Forgive, O Lord, that we forgot Accept it ere thou call us hence, 'Tis not for gain or vengeful spite Our treasure and our life is poured, But for the wronged who have no might, Whose cry has reached the ear of God. In days like these our motives take, Since whom thou usest thou must trust; And when we strike because we must, Help us to heal the wounds we make. THE TROOP-SHIP SAILS BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS Is it good-by, My lad? No, I'll not cry. Has the time come? The bugle-call from the sea-wall, The tap of drum? My tears are dry. Rest your head here, My lad, Close to me, dear; Why do you stare? Have pain and care made me less fair? Are my lips white with fear? Hark! how they cheer Down in the Square there! What do they care, My lad, For this brown hair That I love so? Their drums' long roll will crush my soul Ah, God! don't go !— I cannot bear— There, I'll be still, My lad, Truly I will; My tears are spent. Which regiment will next be sent? Does every bullet kill? Hold me until The call is urgent! Who spoke your name, The summons came Out of the crowd! Oh, hold me, lad! fold me, lad! Their flag's a shroud To bury shame! Have they begun, My lad? See, the troops run! Your eyes are wet; You are so quiet; is there time yet? Kiss me,-just one. Run with your musket! THE BATTLE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR Bombardment of Fort Sumter by the fleet, April 7th, 1863 BY PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE Two hours, or more, beyond the prime of a blithe April day, The Northmen's mailed " Invincibles" steamed up fair Charleston Bay; They came in sullen file and slow, low-breasted on the wave, Black as a midnight front of storm, and silent as the grave. A thousand warrior-hearts beat high as those dread monsters drew More closely to the game of death across the breezeless blue, And twice ten thousand hearts of those who watched the scene afar, Thrill in the awful hush that bides the battle's broadening star. Each gunner, moveless by his gun, with rigid aspect stands, The ready lanyards firmly grasped in bold, untrembling hands, So moveless in their marbled calm, their stern heroic guise, They looked like forms of statued stone with burning human eyes! Our banners on the outmost walls, with stately rust ling fold, Flash back from arch and parapet the sunlight's ruddy gold, They mount to the deep roll of drums, and widely echoing cheers, And then once more, dark, breathless, hushed, wait the grim cannoneers. Onward-in sullen file and slow, low glooming on the wave, Near, nearer still, the haughty fleet glides silent as the grave, When sudden, shivering up the calm, o'er startled flood and shore, Burst from the sacred Island Fort the thunder-wrath of yore! Ha! brutal Corsairs! though ye come thrice-cased in iron mail, Beware the storm that's opening now, God's vengeance guides the hail! Ye strive, the ruffian types of Might, 'gainst Law and Truth and Right; Now quail beneath a sturdier Power, and own a mightier Might! No empty boast! for while we speak, more furious, wilder, higher, Dart from the circling batteries a hundred tongues of fire; The waves gleam red, the lurid vault of heaven seems rent above; Fight on, O knightly gentlemen! for faith and home and love! There's not in all that line of flame, one soul that would not rise To seize the victor's wreath of blood, though death must give the prize There's not in all this anxious crowd that throngs the ancient town A maid who does not yearn for power to strike one despot down. The strife grows fiercer! ship by ship the proud armada sweeps, Where hot from Sumter's raging breast the volleyed lightning leaps; |