Then Evangeline slept; but the boatmen rowed through

the midnight,

Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat

songs,

Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers, While through the night were heard the mysterious sounds of the desert,

Far off,

indistinct, - as of wave or wind in the forest, Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the

grim alligator.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

THE

Beaufort, S. C.

THE FISHERMAN OF BEAUFORT.

tide comes up, and the tide goes down, And still the fisherman's boat,

At early dawn and at evening shade,

Is ever and ever afloat:

His net goes down, and his net comes up,
And we hear his song of glee;

"De fishes dey hates de ole slave nets,
But comes to de nets ob de free."

The tide comes up, and the tide goes down,
And the oysterman below

Is picking away, in the slimy sands,

In the sands "ob de long ago."

But now if an empty hand he bears,

He shudders no more with fear;

There's no stretching-board for the aching bones, And no lash of the overseer.

The tide comes up, and the tide goes down,

And ever I hear a song,

As the moaning winds through the moss-hung oaks

Sweep surging ever along.

"O massa white man! help de slave,

And de wife and chillen too;

Eber dey 'll work, wid de hard worn hand,
Ef ell gib 'em de work to do."

The tide comes up, and the tide goes down,
But it bides no tyrant's word,

As it chants unceasing the anthem grand
Of its Freedom to the Lord.
The fisherman floating on its breast
Has caught up the keynote true:
"De sea works, massa, for 't sef and God,
And so must de brack man too.

"Den gib him de work, and gib him de pay,
For de chillen an' wife him love,

And de yam shall grow, and de cotton shall blow,
And him nebber, nebber rove;

For him love de ole Carlina State,
And de ole magnolia tree;

Oh, nebber him trouble de icy Norf,

Ef de brack folks am go free."

Frances D. Gage.

WE

Bethel, Va.

BETHEL.

E mustered at midnight, in darkness we formed, And the whisper went round of a fort to be stormed;

But no drum-beat had called us, no trumpet we heard, And no voice of command, but our Colonel's low word,

"Column! Forward!"

And out, through the mist and the murk of the morn, From the beaches of Hampton our barges were borne ; And we heard not a sound, save the sweep of the

oar,

Till the word of our Colonel came up from the shore, "Column! Forward!"

With hearts bounding bravely, and eyes all alight,
As ye dance to soft music, so trod we that night;
Through the aisles of the greenwood, with vines over-

arched,

Tossing dew-drops, like gems, from our feet, as

WO

As ye dance with the damsels, to viol and flute,
So we skipped from the shadows, and mocked their

pursuit ;

But the soft zephyrs chased us, with scents of the

morn,

As we passed by the hay-fields and green waving

corn,

"Column! Forward!"

For the leaves were all laden with fragrance of June, And the flowers and the foliage with sweets were in tune;

And the air was so calm, and the forest so dumb, That we heard our own heart-beats, like taps of a drum,

Column Forward!

Till the lull of the lowlands was stirred by a breeze, And the buskins of Morn brushed the tops of the

trees,

And the glintings of glory that slid from her track By the sheen of our rifles were gayly flung back, – 'Column! Forward!"

And the woodlands grew purple with sunshiny mist, And the blue-crested hill-tops with rose-light were kissed,

And the earth gave her prayers to the sun in perfumes,

Till we marched as through gardens, and trampled on blooms,

Ay! trampled on blossoms, and seared the sweet breath Of the greenwood with low-brooding vapors of death;

O'er the flowers and the corn we were borne like a

blast,

And away to the fore-front of battle we passed, –

And the sun was like lightning on banners and blades, When the long line of chanting Zouaves, like a flood, From the green of the woodlands rolled, crimson as blood,

While the sound of their song, like the surge of the

seas,

وو

With the "Star-Spangled Banner swelled over the

leas;

And the sword of Duryea, like a torch, led the way, Bearing down on the batteries of Bethel that day, "Column! Forward!"

Through green-tasselled cornfields our columns were

thrown,

And like corn by the red scythe of fire we were

mown;

While the cannon's fierce ploughings new-furrowed the

plain,

That our blood might be planted for Liberty's grain,

"Column! Forward!"

*

Augustine Joseph Hickey Duganne.