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But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain ! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle

trills, For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the

shores acrowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces

turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck

You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor

will, The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed

and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with ob

ject won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells !
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

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THE BLUE AND THE GRAY

BY FRANCIS MILES FINCH

By the flow of the inland river,

Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead :
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the one, the Blue,

Under the other, the Gray.

These in the robings of glory,

Those in the gloom of defeat,
All with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet:
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the laurel, the Blue,

Under the willow, the Gray.

From the silence of sorrowful hours

The desolate mourners go,
Lovingly laden with flowers
Alike for the friend and the foe:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;

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