. Abraham Lincoln and the battles of the Civil War . k to boom and chain and bloody fray once more. Now the Southron captain, stirred By the spirit of his race,Stops the firing with a word, Bids them yield, and offers , laughing, answers, No! we are here to fight! and so Swings the dread torpedo spar to its place. Then the great ship shook and reeled With a wounded, gaping her steady cannon pealed Ere she settled in the the Roanokes dull flood ran full red with Yankee blood, When the fighting Albemarle sunk and died. Woe in rebel Plymouth town when the Albemarle
. Abraham Lincoln and the battles of the Civil War . k to boom and chain and bloody fray once more. Now the Southron captain, stirred By the spirit of his race,Stops the firing with a word, Bids them yield, and offers , laughing, answers, No! we are here to fight! and so Swings the dread torpedo spar to its place. Then the great ship shook and reeled With a wounded, gaping her steady cannon pealed Ere she settled in the the Roanokes dull flood ran full red with Yankee blood, When the fighting Albemarle sunk and died. Woe in rebel Plymouth town when the Albemarle fell. And the saucy flag went down that had floated long and well,Nevermore from her stricken deck to wave. For the fallen flag a sigh, for the fallen foe a tear!Never shall their glory die while we hold our glory dear. And the heros laurels live on his their Cookes with Cushings name; proudly call them both our own ; Claim their valor and their fame for America alone —Joyful mother of the bravest of the brave! James Jeffrey Roche. 731. THE POET. HE s not alone an artist weak and whiteOer-bending scented paper, toying thereWith languid fancies fashioned deft and fair,Mere sops to time between the day and night. He is a poor torn soul who sees aright How far he fails of living out of the rareNight-visions God vouchsafes along the air;Until the pain bums hot, be}-ond his might. The heart-beat of the universal will He hears, and, spite of blindness and sense amidst the jar a singing fine. Grief-smitten that his lyre should lack the skillTo speak it plain, he plays in paths aloof,And knows the trend is starward, life divine. Richard E. Burton. 778 SAIXT-iMEMINS PORTRAIT OF MARSHALL. 1 • It is not bashfulness, sister, said Under-wood, coloring a little. It is could I explain matters to this poor girl ?How could I prevail on her to come here with-out giving her an inkling of the situation, andthus frighten her, perhaps unnecessarily? •
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