And buzzing like bees o'er the water In silence how dread and solemn, The line of the shallops drew. Not a whisper! Each man was conscious 'Twixt death in the air above them, And many a brave, stout fellow, Who sprang in the boats with mirth, And many a brave, stout fellow, Whose limbs with strength were rife, But yet the boats moved onward; Through fire and lead they drove, With the dark, still mass within them, And the floating stars above. They formed in line of battle- Then with levelled steel they hurled them Straight in the rebels' face. ANONYMOUS. 66 66 Roll-Call. CORPORAL GREEN!" the orderly cried. Cyrus Drew!"- then silence fell, This time no answer followed the call; Only his rear man had seen him fall, Killed or wounded, he could not tell. There they stood in the failing light, While slowly gathered the shades of night. The fern on the hill side was splashed with blood, And crimson-dyed was the river's flood. For the foe had crossed from the other side "Herbert Kline!" At the call there came Two stalwart soldiers into the line, Bearing between them this Herbert Kline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. "Ezra Kerr!". and a voice answered "Here!" "Hiram Kerr!"- but no man replied. They were brothers. these two; the sad wind sighed, And a shudder crept through the cornfield near. "Ephraim Deane!”—then a soldier spoke : "Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said; "Where our ensign was shot I left him dead, Just after the enemy wavered and broke. "Close to the roadside his body lies; I paused a moment and gave him drink ; He murmured his mother's name, I think, And death came with it and closed his eyes." 'Twas a victory, yes, but it cost us dear; For that company's roll, when called at night, Of a hundred men who went into the fight, Numbered but twenty that answered "Here!" NATHANIEL GRAHAM SHEPHERD. Heroes. THE winds that once the Argo bore Have died by Neptune's ruined shrines, But out of their rest no charm can wile And Priam's wail is heard no more But Jove has gone from its brow away; And red on the plain the poppies grow Where the Greek and the Trojan fought that day. Mother Earth, are the heroes dead? Do they thrill the soul of the years no more? Gone? In a grander form they rise. Dead? We may clasp their hands in ours, And catch the light of their clearer eyes, And wreathe their brows with immortal flowers. Wherever a noble deed is done, 'T is the pulse of a hero's heart is stirred; Wherever Right has a triumph won, There are the heroes' voices heard. Their armor rings on a fairer field Than the Greek and the Trojan fiercely trod ; Jason may sleep the years away; For the heroes live, and the sky is bright, EDNA DEAN PROCTOR. Moonlight. "NAY, wait me here- I'll not be long; I'll come ere you have sung the song "T is but to cross yon streak of light,— You will not lose me from your sight,— So, in the pleasant night of June, To where the glimmer of the moon And she sits singing on the shore The boat flies on, the song is done, The boat flies on, the boat flies fast; And on, and on, and ever on, But oh, forevermore is done ROBERT KELLEY WEEKS. The Song of Korek. 'TWAS on the night of Michaelmas that lordly Orloff's heir Wed with the noble Russian maid, Dimitry's daughter fair. With mirth and song, and love and wine, that was a royal day; The banners streamed, the halls were hung in black and gold array. |