CCCXLVI.

THE BLACK REGIMENT; OR, THE SECOND LOUISIANA AT THE STORMING OF PORT HUDSON.

DARK as the clouds of even,

Ꭰ

Ranked in the western heaven,

Waiting the breath that lifts
All the dread mass, and drifts
Tempest and falling brand
Over a ruined land —
So still and orderly,

Arm to arm, knee to knee
Waiting the great event,
Stands the Black Regiment.

Down the long dusky line
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;
And the bright bayonet,

Bristling and firmly set,

Flashed with a purpose grand,
Long ere the sharp command
Of the fierce rolling drum
Told them their time had come
Told them what work was sent
For the Black Regiment.

"Now," the flag-sergeant cried,
"Though death and hell betide,
Let the whole nation see
If we are fit to be

Free in this land; or bound

Down like the whining hound
Bound with red stripes of pain
In our old chains again!"
Oh! what a shout there went
From the Black Regiment.

"Charge!" Trump and drum awoke; Onward the bondmen broke;

Bayonet and sabre stroke

Vainly opposed their rush.

Through the wild battle's crush,
With but one thought aflush,
Driving their lords like chaff,
In the guns' mouths they laugh;
Or at the slippery brands
Leaping with open hands,

Down they tear, man and horse,
Down in their awful course;
Trampling with bloody heel
Over the crashing steel,
All their eyes forward bent,
Rushed the Black Regiment.

"Freedom!" their battle-cry
"Freedom! or leave to die!"
Ah! and they meant the word,
Not as with us 't is heard,

Not a mere party shout;
They gave their spirits out;
Trusted the end to God,
And on the gory sod

Rolled in triumphant blood,
Glad to strike one free blow,
Whether for weal or woe;
Glad to breathe one free breath,
Though on the lips of death,
Praying-alas! in vain!—
That they might fall again,
So they could once more see
That burst to liberty!

This was what "Freedom" lent

To the Black Regiment.

Hundreds on hundreds fell;
But they are resting well;
Scourges and shackles strong
Never shall do them wrong.
Oh, to the living few,
Soldiers, be just and true!
Hail them as comrades tried;
Fight with them side by side;
Never, in field or tent,
Scorn the Black Regiment!

G. H. Boker.

CCCXLVII.

FORWARD!

GOD, to the human soul,

And all the spheres that roll,

Wrapped by his Spirit in their robes of light,
Hath said: "The primal plan,
Of all the world, and man,

Is forward! Progress is your law

The despots of the earth,

your right.”

Since Freedom had her birth,

Have to their subject nations said, "Stand still;
So, from the Polar Bear,

Comes down the freezing air,

And stiffens all things with its deadly chill.

Would snap the chain that binds all things to him;
And in his godless pride,

All peoples would divide,

And scatter even the choirs of seraphim.

God, all the orbs that roll,
Binds to one common goal —

One source of light and life—his radiant throne.
In one fraternal mind

All races would he bind,

Till every man in man a brother own.

Tyrants with tyrants league,
Corruption and intrigue

To strangle infant Liberty conspire.
Around her cradle, then,

Let self-devoted men

Gather, and keep unquenched her vital fire.

When Tyranny, grown bold,

To Freedom's host cries, "Hold!

Ye towards her temple at your peril march; "Stop," that great host replies,

Raising to heaven its eyes,

"Stop, first, the host that moves across yon arch!"

When Tyranny commands,

"Hold thou my victim's hands, While I more firmly rivet on his chains,

Or with my bowie-knife

I'll take your craven life,

Or show my streets bespattered with your brains, "

Freedom with forward tread,
Unblenching, turns her head,

And drawing from its sheath her flashing glave,

Calmly makes answer: "Dare

Touch of my head one hair,

I'll cut the cord that holds your every slave!”

J. Pierpont.

BOOK THIRD.

HUMOROUS SELECTIONS

FOR

RECITATION AND DECLAMATION

IN PROSE AND POETRY.

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