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[In most of the collections this poem is printed under the title of “The Dead Cannoneer," but the author assures the present editor that the only title he ever gave it is the name of the boy general, “John Pelham,” who was killed at Kelly's Ford, Virginia, 17th March, 1863.-EDITOR.]

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UST as the spring came laughing through the strife,

With all its gorgeous cheer,
In the bright April of historic life,

Fell the great cannoneer.
Vol. II.

113

The wondrous lulling of a hero's breath

His bleeding country weeps ; Hushed in the alabaster arms of Death,

Our young Marcellus sleeps.

Nobler and grander than the Child of Rome

Curbing his chariot steeds, The knightly scion of a Southern home

Dazzled the land with deeds.

Gentlest and bravest in the battle-brunt,

The champion of the truth, He bore his banner to the very front

Of our immortal youth.

A clang of sabres ’mid Virginian snow,

The fiery pang of shells, – And there 's a wail of immemorial woe

In Alabama dells.

The pennon drops that led the sacred band

Along the crimson field ; The meteor blade sinks from the nerveless hand

Over the spotless shield.

We gazed and gazed upon that beauteous face ;

While round the lips and eyes, Couched in their marble slumber, flashed the grace

Of a divine surprise.

Job Delbam

115

O mother of a blessed soul on high !

Thy tears may soon be shed; Think of thy boy with princes of the sky,

Among the Southern dead!

How must he smile on this dull world beneath,

Fevered with swift renown, — He, with the martyr's amaranthine wreath

Twining the victor's crown !

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(Bombardment of Fort Sumter by the fleet, 7th April, 1863.)

BY PAUL H. HAYNE.

I.

TWApril day

WO 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.

II.

A thousand warrior-hearts beat high as those dread mon

sters 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.

Tbe Battle of Cbarleston barbor

117

III.

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!

IV.

Our banners on the outmost walls, with stately rustling

fold, Flash back from arch and parapet the sunlight's ruddy

gold, They mount to the deep roll of drums, and widely echo

ing cheers, And then-once more, dark, breathless, hushed, wait the

grim cannoneers.

V.

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!

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