield ; 
 
 Fly !— I will grant thee time/'—" This flag 
 Can neither fly nor yield V 
 
 They girt the standard round about, 
 
 A wall of flashing steel ; 
 But still they heard the battle-cry, ' 
 
 *'01ea for Castile r' 
 
 And there, against all Aragon, 
 Full-arm'd with lance and brand, 
 
 Olea fought until the sword 
 Snapped in his sturdy hand. 
 
 Among the foe, with that high scorn 
 Which laughs at earthly fears, 
 
 He hurrd the broken hilt, and drew 
 His dagger on the spears. 
 
 They hew'd the hauberk from his breast, 
 
 The helmet from his head, 
 They hew'd the hands from off his limbs, 
 
 From every vein he bled. 
 
 Clasping the standard to his heart. 
 
 He raised one dying peal. 
 That rang as if a trumpet blew, — 
 
 '* Olea for Castile r 
 
don't give up the ship. 135 
 
 (Extract prom Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 "The Building of the Ship" is one of the most brilliant 
 productions of one of America's most gifted poets. The 
 apostrophe to the Union cannot be excelled : it is the per- 
 fection of numbers, and the acme of Saxon simplicity, 
 terseness, and force, combining, fervent dignity with the 
 pure spirit of the patriot. 
 
 It is, indeed, an eloquent outpouring of a truly loyal 
 heart. When we reflect upon the fact that it was written 
 several years since, it seems like a trumpet-tone borne 
 to us on the wings of the wind, from the depths of that 
 storm-cloud which began to gather on the national horizon 
 long before the Ship of State drifted among the breakers 
 which now threaten her on every side. 
 
 The prescience of the poet failed to warn us of the 
 approaching danger : let it at least inspire us with manly 
 courage and devoted patriotism, to breast the storm and 
 struggle through its howling terrors, until blue skies and 
 gentle ripples bless once more the mighty ocean of our 
 nation's destiny. 
 
 This is the purpose I have in view in ringing in your 
 ears, with all the fervor and the skill I may possess, the 
 noble and sustaining language of Longfellow and other 
 kindred spirits, and more especially of those American 
 poets who have, during the rebellion, strode in advance of 
 our armies, striking the lyre, and singing the praises of 
 heroism, fortitude, and self-sacrifice, — virtues that have 
 been nobly and freely offered in the service of our beloved 
 country by her brave and suffering defenders. We must 
 
136 DON^T GIVE UP THE SHIP. 
 
 not lose sight of, or grow weary with, the often-uttered but 
 still fresh and grandly inspiring sentiment of our war- 
 poets. The music of the lyre, the trumpet, and the drum 
 must still vibrate in the nation's ear to keep alive the 
 sentiment of national glory, to nerve the arm and fire the 
 heart in this great struggle of freedom with its original 
 and brutal foe, selfish power, and its vile supporters, the 
 scourge and the chain. 
 
 It does not need my voice to inform you of the perilous 
 sea on which our national bark is afloat. The roar of 
 battle-fields, the groans of the wounded borne to us on 
 every wind, mingling with the wailings of widows and 
 :0rphans, fill the air, clouding the brow and saddening the 
 heart of every loyal citizen. 
 
 To weather this fearful sea of strife and carnage, we 
 must pull together, heart and hand. ^^A long pull, and a 
 -strong pull, with a will V' is the cry now. As loyal and 
 union-loving Americans, we are all passengers in the glo- 
 rious Ship of State, ^^The Union.'' We are in the midst of 
 a fearful storm, breakers ahead, false lights on the coast, 
 and a lee shore : nothing but courage and unity of action 
 can save us. There is mutiny aboard; the whispering of 
 the ndalcontents is hissing in our ears on every side; while 
 bold, bad men are counselling desertion of the colors, and, 
 instead of trusting to the will and skill of the officers and 
 crew to bring the vessel off, seek rather to run her ashore, 
 trusting to the chances of the wrecker's spoils and plundering. 
 '' Don't give up the ship !" cried Lawrence, as his men 
 carried him, bleeding, below. ^^The Stars and Stripes 
 must not come down," cried Blake, as, in obedience to his 
 orders, the brave tars quickened their fire when the little 
 Hatteras began to sink alongside the worse than pirate 
 Alabama. 
 
don't give up the ship. 137 
 
 So, my friends, let the war-cry of the Union-man be, 
 ^^ Defiance to all traitors, North or South! our colors are 
 nailed to the mast; we will sink or swim with our ship, 
 and never desert captain, pilot, or crew V 
 
 To those who are base enough in their own natures to 
 lead, or weak enough to be guided by bad men, in the 
 attempt to cripple the Government and strengthen its foes, 
 by abuse of the one and encouragement of the other, I 
 would, in the spirit of love and good will to my fellow- 
 men, say, ^^ When a ship is laboring with the tempestuous 
 ocean, when all the elements and all their angers are turned 
 into one vowed destruction,'' — is such a fitting time to 
 arraign the officers before a tribunal of the passengers, to 
 answer for the safety of the life and the property which 
 has been intrusted to their charge ? Would it not be the 
 more humane, if not the more consistent, course, to await 
 the issue calmly and hopefully, trusting to the discretion 
 of a divine power and the honest and brave endeavors of 
 the few selected from the many and invested with authority 
 to direct and control ? 
 
 Then let us, my friends, instead of charging our rulers 
 with weakness and folly and a base and wicked intent to 
 forsake the course indicated by the compass and line of 
 constitutional direction, endeavor to cheer our leaders, amid 
 the gloom and terrors of the storm, with words of trust and 
 confidence. 
 
 Let us call on them to join with us in seeking aid and 
 counsel from Him who holds the winds in the hollow of 
 His hand; to humbly seek from Him that strength and 
 will and knowledge by which the most intricate chart is 
 read aright, and the hand made firm on the helm in the 
 midst of the darkest terrors. 
 
 Yes, my countrymen, '' come what come may," let us 
 
138 THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. 
 
 stand by the ship ; and, if need be (rather than surrender), 
 let lis go down with her, even as Morris and his brave 
 men did on board the Cumberland. They sank at their 
 posts, flashing forth their defiant death-notes till the last, 
 leaving nothing but the ^^flag at the peak'^ to silently 
 tell, in sunshine and in storm, of the deadly struggle 
 between traitors and the brave men who died defending 
 the priceless boon bequeathed to United America by the 
 patriotic sires of 1776. 
 
 W^t f rant|ing at % S|ip. 
 
 An Extract from the Poem op "The Building op the Ship.") 
 by longfellow. 
 
 To-DAY the vessel shall be launchM. 
 
 With fleecy clouds the sky is blanch'd, 
 
 And o'er the bay, 
 
 Slowly, in all his splendors dight, 
 
 The great sun rises to behold the sight. 
 
 The ocean old, 
 
 Centuries old, 
 
 Strong as youth, and as uncontrolPd, 
 
 Paces restless to and fro 
 
 Up and down the sands of gold. 
 
 His beating heart is not at rest ; 
 
 And far and wide. 
 
 With ceaseless flow, 
 
 His beard of snow 
 
 Heaves with the heaving of his breast. 
 
 He waits impatient for his bride. 
 
THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. 1S9 
 
 There site stands, 
 
 With her foot upon the sands, 
 
 Decked with flags and streamers gay, 
 
 In honor of her marriage-day, 
 
 Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending, 
 
 Round her like a veil descending, 
 
 Ready to be 
 
 The bride of the gray old sea. 
 
 On the deck another bride 
 Is standing by her lover^s side. 
 Shadows from the flags and shrouds, 
 Like the shadows cast by clouds, 
 Broken by many a sunny fleck, 
 Fall around them on the deck. 
 
 The prayer is said, 
 
 The service read. 
 
 The joyous bridegroom bows his head. 
 
 And in tears the good old master 
 
 Shakes the brown hand of his son, 
 
 Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek 
 
 In silence, for he cannot speak ; 
 
 And ever faster 
 
 Down his own the tears begin to run. 
 
 The worthy pastor — 
 
 The shepherd of that wandering flock, 
 
 That has the ocean for its wold, 
 
 That has the vessel for its fold. 
 
 Leaping ever from rock to rock, — 
 
 Spake, with accents mild and clear, 
 
 Words of warning, words of cheer, 
 
 But tedious to the bridegroom's ear. 
 
 He knew the chart 
 
 Of the sailor's heart. 
 
 All its pleasures and its griefs, 
 
 All its shallows and rocky reefs. 
 
140 THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. 
 
 All those secret currents tliat flow 
 "With such resistless undertow, 
 And lift and drift, with terrible force, 
 The will from its moorings and its course: 
 Therefore he spoke, and thus said he : — 
 
 **Like unto ships far off at sea. 
 
 Outward or homeward bound are we. 
 
 Before, behind, and all around 
 
 Floats and swings the horizon^s bound. 
 
 Seems at its distant rim to rise 
 
 And climb the crystal wall of the skies, 
 
 And then again to turn and sink, 
 
 As if we could slide from its outer brink. 
 
 Ah ! it is not the sea. 
 
 It is not the sea that sinks and shelves, 
 
 But ourselves, 
 
 That rock and rise 
 
 With endless and uneasy motion, 
 
 Now touching the very skies, 
 
 Now sinking into the depths of ocean. 
 
 Ah ! if our souls but poise and swing. 
 
 Like the compass in its brazen ring, 
 
 Ever level and ever true 
 
 To the toil and task we have to do, 
 
 We shall sail securely, and safely reach 
 
 The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach 
 
 The sights we see, and the sounds we hear. 
 
 Will be those of joy, and not of fear/^ 
 
 Then the master. 
 
 With a gesture of command, 
 
 Waved his hand ; 
 
 And, at the word. 
 
 Loud and sudden there was heard, 
 
 All around them and below, 
 
 The sound of hammers, blow on blow. 
 
THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. 141 
 
 Knocking away the shores and spurs. 
 
 And see ! she stirs ! 
 
 She starts ; she moves ; she seems to feel 
 
 The thrill of life along her keel, 
 
 And, spurning with her foot the ground, 
 
 With one exulting, joyous bound 
 
 She leaps into the ocean's arms ! 
 
 And, lo ! from the assembled crowd 
 
 There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, 
 
 That to the ocean seemed to say, 
 
 ** Take her, bridegroom old and gray, — 
 
 Take her to thy protecting arms, 
 
 With all her youth and all her charms 1" 
 
 How beautiful she is ! How fair 
 
 She lies within those arms that press 
 
 Her form with many a soft caress 
 
 Of tenderness and watchful care ! 
 
 Sail forth into the sea, ship ! 
 
 Through wind and wave right onward steer I 
 
 The moistened eye, the trembling lip, 
 
 Are not the signs of doubt or fear. 
 
 Sail forth into the sea of life, 
 gentle, loving, trusting wife, 
 And safe from all adversity 
 Upon the bosom of that sea 
 Thy comings and thy goings be ! 
 For gentleness, and love, and trust 
 Prevail o'er angry wave and gust ; 
 And in the wreck of noble lives, 
 Something immortal still survives. 
 
 Thou too sail on, Ship of State 1 
 Sail on, Union, strong and great I 
 Humanity, with all its fears, 
 With all the hopes of future years. 
 
142 THE DYING SOLDIER. 
 
 Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 
 
 We know what master laid thy keel, 
 
 What workman wrought thy ribs of steel, 
 
 Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, 
 
 What anvils rang, what hammers beat, 
 
 In what a forge and what a heat 
 
 Were shaped the anchors of thy hope. 
 
 Fear not each sudden sound and shock : 
 
 'Tis of the wave, and not the rock ; 
 
 ^Tis but the flapping of the sail. 
 
 And not a rent made by the gale 1 
 
 In spite of rock and tempest's roar. 
 
 In spite of false lights on the shore, 
 
 Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 
 
 Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee : 
 
 Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 
 
 Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 
 
 Are all with thee ! are all with thee ! 
 
 BY RICHARD COE. 
 
 " Chaplain, I am dying, dying : 
 Cut a lock from off my hair, 
 For my darling mother, chaplain, 
 
 After I am dead, to wear : 
 Mind you, 'tis for mother, chaplain, 
 
 She whose early teachings now 
 Soothe and comfort the poor soldier 
 With the death-dew on his brow ! 
 
 '* Kneel down, now, beside me, chaplain, 
 And return my thanks to Him 
 
THE DYING SOLDIER. 143^^ 
 
 Who so good a mother gave me: 
 
 Oh, my eyes are growing dim ! 
 Tell her, chaplain, should you see her, 
 
 All at last with me was well ; 
 Through the valloy of the shadow 
 
 I have gone, with Christ to dwell ! 
 
 ** Do not weep, I pray you, chaplain : 
 
 Yes, ah! weep for mother dear; 
 I^m the only living son, sir, 
 
 Of a widow'd mourner here : 
 Mother ! I am going, going 
 
 To the land where angels dwell ; 
 I commend you unto Jesus : 
 
 Mother darling — fare you well V' 
 
 Downward from their thrones of beauty 
 
 Looked the stars upon his face ; 
 Upward on the wings of duty 
 
 Sped the angel of God's grace, 
 Bearing through the heavenly portal, 
 
 To his blessed home above, 
 The dead soldier's soul immortal, 
 
 To partake of Christ's sweet love. 
 
 Far away, in humble cottage, 
 
 Sits his mother, sad and lone ; 
 And her eyes are red with weeping. 
 
 Thinking of her absent son : 
 Suddenly Death's pallid presence 
 
 Casts a shadow o'er her brow : 
 Smiling a sweet smile of welcome, 
 
 She is with her loved ones now 1 
 
144 THE RISING, 1776. 
 
 (Extract trom "The Wagoner of the Alleghanies.**) 
 
 by t. buchanan read. 
 
 Out of the North the wild news came, 
 Far flashing on its wings of flame, 
 Swift as the boreal light which flies 
 At midnight through the startled skies. 
 
 And there was tumult in the air. 
 
 The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, 
 And through the wide land everywhere 
 
 The answering tread of hurrying feet ; 
 While the first oath of Freedom's gun 
 Came on the blast from Lexington ; 
 And Concord roused, no longer tame. 
 Forgot her old baptismal name. 
 Made bare her patriot arm of power, 
 And sweird the discord of the hour. 
 
 Within its shade of elm and oak 
 
 The church of Berkley Manor stood ; 
 There Sunday found the rural folk, 
 
 And some esteemed of gentle blood. 
 
 In vain their feet witli loitering tread 
 Passed mid the graves where rank is naught; 
 All could not read the lesson taught 
 
 In that republic of the dead. 
 
 How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk. 
 The vale with peace and sunshine full, 
 
 Where all the happy people walk, 
 
 Decked in their homespun flax and wool ! 
 Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom ; 
 
145 
 
 And every maid, with simple art, 
 Wears on her breast, like her own heart, 
 
 A bud whose depths are all perfume ; 
 While every garment's gentle stir 
 Is breathing rose and lavender. 
 
 There, veiFd in all the sweets that are 
 
 Blown from the violet's purple bosom. 
 The scent of lilacs from afar, 
 
 Touch' d with the sweet shrub's spicy blossom, 
 Walk'd Esther ; and the rustic ranks 
 Stood on each side, like flowery banks, 
 To let her pass,— a blooming aisle. 
 Made brighter by her summer smile ; 
 On her father's arm she seem'd to be 
 The last green bough of that haughty tree. 
 
 The pastor came ; his snowy locks 
 
 Hallow'd his brow of thought and care ; 
 And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks. 
 
 He led into the house of prayer. 
 
 Forgive the student Edgar there 
 If his enchanted eyes would roam, 
 
 And if his thoughts soar'd not beyond. 
 
 And if his heart glow'd warmly fond 
 Beneath his hope's terrestrial dome. 
 To him the maiden seem'd to stand, 
 
 Veil'd in the glory of the morn, 
 
 At the bar of the heavenly bourn, 
 A guide to the golden holy land. 
 
 When came the service low response. 
 Hers seem'd an angel's answering tongue ; 
 When with the singing choir she sung, 
 O'er all the rest her sweet notes rung. 
 As if a silver bell were swung 
 
 Mid bells of iron and of bronze. 
 13 
 
146 THE, RISING, 1776w 
 
 At times, perchance, — oh, happy chance !— 
 
 Their lifting eyes together met, 
 
 Like violet to violet, 
 Casting a dewy greeting glance. 
 For once be Love, young Love, forgiven. 
 
 That here, in a bewilder'd trance. 
 
 He brought the blossoms of romance, 
 And waved them at the gates of heaven. 
 
 The pastor rose ; the prayer was strong ; 
 The psalm was warrior David's song ; 
 The text, a few short words of might, — 
 ''The Lord of hosts shall arm the right r' 
 He spoke of wrongs too long endured. 
 Of sacred rights to be secured ; 
 Then from his patriot tongue of flame 
 The startling words for Freedom came. 
 The stirring sentences he spake 
 Compeird the heart to glow or quake, 
 And, rising on his theme's broad wing,] 
 
 And grasping in his nervous hand 
 
 The imaginary battle-brand, 
 In face of death he dared to fling 
 Defiance to a tyrant king. 
 
 Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed 
 In eloquence of attitude, 
 Eose, as it seem'd, a shoulder higher ; 
 Then swept his kindling glance of fire 
 From startled pew to breathless choir ; 
 "WTien suddenly his mantle wide 
 His hands impatient flung aside, 
 And, lo ! he met their wondering eyes 
 Complete in all a warrior^ s guise. 
 
 A moment there was awful pause, — 
 
 When Berkley cried, ''Cease, traitor! cease! 
 
THE RISING, 1776, 147 
 
 God's temple is the house of peace !" 
 
 The other shouted, *'Nay, not so, 
 When God is with our righteous cause ; 
 His holiest places then are ours, 
 His temples are our forts and towers 
 
 That frown upon the tyrant foe ; 
 In this, the dawn of Freedom's day. 
 There is a time to fight and pray V 
 
 And now before the open door — 
 
 The warrior priest had ordered so— 
 The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar 
 Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'ei; 
 
 Its long reverberating blow, 
 So loud and clear, it seem'd the ear 
 Of dusty death must wake and hear. 
 And there the startling drum and fife 
 Fired the living with fiercer life ; 
 While overhead, with wild increase, 
 Forgetting its ancient toll of peace. 
 
 The great bell swung as never before 
 It seem'd as it would never cease ; 
 And every word its ardor flung 
 From ofi* its jubilant iron tongue 
 
 Was, '' War ! war ! war V* 
 
 ** Who dares ?" — this was the patriot's cry, 
 As striding from the desk he came, — 
 **Come out with me, in Freedom's name, 
 
 For her to live, for her to die ?" 
 
 A hundred hands flung up reply, 
 
 A hundred voices answer' d, " I !" 
 
148 BEFORE VICKSBURG. 
 
 §tf0U iitfislittrg^ 
 
 (May 19, 1863.) 
 
 The President has recently appointed to the NavaP 
 School at Newport a little drummer-boy of the 55th Illinois 
 Volunteers, whose case was brought before him by Major- 
 General W. T. Sherman in the following letter. Truly, 
 the letter does as much honor to the distinguished major- 
 general, who could pause in the midst of the duties of a 
 great campaign to pay such tribute to a drummer-boy, as 
 it does to the little hero whom it celebrates : — 
 
 ''Head-Quarters 15th Army Corps, ) 
 "Camp on Big Black Riyer, August 8, 1863. J 
 
 ** Hon. E. M. Stanton, Secretary of War : — 
 
 *'Sir: — I take the liberty of asking through you that some- 
 thing be done for a lad named Orion P. Howe, of Waukegan, 
 Illinois, who belongs to the 55th Illinois, but at present at 
 home wounded. I think he is too young for West Point, but 
 would be the very thing for a midshipman. 
 
 **When the assault atTick^burg was at its height, on the 
 19th of May, and I was in front near the road, which formed 
 my line of attack, this young lad came up to me, wounded and 
 bleeding, with a good, healthy boy^s cry, * General Sherman, 
 send some cartridges to Colonel Malmborg : the men are nearly 
 all out.' * What is the matter, my boy V * They shot me in 
 the leg, sir ; but I can go to the hospital. Send the cartridges 
 right away.' Even where we stood the shot fell thick, and I 
 told him to go to the rear at once, I would attend to the car- 
 tridges ; and off he limped. Just before he disappeared on the 
 hill, he turned, and called, as loud as he could, * Calibre 54.' I 
 have not seen the lad since, and his colonel (Malmborg), on 
 
BEFORE VICKSBURG. 149 
 
 inquiry, gives me the address as above, and says he is a bright, 
 intelligent boy, with a fair preliminary education. 
 
 *' What arrested my attention then v^^as — and what renewed 
 my memory of the fact now is — that one so young, carrying a 
 musket-ball through his leg, should have found his way to me 
 on that fatal spot, and delivered his message, not forgetting the 
 very important part, even, of the calibre of his musket, — 54, — 
 which, you know, is an unusual one. 
 
 ** 1^11 warrant that the boy has in him the elements of a man, 
 and I commend him to the Government as one worthy the 
 fostering care of some one of its national institutions. 
 " I am, with respect, your obedient servant, 
 
 '' W. T. Sherman, 
 Major- General Commanding.^' 
 
 While Sherman stood beneath the hottest fire 
 
 That from the lines of Yicksburg gleamed. 
 And bomb-shells tumbled in their smoky gyre, 
 And grape-shot hiss'd, and case-shot screamed, 
 Back from the front there came, 
 Weeping and sorely lame, 
 The merest child, the youngest face, 
 Man ever saw in such a fearful place. 
 
 Stifling his tears, he limp'd his chief to meet ; 
 
 But, when he paused and tottering stood. 
 Around the circle of his little feet 
 
 There spread a pool of bright young blood. 
 Shocked at his doleful case, 
 Sherman cried, *' Halt ! front face I 
 Who are you ? speak, my gallant boy V 
 ** A drummer, sir, — Fifty-fifth Illinois.'' 
 
 "Are you not hit?'' '* That's nothing. Only send 
 
 Some cartridges. Our men are out, 
 And the foe press us." **But, my little friend " 
 
 " Don't mind me 1 Did you hear that shout ? 
 13* 
 
150 OUR HEROES. 
 
 What if our men be driven ? 
 
 Oh, for the love of heaven, 
 
 Send to my colonel, general dear ^' 
 
 *'But you?^' ''Oh, I shall easily find the rear." 
 
 **ril see to that," cried Sherman ; and a drop, 
 
 Angels might envy, dimmed his eye, 
 
 As the boy, toiling towards the hilPs hard top. 
 
 Turned round, and, with his shrill child's cry, 
 
 Shouted, ''Oh, donH forget! 
 
 We^l win the battle yet ! 
 
 But let our soldiers have some more — 
 
 More cartridges, sir, — calibre fifty -four V 
 
 George H, Boker. 
 April 2, 1864. 
 
 ©Mr "§txm. 
 
 BY FRANCIS DE HAES JANVIER. 
 
 Cheers ! Cheers for our heroes ; 
 
 Not those who wear stars ; 
 Nor those who wear eagles. 
 
 And leaflets, and bars ; 
 "We know they are gallant, 
 
 And honor them, too, 
 For bravely maintaining 
 
 The Red, White, and Blue ! 
 
 But, cheers for our soldiers, 
 
 Rough, wrinkled, and brown ; 
 The men who make heroes. 
 
 And ask no renown ; — 
 Unselfish, untiring. 
 
 Intrepid, and true ; 
 The bulwark surrounding 
 
 The Red, White, and Blue ! 
 
OUR HEROES. 151 
 
 Our patriot soldiers ! 
 
 When Treason arose. 
 And Freedom's own children 
 
 Assail'd her as foes ; 
 When Anarchy threatened. 
 
 And Order withdrew, 
 They rallied to rescue 
 
 The Eed, White, and Blue ! 
 
 Upholding our banner, 
 
 On many a field, 
 The doom of the traitor 
 
 They valiantly seaPd ; 
 And, worn with the conflict, 
 
 Found vigor anew, 
 Where Victory greeted 
 
 The Red, White, and Blue ! 
 
 Yet, loved ones have fallen — 
 
 And still, where they sleep 
 A sorrowing Nation 
 
 Shall silently weep ; 
 And Spring's fairest flowers. 
 
 In gratitude, strew, 
 O'er those who have cherished 
 
 The Red, White, and Blue ! 
 
 But, glory immortal 
 
 Is waiting them now ; 
 And chaplete unfading, 
 
 Shall bind every brow. 
 When, caird by the trumpet, 
 
 At Time's great review. 
 They stand, who defended 
 
 The Red, White, and Blue I 
 
152 WOUNDED. 
 
 BY REV. WILLIAM E. MILLER. 
 
 Let me lie down 
 Just here in the shade of this cannon-torn tree, 
 Here, low on the trampled grass, where I may see 
 The surge of the combat, and where I may hear 
 The glad cry of victory, cheer upon cheer : 
 
 Let me lie down. 
 
 Oh, it was grand ! 
 Like the tempest we charged, in the triumph to share; 
 The tempest, — its fury and thunder were there : 
 On, on, o^er intrenchments, o'er living and dead, 
 With the foe under foot, and our flag overhead : 
 
 Oh, it was grand ! 
 
 Weary and faint, 
 Prone on the soldier's couch, ah, how can I rest, 
 With this shot-shatter'd head and sabre-pierced breast? 
 Comrades, at roll-call when I shall be sought. 
 Say I fought till I fell, and fell where I fought, 
 
 Wounded and faint. 
 
 Oh, that last charge ! 
 Right through the dread hell-fire of shrapnel and shell, 
 Through without faltering, — clear through with a yell ! 
 Right in their midst, in the turmoil and gloom. 
 Like heroes we dash'd, at the mandate of doom ! 
 
 Oh, that last charge ! "•" 
 
 It was duty ! 
 Some things are worthless, and some others so good 
 That nations who buy them pay only in blood. 
 
WOUNDED. 153 
 
 For Freedom and Union each man owes his part ; 
 And here I pay my share, all warm from my heart : 
 It is duty. 
 
 Dying at last ! 
 My mother, dear mother ! with meek tearful eye, 
 Farewell ! and God bless you, for ever and aye ! 
 Oh that I now lay on your pillowing breast, 
 To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first prest ! 
 
 Dying at last ! 
 
 I am no saint ; 
 But, boys, say a prayer. There's one that begins, 
 **Our Father,'' and then says, ** Forgive us our sins:'* 
 Don't forget that part, say that strongly, and then 
 I'll try to repeat it, and you'll say, " Amen !" 
 
 Ah ! I'm no saint ! 
 
 Hark ! there's a shout ! 
 Raise me up, comrades ! We have conquer'd, I know ! — 
 Up, up on my feet, with my face to the foe ! 
 Ah ! there flies the flag, with its star-spangles bright, 
 The promise of glory, the symbol of right ! 
 
 Well may they shout ! 
 
 I'm muster'd out. 
 God of our fathers, our freedom prolong, 
 And tread down rebellion, oppression, and wrong I 
 
 land of earth's hope, on thy blood-redden'd sod 
 
 1 die for the nation, the Union, and God ! 
 
 I'm muster'd out. 
 
154 AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW DRESS. 
 
 (From the "Cincinnati Daily CoimERCiAL/' Tuesday Morning, 
 January 19, 1864.) 
 
 (Sung to the tune of *^ Hurrah for the Bonnets of Blue.") 
 
 "On the first page will be found a song that sings itself, adapted 
 from Burns's 'Here's a Health to Them that's AwaV hy James E. 
 Murdoch, Esq, The original song was not published during the life of 
 Burns. It was first given to the public in 1818, in the * Edinburgh 
 Magazine,' and was incorporated the following year into a small 
 edition of his writings published at Melrose by John Smith, book- 
 seller. A political song, it breathes the spirit of good-fellowship, and 
 an admiration for honest purpose, patriotic devotion to country and 
 freedom, and whatever is honorable or noble in man or woman. It has 
 lost none of its vigor of expression, the perfection of its rhythm, or its 
 patriotic spirit, by Mr. Murdoch's felicitous adaptation." 
 
 "HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AW A'." 
 
 Lines by Robert Burns, altered and adapted to suit the present 
 times, by James E. Murdoch, with an apology for the liberty taken 
 with the original song, — a liberty which nothing but a truly loyal 
 object could justify. 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa', 
 
 And here's to them that's awa' ; 
 And wha would na' wish guid luck to our cause, 
 
 May never guid luck be their fa' ! 
 It's guid to be merry and wise, 
 
 It's guid to be honest and true ; 
 It's guid to support Columbia's cause, 
 
 And bide by the Red, White, and Blue. 
 Chorus, — Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue ! 
 
 Hurrah for the Red, White and Blue ! 
 It's guid to support our country's cause, 
 
 And bide by the Red, White, and Blue. 
 
AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW DRESS. 155 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa', 
 
 And here's to them that's awa' ; 
 Here's a health to **auld Abe,'^ the chief o' the clan, 
 
 And may his band never be sma' ! 
 May Liberty meet wi' success; 
 
 May prudence protect her fra' evil ; 
 May traitors and tyranny tine^ i' the mist, 
 
 And wander their way to the de'il. 
 Chorus, — Hurrah for the Eed, White, and Blue ! &c* 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa', 
 
 . And here's to them that's awa' ; 
 
 Here's a bumper to Chase, — he, the Western laddie, 
 
 That made "Greenbacks" as guid as the law. 
 Here's freedom to hiiii that would read, 
 
 Here's freedom to him that would write: 
 There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard. 
 
 But they wham the truth would indict. 
 Chorus, — Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue ! &c. 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
 
 And here's to them that's awa' ; 
 Here's Meade, and here's Grant ; and wha would them daunt, 
 
 We'll build in a hole i' the wa'. 
 Here's woman that's true at the heart. 
 
 Here's man that is sound at the core : 
 May he that wad turn his button and coat 
 
 Be turn'd to the back of the door. 
 Chorus. — Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue ! &c. 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa', 
 
 And here's to them that's awa' ; 
 Here's Abram Lincoln, a chief that's na' winkin', 
 
 But bred wi' an axe in his paw ; 
 
 ** 
 
 * Be lost. 
 
156 LINES ON THE PRIGATE ALLIANCE. 
 
 Here's friends to the Stripes and the Stars, 
 Here^s friends that stand by them at need ; 
 
 And wha would betray his country's cause 
 May hang by the neck till he's deed. 
 
 Chorus, — Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue ! &c. 
 
 Here's a health to them that's awa^ 
 
 And here's to them that's awa' ; 
 Here's a health to our uncles — to guid Uncle Sam^ 
 
 His soldiers and sailors so braw ! 
 May cruel war soon be over, 
 
 And peace to our land come again; 
 May law and unity triumph, 
 
 And banish all sorrow and pain ! 
 Cfliorics. — Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue ! &c. 
 
 BY PHILLIP FRENEAU, A POET OP THE REVOLUTION, 1776. 
 
 As Neptune traced the azure main, 
 That own'd so late proud Britain's reign, 
 A floating pile approach'd his car, — 
 The scene of terror and of war. 
 
 As nearer still the monarch drew 
 (Her starry flag display'd to view), 
 He ask'd a Triton of his train, 
 ** What flag was this that rode the main ? 
 
 " A ship of such a gallant mien 
 This many a day I have not seen : 
 / To no mean power can she belong, 
 So swift, so warlike, stout, and strong. 
 
LINES ON THE FRIGATE ALLIANCE. 157 
 
 ** See how she mounts the foaming wave, 
 Where other ships would find a grave : 
 Majestic, awful, and serene, 
 She walks the ocean like its queen.'' 
 
 ** Great monarch of the hoary deep, 
 Whose trident awes the waves to sleep/' 
 Keplied a Triton of his train, 
 **This ship that stems the Western main 
 
 **To those new, rising States belongs, 
 Who, in resontment of their wrongs, 
 Oppose proud Briluin's tyrant sway. 
 And combat her by land and sea. 
 
 "This pile, of such superior fame, 
 From their strict union takes her name; 
 For them she cleaves the briny tide, 
 While terror marches by her side, 
 
 **When she unfurls her flowing sails, 
 Undaunted by the fiercest gales, 
 In dreadful pomp she ploughs the main, 
 While adverse tempests rage in vain. 
 
 "When she displays her gloomy tier, 
 The boldest Britons freeze with fear. 
 And, owning her superior might. 
 Seek their best safety in their flight. 
 
 "But, when she pours the dreadful blaze, 
 And thunder from her cannon plays, 
 The bursting flash that wings the ball 
 Compels those foes to strike or fall. 
 
 "Though she, with her triumphant train 
 Might fill with awe the British main, 
 Yet, filial to the land that bore, 
 She stays to guard her native shore. 
 11 
 
158 CHARLESTON HARBOR. 
 
 ''Though she might make their cruisers groan 
 
 That sail beneath the torrid zone, 
 
 She kindly lends a nearer aid, 
 
 Annoys them here, and guards the trade. 
 
 *'Now traversing the Eastern main, 
 She greets the shores of France and Spain : 
 Iler gallant flag, displayed to view, 
 Invites the Old World to the New. 
 
 *'This task achieved, behold her go 
 To seas congeal'd with ice and snow, 
 To either tropic, and the line. 
 Where suns with endless fervor shine. 
 
 *'Not, Argo, in thy womb was found 
 Such hearts of brass as here abound : 
 They for their golden fleece did fly. 
 These sail to vanquish tyranny.'^ 
 
 Cbarltston farbor in 17713 u^ 18j6L 
 
 (Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 In tracing the history of the relics, I have necessarily 
 confined myself to the sailor's record of glorious deeds 
 done in defence of our national honor. Before taking leave 
 of my subject, I will tender you two striking pictures of 
 heroic dev9tion, which will speak for the heroism of the 
 soldier, displayed on a hundred memorable battle-fields, 
 embodying in their spirit the soul of ehivalric daring which 
 pervades our army, rank and file. 
 
 When Fort Moultrie^ in Cbarleston harbor, was invested 
 
 L 
 
IN 1776 AND 1861. 159 
 
 by the British, in 1776, the flag was shot away during the 
 fight. Sergeant Jasper leaped into the moat, seized the 
 flag, and, climbing upon the ramparts, waved it above his 
 head till another stafi" was erected. This noble act was 
 performed during the hottest fire from the enemy's ships. 
 
 When the traitors of Charleston assailed Sumter (so 
 nobly defended by the gallant Major Anderson), the follow- 
 ing incident occurred. Sergeant Hart, who had served 
 with the Major in Mexico, was sent down from New York 
 by Mrs. Anderson with letters for her husband. The 
 authorities at Charleston refused to let the sergeant pass to 
 the fort unless he gave his parole not to bear arms in the 
 defence. This was acceded to, and the faithful soldier 
 executed his mission of love. During the fiercest bombard- 
 ment of the fort, while standing, watching the flying 
 shells and balls, from a sheltered position, the sergeant saw 
 the old flag stricken down by a shot. Without stopping to 
 argue on the exact extent of a non-combatant's passiveness, 
 true to the instincts of a loyal citizen, he sprang forward, 
 secured the Sta^s and Stripes, and, from the most prominent 
 position on the works, waved them forth, until another staflf 
 was raised, and then, arranging the halliards with his own 
 hands, ran up the starry emblem, to defy once more the 
 murderous assault of the would-be assassins of the nation's 
 life. 
 
 I will not venture to comment on the sublime acts of 
 patriotic devotion, but will avail myself of the poeti« fervor 
 of Bayard Taylor to sing the praises of the soldier's deeds, 
 and blend the spirit of 1770 and 1812 with that of '01, 
 ^02, and '03. 
 
160 SCOTT AND THE VETERAN. 
 
 n 
 
 BY BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 An old and crippled veteran to the War Department came: 
 lie sought the chief who led him on many a field of fame, — 
 The chief who shouted, "Forward!^' where'er his banner rose, 
 And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes. 
 
 *' Have you forgotten, general,^' the battered soldier cried, 
 *'The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your 
 
 side? 
 Have you forgotten Johnson, that fought at Lundj^'s Lane ? 
 'Tis true I'm old and pension'd ; but I want to fight again." 
 
 "Have I forgotten,'' said the chief, ''my brave old soldier? 
 
 No! 
 And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so; 
 But you have done 3^our share, my friend ; yon're crippled, old, 
 
 and gray, 
 And we have need of j^ounger arms and fresher blood to-day.'* 
 
 "But, general," cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, 
 "The very men who fought with us, they say, are traitors now. 
 They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old Red, White, 
 
 and Blue ; 
 And, while a drop of blood is left, I'll shovr that drop is true. 
 
 "I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good old gun. 
 To get the range of traitors' hearts and pick them one by oiae. 
 Your minie rifles and such arms it a'n't worth while to try ; 
 I couldn't get the hang of them; but I'll keep my powder 
 drv I'' 
 
SCOTT AND THE VETERAN. 161 
 
 *'God bless you, comrade!^' said the chief; ''God bless your 
 
 loyal heart ! 
 But 3^ounger men are in the field, and claim to have their part: 
 They^ll plant our sacred banner in each rebellious town, 
 And woe henceforth to any hand that dares to pull it down !" 
 
 "But, general,^' still persisting, the weeping veteran cried, 
 *'I'm young enough to follow, so long as you^re my guide ; 
 And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that at least can I : 
 So give the young ones a place to fight, but me a place to die! 
 
 *^If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in command 
 Put me upon the rampart, with the flag-stafi" in my hand: 
 No odds how hot the cannon smoke, or how the shells may fly, 
 I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die ! 
 
 **I'm ready, general, so you let a post to me be given 
 
 Where Washington can see me, as he looks from highest 
 
 heaven. 
 And says to Putnam at his side, or may-be General Wayne, 
 * There stands old Billy Johnson, that fought at Lundy's 
 
 Lane 1 
 
 "And when the fight is hottest, before the traitors fly, 
 When shell and ball are screeching and bursting in the sky, 
 If any shot should hit me, and lay me on my face, 
 My soul would go to Washington's and not to Arnold's place.'* 
 
 14* 
 
162 PAUL JOXES, AND THE XAVY OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 ^aul |onts, ani) t^e pbg oi iht Btijolution. 
 
 (Extract fro.m Mr. Mcrdoch's Lectures.) 
 
 In these days of degeneracy and disloyalty, as expressed 
 in the rebellious South and in the sympathy the rebellion 
 has met with at home and abroad, it is a pleasing duty to 
 bring forth and review the generous acts of those men who 
 came from foreign countries and imperilled property and 
 life to aid our fathers in protecting and perpetuating the 
 rights of man. Foremost among these brare men stands 
 Paul JoneSj whose noble devotion to the cause of freedom 
 has won for his name an imperishable record in our naval 
 history. 
 
 Commodore Paul Jones was born in Scotland. His father, 
 a respectable man in the lower walks of life, could only 
 afford him a moderate education for a boy twelve years old. 
 Having fed his roving fancy with tales of adventure gleaned 
 from the old sailors who frequented the ship-yards and 
 lounged in the nautical haunts along the shores of Solway 
 Frith, near his home, he resolved at that age to visit Ame- 
 rica. Circumstances favored his intentions; and here he 
 passed several years of his life. He became engaged in 
 commerce, and studied navigation. This he carried into 
 practical experience during two or three voyages to the 
 coast of Africa ; and, after holding several important com- 
 mands in the commercial mariDe, he tendered his services 
 to the infant navy of the Colonies, — satisfied that their 
 cause was the caiLse of justice and of right, and anxious 
 to distinguish himself as a defender of that which his 
 conscience approved and to which his generous and heroic 
 sympathies directed him. We first find him commanding 
 
PAUL JONES, AND THE NAVY OF THE REVOLUTION. IG^i 
 
 the Ariel, one of the two ships that constituted the navy 
 of Congress at that time. Jones was now twenty-eight 
 years of age. The historian claims for him the honor of 
 raising, with his own hands, the Hag of independent Ame- 
 rica on board the Ariel, in the Delaware River, — the first 
 time it was ever displayed on board a regular American 
 vessel of war. From the Ariel he was transferred to the 
 Ranger, and bore in her to France despatches of the vic- 
 tory of Saratoga. While in a French port, he received 
 from the French commander the first salute that was ever 
 given to the American flag in a foreign port. 
 
 In 1778, he made a descent- on the English coast, sur- 
 prising a garrison and capturing a fort, destroying shipping, 
 and taking a king's ship, called the Drake, in Carrickfergus 
 Bay, throwing the coasts of Ireland and Scotland into 
 consternation, and causing the British Government great 
 expenditure in fortifying their harbors. "We now approach 
 the most daring exploit of this truly great character. 
 
 In company with a fleet of vessels fitted out in France, 
 by the assistance of the French Government, aided by the 
 exertions of Benjamin Franklin, we find him at sea, prey- 
 ing on the English commerce, and boldly attacking the 
 ships of the enemy wherever met. 
 
 September 2, 1776, Paul Jones, in the Bonhomme 
 Richard, in company with the Pallas and the Alliance, fell 
 in with the returning Baltic fleet of merchantmen, under 
 convoy of the king's ships, the Serapis, forty-four guns, 
 and the Countess of Scarborough, twenty- two guns. These 
 ships at once signalled the merchantmen to keep on their 
 course, while they boldly stood out to sea, inviting an action. 
 The battle was fought on the eastern coast of England, oft 
 Flamborough Head, at night, the moon occasionally lighting 
 the combatants. Paul Jones, iu the Bonhomme Richard, 
 
ill 
 
 ON. ■ 
 
 164 PAUL JONES, AND THE NAVY OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 foTiglit the Serapis, while the Pallas engaged the Scar- 
 borough. The Alliance frigate, under the command of Cap- 
 tain Landais, a Frenchman, — who, from his record, must have 
 been either a madman or a traitor to the cause he had 
 espoused, — kept aloof during the greater part of the fight, 
 only coming in towards its close, to fire broadside after 
 broadside in such a direction as to injure the Bonhomme 
 Richard as much, if not more, than the enemy, — in fact, 
 leaving it doubtful against which vessel he had aimed 
 his guns. After a severe fight, the Scarborough struck 
 her flag to the Pallas. 
 
 Paul Jones, who had maintained a desperate conflict 
 with his antagonist, despairing of conquering him at long 
 range, on account of the disabled condition of many of his 
 guns, and of the inferior calibre of the remainder, now deter- 
 mined to run the Serapis aboard. This bold manoeuvre was 
 successfully accomplished, and, lashing his ship to that of 
 his foe, he continued the fight, as sailors say, ^^ yard-arm to 
 yard-arm,'' the gunners on the lower decks of both vessels 
 actually fighting through the port-holes to prevent one 
 another from ramming home the charges of their guns. 
 
 Some of the lower-deck cannon on board the Richard 
 burst in the earlier part of the action, tearing up the 
 decks above in a frightful manner. During a momentary 
 lull in the firing, occasioned by this accident, the British 
 commander hailed, and demanded whether the Richard 
 had surrendered, to which Paul Jones replied, ^' No : we 
 have not yet begun to fight.'' Striding from point to 
 point, the hero might then be seen, now on the deck 
 slippery with blood, now in the shrouds, trumpet in hand, 
 calling away his boarders to hurl them on the deck of the 
 enemy, stimulating his crew to renewed efibrts by words 
 of fiery courage, and leading in the van of every danger. 
 
PAUL JONES, AND THE NAVY OF THE REVOLUTION. 165 
 
 Let us here imagine the commodore turning suddenly at a 
 cry for quarter, uttered by some craven souls who thought 
 the vessel was sinking. The flag-staff was shot away, the 
 ensign was trailing in the water over the stern ; voices cry 
 from out the smoke and darkness, ^^ Quarter, for God^s sake I 
 We are sinking V^ Pistols flash, and a stentorian voice is 
 heard shouting, ^^ Who are those rascals ? Shoot them ! kill 
 them r^ The rush of hurrying feet across the deck, the 
 dash of heavy bodies leaping through the hatchways, tell, 
 in unmistakable terms, that the speaker there is more to be 
 dreaded than the terrors of the sinking ship. 
 
 'From all accounts, the conflict at this juncture must have 
 been terrible beyond description. While the sides of the 
 ship were being literally pounded to pieces by cannon 
 actually fired within a few feet of the timbers they were 
 crushing, the men, maddened to fury by wounds, flame, 
 and smoke, were fighting with hatchets, pikes, and every 
 other weapon at hand, including even the rammers of the 
 guns; and while this w^as going on below the decks, the 
 rigging and round-tops presented a still more frightful 
 picture. The vessels were now both on fire, the flames 
 pouring up through the gaps in the deck, licking up the tarry 
 ropes and tackle, and throwing around all a lurid light of 
 terror. The yard-arms of the contending ships crossed 
 each other's decks, entangled and enveloped in smoke, 
 crowded with sailors, cutting and hacking at each other, 
 more like devils than men, while some exploded hand- 
 grenades on the heads of those below. The musketry of 
 the marines rattling from the decks and blending viiili 
 the sullen roar of cannon, the sharpshooters in the tops, 
 dealing death from above, the shouts of the commanders, 
 the cries of the combatants, of pain or of defiance, the 
 crackling flames shooting through enshrouding smoke, the 
 
166 PAUL JONES^ AND THE XAYY OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 decks all ablaze with fire or enveloped in Egyptian dark- 
 ness, — these separate horrors all combined to render that 
 midnight death-struggle on the ocean more like a picture 
 of fiends and furies, conjured up to delight the hellish 
 fancies of infernal spectators, realizing the words of Shak- 
 speare, ^^Hell is empty, and all the devils are here." 
 
 And yet such are the scenes from which we draw our 
 inspirations of heroism, and in which we see our cherished 
 types of valor, daring, and patriotism. 
 
 How truly might these gallant combatants realize that 
 fierce pleasure Sir TValter Scott speaks of, — 
 
 '' The stern joy that clansmen feel 
 In foemen worthy of their steel" ! 
 
 This terrible and obstinate conflict lasted three and a 
 half hours ; and when the Englishman surrendered, his 
 vessel was found to be anchored, and the flag nailed to the 
 mast. Some time, therefore, elapsed before the usual token 
 of submission could be made manifest; while our vessel 
 was only kept afloat by the almost superhuman efforts of a 
 body of prisoners, who had been confined below decks, and 
 had been during the latter part of the action set at liberty 
 by the officer in charge. Had it not been for this circum- 
 stance, the Bonhomme Eichard would have sunk alongside 
 her enemy before his flag had been struck. 
 
 Thus ended one of the most sanguinary battles ever 
 fought on the ocean. The Bonhomme Richard sank the 
 next morning, — the officers and crew being first transferred 
 on board the English ship, which was almost as badly dis- 
 abled as the Bichard. She. however, was kept afloat, but 
 with great difficulty, and finally made the Texel, to which 
 port Paul Jones had been ordered for repairs. 
 
 The Alliance now became the flag-ship of our hero, and 
 in her he made another of those voyages which called forth 
 
PAUL JONES, AND THE NAVY OF THE REVOLUTION. 167 
 
 the eulogy of the nation, and during which the enemy's 
 gazettes had, as usual, matter enough for comment on the 
 movements and doings of the '^ Bold Buccaneer,'' as they 
 termed him. 
 
 During the next year, we find Commodore Jones in 
 America once more, where he received a vote of thanks 
 from Congress^ and the appointment to the command of an 
 American seventy-four; but, the war terminating soon after, 
 he did not get into active service again. The King of France 
 presented him with a gold-mounted sword, and requested 
 Congress to decorate him with the '' Order of Merit." This 
 was done, the badge, &c. having been sent over for the 
 purpose. Congress also presented him with a gold medal, 
 in consideration of the zeal, prudence, and intrepidity with 
 which he 'had sustained the honor of the American flag. 
 He was now the Chevalier Paul Jones, and, having returned 
 to Paris on a mission for the United States, he was honored 
 by the Empress of Russia with an appointment as rear- 
 admiral of the Russian fleet. He served with distinction, 
 and was invested with the order of " St. Anna.'^ He retired 
 for the last time to Paris, and died there, much honored and 
 respected. His funeral was marked by public ceremonies 
 befitting a hero and a good man, which there is no doubt he 
 was. '' That Paul Jones was a remarkable man,'' says Cooper, 
 the naval historian, ^^ cannot justly be questioned. In his 
 enterprises are to be discovered much of that boldness of 
 conception that marks a great naval captain; though his 
 most celebrated battle is probably the one in which he 
 evinced no other very high quality than that of invincible 
 resolution to conquer. The expedient of running the 
 Serapis aboard was like him; and it was the only chance 
 of victory that was left." 
 
 It will be remembered that the lamented Lawrence in- 
 
168 THE BONHOMME RICHARD. 
 
 % 
 
 tended to accomplish the same result in the grapple with 
 the Shannon. But accident frustrated his plan, and gave 
 the enemy an advantage, which resulted in the capture of 
 our ship and the death of her commander. 
 
 In all bold and daring departures from custom or orders, 
 success throws a halo of glory around the master-spirit 
 of innovation, while failure is attended with obloquy and . 
 oblivion. 
 
 Frost, in his ^^ Naval Memoirs/' pays this tribute to the 
 memory of the man the nation honored, — " It is but just to 
 place him among the first of our naval commanders; for 
 his splendid career exhibited a degree of courage and ability 
 which has been surpassed by none of those who have suc- 
 ceeded him in the brilliant line of our naval heroes." 
 
 When in a French port awaiting the result of Franklin's 
 negotiations regarding the fitting out of a naval force for 
 the service of the Eepublic, Paul Jones became weary of 
 inactivity, and what he thought procrastination on the 
 part of the agents. Therefore he went to Paris, to urge 
 the proceeding personally. The result was that complete 
 success crowned his efforts. He returned to the seaboard 
 and fitted out his vessels without further delay. To the 
 one he had selected as his flag-ship he gave the name of The 
 Goodman Richard. It will be remembered in Franklin's 
 Almanac of Poor Richard there were many terse and wise 
 proverbs and sayings, among which was one to the effect 
 that what a man wants to accomplish well and speedily he 
 
PAUL JONES 169 
 
 had better attend to himself, rather than trust to the assist- 
 ance of others. So Paul Jones called his ship The Good- 
 man Eichard, in compliment to the sayings of Benjamin 
 Franklin. " 
 
 The following old-fashioned nautical song was a favorite 
 in my boyhood. I have heard my father sing it with great 
 delight. I am not able to give the author's name. "Whatr 
 ever may be said of the poetry, the sentiment is truly Ameri- 
 can, while the fire of national pride burns in every line. 
 
 An American frigate from Baltimore came, 
 Her guns mounted forty, the Kichard by name; 
 Went to cruise in the Channel of old England, 
 With a noble commander, Paul Jones was the man. 
 We had not sail'd long before we did espy 
 A large forty-four, and a twenty close by : 
 These two warlike ships, full laden with store. 
 Our captain pursued to the bold Yorkshire shore. 
 
 At the hour of twelve. Pierce came alongside. 
 
 With a loud speaking-trumpet. *' Whence came you?'* he 
 
 cried ; 
 ** Quick give me an answer, T hail'd you before, 
 Or this very instant a broadside I'll pour." 
 Paul Jones he exclaim'd, '*My brave boys, we'll not run: 
 Let every brave seaman stand close to his gun;" 
 When a broadside was fired by these brave Englishmen, 
 And we bold buckskin heroes returned it again. 
 
 We fought them five glasses, five glasses most hot, 
 Till fifty brave seamen lay dead on the spot. 
 And full seventy more lay bleeding in their gore, 
 Whilst Pierce's loud cannon on the Richard did roar. 
 
170 
 
 PAUL JONES. 
 
 Our gunner, affrighted, unto Paul Jones he came, 
 '*Our ship is a-sinking, likewise in a flame ;'^ 
 Paul Jones he replied, in the height of his pride, 
 "If we can do no better, we'll sink alongside/' 
 
 At length our shot flew so quick, they could not -stand : 
 
 The flag of proud Britain was forced to come down, 
 
 The Lion bore down and the Richard did rake, 
 
 Which caused the heart of Richard to ache. 
 
 Come now, my brave buckskin, we've taken a prize, 
 
 A large forty-four, and a twenty likewise ; 
 
 They are both noble vessels, well laden with store 1 
 
 We will toss off the can to our country once more. 
 
 God help the poor widows, who shortly must weep 
 For the loss of their husbands, now sunk in the deep ! 
 We'll drink to brave Paul Jones, who, with sword in hand, 
 Shone foremost in action, and gave us command. 
 
OUR HEROES. 171 
 
 ©ttr f cms.. 
 
 BY LUCY HAMILTON HOOPER. 
 
 Gay leaders in the *'German^s'' maze, 
 
 Light danglers by a lady^s chair, 
 White-gloved, soft-voiced, — your place of old 
 
 Knows you no more. Where are you? — where? 
 
 Our lists of *' dancing men^' grow thin; 
 
 And, as one turns the page, one sees 
 The old familiar names no more : 
 
 They're writ on sadder lists than these 
 
 Dark records of red battle-fields. 
 
 Of crimson sands -and gory sod. 
 Where, 'mid the rush and roar of war. 
 
 Brave souls and true went up to God. 
 
 We read the lists of those who pine 
 
 In loathsome prisons far away, 
 And sigh to greet each well-known name : 
 
 There are our carpet-knights to-day 
 
 And if, in haunts forsaken long, 
 We greet once more a well-known face, 
 
 On pallid brow and faded lip 
 We mark the fatal fever-trace : 
 
 Or, with full heart and eyes, we note 
 
 The gallant soldier's empty sleeve: 
 Yet back, unshed, we press our tears I 
 
 AYe are too proud of him to grieve ! 
 
 And, gallant hearts ! undaunted still 
 
 By periird life and wearing pain, 
 They turn from loving homes away. 
 
 Their scarce-saved lives to stake again. 
 
172 OUR HEROES. 
 
 Scarce has each fearful wound been heaPd, 
 Scarce has the fever ceased to burn, 
 
 When from each wan lip rings the cry, 
 "Our country needs us ! we return ! 
 
 '^We go to bear her flag once more 
 To victory 'neath the Southern sky. 
 
 We^^e suffered for her cause; and now 
 We're ready for that cause to dieT' 
 
 My country ! though thy flag to-day 
 Droops, dimm'd and rent by rebel guns, 
 
 Thou hast no cause to faint or fear ! 
 Be proud the while thou hast such sons! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 
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