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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.]
UST as the spring came laughing through the strife,
With all its gorgeous cheer,
Fell the great cannoneer.
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.
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 !
(Bombardment of Fort Sumter by the fleet, 7th April, 1863.)
BY PAUL H. HAYNE.
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
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
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
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
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