. Abraham Lincoln and the battles of the Civil War . shattering thunders thereFlapped and reeled. For the fighting foe—We had canght him in his lair. Surprised, unready, his proud .ships layIdlj at anchor in Bakor Bay;—Unready, surpi-ised, but proudly bold. Which was ever the Spaniaids vay. Then soon on his pride the dread doom fell,Red doom,—for the ruin of shot and shellLit every vomiting, bursting liulkWith a crimson i-eek of hell. Manila Bay! Manila Bay!How proud the song on oiir lips today!A brave old song- of the true and strong-And tlie will that lias its way; Of the blood that told in
. Abraham Lincoln and the battles of the Civil War . shattering thunders thereFlapped and reeled. For the fighting foe—We had canght him in his lair. Surprised, unready, his proud .ships layIdlj at anchor in Bakor Bay;—Unready, surpi-ised, but proudly bold. Which was ever the Spaniaids vay. Then soon on his pride the dread doom fell,Red doom,—for the ruin of shot and shellLit every vomiting, bursting liulkWith a crimson i-eek of hell. Manila Bay! Manila Bay!How proud the song on oiir lips today!A brave old song- of the true and strong-And tlie will that lias its way; Of the blood that told in the days of DrakeWhen the fig-ht was g-ood for tlie sake!For the blood that fathered Fan-aj^nt Is the blood that fathered Blake; And the pride of the blood will not be undoneWhile wai-\s in the world and a fig-lit to be w., the master now, as the master of old,Is the man behind the gun. The dominant blood that daijnts the laughs at odds, and leaps to the IjIow,—It is Deweys glory to-day, NelsonsA hundred years ago. A NIGHT SCENE. HOW I do love a wilding bankWhere no wind stirs,So bravely hedged by rank on rankOf junipers 1 *■ The glint of waters seen afar Is eves dehght;With dark a solitary star Begins the night. It cannot gaze on such a nook For long alone,But beckons up a host to look And make it known. These call the moon her toppling horn Of light to wakes the birds that think it morn And time to sing. Though mom it is not, such a night Yet bids ariseAll wakeful souls to the delight In those pure eyes. All souls desire—rightly to see A sight like this—Some sweet accordant company To share their bliss. Who —who but thee shall on my breast Lean lightly, let her wistful eyes still rest On those above ? Ja//ies Herbert Morse. Vol. XL.—14. THEODORE OHARA.
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