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Boy Brittan


Moist-moist with the luminous breath of the singing spheres

And the nation's starry tears ! And tremble-touched by the pulse-like gush and start Of the universal music of the heart,

And all deep sympathy.
Laurels and tears for thee, boy,

Laurels and tears for thee-
Laurels of light and tears of love forevermore

For thee !


And laurels of light, and tears of truth,

And the mantle of immortality ;
And the flowers of love and immortal youth,
And the tender heart-tokens of all true ruth

And the everlasting victory !
And the breath and bliss of Liberty ;
And the loving kiss of Liberty ;
And the welcoming light of heavenly eyes,
And the over-calm of God's canopy ;
And the infinite love-span of the skies
That cover the valleys of Paradise-
For all of the brave who rest with thee;
And for one and all who died with thee,
And now sleep side by side with thee;
And for every one who lives and dies,
On the solid land or the heaving sea,

Dear warrior-boy-like thee.
Vol. II.




O the victory—the victory

Belongs to thee!
God ever keeps the brightest crown for such as thou-

He gives it now to thee !
O young and brave, and early and thrice blest-

Thrice, thrice, thrice blest !
Thy country turns once more to kiss thy youthful brow,
And takes thee-gently-gently to her breast;
And whispers lovingly, “God bless thee-bless thee


My darling, thou shalt rest!”

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T anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,

On board the Cumberland sloop of war, And at times from the fortress across the bay

The alarm of drums swept past,

Or a bugle blast
From the camp on shore.
Then far away to the south uprose

A little feather of snow-white smoke,
And we knew that the iron ship of our foes

Was steadily steering its course

To try the force
Of our ribs of oak.

Down upon us heavily runs,

Silent and sullen, the floating fort, Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,

And leaps the terrible death,

With fiery breath,
From each open port.



We are not idle but send her straight

Defiance back in a full broadside! As hail rebounds from a roof of slate

Rebounds our heavier hail

From each iron scale
Of the monster's hide.

"Strike your flag!” the rebel cries,

In his arrogant old plantation strain. "Never!” our gallant Morris replies;

“It is better to sink than to yield."

And the whole air pealed
With the cheers of our men.

Then like a kraken, huge and black

She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp! Down went the Cumberland all awrack,

With a sudden shudder of death,

And the cannon's breath
For her dying gasp.

Tbe Cumberland


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Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay,

Still floated our flag at the mainmast head. Lord, how beautiful was Thy day!

Every waft of the air

Was a whisper of prayer,
Or a dirge for the dead.

Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas,

Ye are at peace in the troubled stream. Ho! brave land! with hearts like these,

Thy flag, that is rent in twain,

Shall be one again,
And without a seam!

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