Oh ye who've waited and prayed so long
That Right might have a fair fight with Wrong,
No more in fruitless marches shall plod,
But smite the foe with the wrath of God!
Rub-a-dub-dub! rub-a-dub-dub!

O Death! what a charge that carried the hill!
That carried, and kept, and holds it still!
The foe is broken and flying with fear,
While far on their route our drummers I hear,
Rub-a-dub-dub! rub-a-dub-dub!

Harper's Weekly.

THE CRAVEN.

FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM BY ALFRED ANDHISON.

ON that mighty day of battle, 'mid the booming and the

rattle,

Shouts of victory and of anguish, wherewith Malvern's hill did roar,

Did a General now quite fameless, who in these lines shall be nameless,

Show himself as rather gameless,-gameless on the James's

shore,

Safely smoking on a gunboat, while the tempest raged on shore,

Only this, and nothing more.

The Congressional Committee sat within the nation's city, And each Congressman so witty did the General implore : "Tell us if thou at that battle, 'mid the booming and the rattle,

Wert on a gunboat or in saddle, while the tempest raged ashore ?"

THE HOUR OF Northern VICTORY. 263

Answered he: “I don't remember, — might have been.” What more?

Only this, and nothing more.

"By the truth which is eternal, by the lies that are diurnal,

By our Abraham paternal, General, we thee implore,
Tell the truth and shame the devil, — parent of old Jeff.

and evil;

Give us no more of such drivel. Tell us, wert thou on the shore."

"Don't remember, — might have been;" thus spoke ho o'er and o'er,

Only this, and nothing more.

"On that day, sir, had you seen a gunboat of the name Galena,

In an anchorage, to screen a man from danger on the

shore?

Was a man about your inches, smoking with those three French Princes,

With a caution which evinces care for such a garde decorps?

Were

you that man on the gunboat? "Don't remember, might have been. The bore."

Only this, and nothing more.

Evening Post.

THE HOUR OF NORTHERN VICTORY.

BY FANNY KEMBLE.

ROLL not a drum, sound not a clarion note
Of haughty triumph to the silent sky;
Hush'd be the shout of joy in ev'ry throat,
And veil'd the flash of pride in ev'ry eye.

Not with Te Deums loud and high Hosannas
Greet we the awful victory we have won ;
But with our arms revers'd and lower'd banners
We stand, — our work is done!

Thy work is done, God, terrible and just,

Who laidst upon our hearts and hands this task; And kneeling, with our foreheads in the dust, We venture Peace to ask.

Bleeding and writhing underneath our sword,
Prostrate our brethren lie, Thy fallen foe,
Struck down by Thee through us, avenging Lord,
By Thy dread hand laid low.

For our own guilt have we been doomed to smite
These our kindred, Thy great laws defying,
These, our own flesh and blood, who now unite
In one thing only with us, bravely dying.

Dying how bravely, yet how bitterly!

Not for the better side, but for the worse, Blindly and madly striving against Thee,

For the bad cause where Thou hast set Thy curse.

At whose defeat we may not raise our voice,

Save in the deep thanksgiving of our prayers: “Lord! we have fought the fight!" But to rejoice Is ours no more than theirs.

Call back thy dreadful ministers of wrath

Who have led on our hosts to this great day; Let our feet halt now in the avenger's path, And bid our weapons stay.

Upon our land, Freedom's inheritance,

Turn Thou once more the splendor of Thy face,

THE FREEDMAN'S SONG.

Where nations serving Thee to light advance,
Give us again our place.

Not our bewildering past prosperity,

Not all thy former ill-requited grace,

But this one boon,

Oh! grant us still to be

The home of Hope to the whole human race.

April 25th, 1865.

265

London Spectator.

COTTON AND CORN.

COTTON and Corn were mighty kings,*
Who differed at times on certain things,
To the country's dire confusion :

Corn was peaceable, mild, and just,

But Cotton was fond of saying "you must ";
So, after he 'd boasted, bullied, and cussed,
He got up a revolution.

But in the course of time the bubble is bursted,
And Corn is the King, and Cotton is worsted.

THE FREEDMAN'S SONG.

DE Lord, He make us free indeed
In His own time an' way;

66

*The phrase "King Cotton" was brought into use by the following passage in a speech Senator Hammond, of South Carolina, made in the Senate, March 4th, 1858: No, you dare not make war upon cotton; no power upon earth dares to make war upon it. Cotton is king: until lately the Bank of England was king; but she tried to put her screws, as usual, the fall before last, on the cotton crop, and was utterly vanquished. The last power has been conquered: who can doubt, that has looked at recent events, that cotton is supreme!"

We plant de rice an' cotton seed,
An' see de sprout some day;
We know it come, but not de why,-
De Lord know more dan we;
We 'spected freedom by-an’-by,

An' now we all are free.

Praise de Lord! Praise de Lord!

For now we all are free.

De Norf is on de side of right,
An' full of men, dey say;

An' dere, when poor man work, at night
He sure to get his pay;

De Lord, He glad dey are so good,
An' make dem bery strong;

An' when dey called to give deir blood
Dey all come right along.

Praise de Lord! Praise de Lord!
Dey all come right along.

Deir blue coats cover all de groun',
An' make it like de sky;
An' ebery grayback loafing roun'
He tink it time to fly:

We not afraid; we bring de child

An' stan' beside de door,

An' oh! we hug it bery wild,

An' keep it ebermore.

Praise de Lord! Praise de Lord!

We keep it ebermore.

De mas'er's come back from his tramp,

'Pears he is broken quite;

He takes de basket to de camp

For rations ebery night;

Dey fought him when he loud and strong,

Dey feed him when he low,