A CCCXXXV. THE CUMBERLAND. T anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, On board of the Cumberland sloop-of-war, And at times from the fortress across the bay The alarum of drums swept past, Or a bugle-blast From the camp on the shore. Then far away to the South uprose A little feather of snow-white smoke. And we knew that the iron ship of our foes Was steadily steering its course To try the force Of our ribs of oak. Down upon us heavily runs, Silent and sullen, the floating fort; Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, And leaps the terrible death, "Strike your flag!" the Rebel cries, In his arrogant old plantation strain. "Never!" our gallant Morris replies; "It is better to sink than to yield!" Then, like a kraken huge and black, She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp ! Down went the Cumberland all a wrack, With a sudden shudder of death, And the cannon's breath For her dying gasp. Next morn as the sun rose over the bay, Still floated our flag at the main mast-head Lord, how beautiful was Thy day! Every waft of the air Was a whisper of prayer, Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas! Ye are at peace in the troubled stream. Thy flag, that is rent in twain, And without a seam! H. W. Longfellow. CCCXXXVI. UNITED STATES NATIONAL ANTHEM. GOD of the Free! upon Thy breath Our Flag is for the Right unrolled, As broad and brave as when its stars For Duty still its folds shall fly; No tyrant's impious step is ours; O thus we 'll keep our Nation's life, The blood of all the world is here, And they who strike us strike the world! God of the Free! our Nation bless Then shout beside thine Oak, O North! O South! wave answer with thy Palm; And in our Union's heritage Together sing the Nation's Psalm! W. R. Wallace. CCCXXXVII. THE FISHERMAN OF BEAUFORT. THE 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 of de free." The tide comes up, and the tide goes down, And the oysterman below Is picking away, in the slimy sands, 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 The tide comes up, and the tide goes go down, The fisherman floating on its breast Has caught up the key-note 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, 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, Mrs. F. D. Gage. WE CCCXXXVIII. THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY. HAT flower is this that greets the morn, With burning star and flaming band In It is the banner of the free, savage Nature's far abode Its tender seed our fathers sowed; The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud, Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty! Behold its streaming rays unite The sister Stars of Liberty! Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty! |