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THE CUMBERLAND'S CREW.

Come in consumption's ghastly form;
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;
Come when the heart beats high and warm,

With banquet-song, and dance and wine;
And thou art terrible. The tear,

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear
Of agony, are thine.

But to the hero, when his sword

Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave
Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee-there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.

We tell thy doom without a sigh;
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's;
One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.

THE CUMBERLAND'S CREW.

This unpretentious, and very affecting poem, which probably was written by one whose hands were hard with ramming home cartridges upon the gallant old ship, is well worthy of being often recited. It should be spoken with a strong voice, in a bold, martial tone, as if the speaker was more used to making his voice heard above the raging storm than in the still calm of a fashionable drawing-room:

Oh! shipmates, come, gather, and join in my ditty;
It's of a terrible battle that happened of late:

Let each good Union tar shed a sad tear of pity,

When he thinks of the once gallant Cumberland's fate. The eighth day of March told a terrible story,

And many a brave tar to this world bid adieu !
Yet our Flag it was wrapt in a mantle of glory,
By the heroic deeds of the Cumberland's crew.

Oh that ill-fated day, about ten in the morning,
The sky it was clear, and bright shone the sun :
The drums of the Cumberland sounded a warning,
That told every seaman to stand by his gun.

THE CUMBERLAND'S CREW.

An iron-clad frigate down on us came bearing,
And high in the air the Rebel flag flew;
The pennant of treason she proudly was waving,
Determined to conquer the Cumberland's crew.

Then up spoke our Captain with stern resolution,

115

Saying: "My boys, of this monster now don't be dismayed."
We swore to maintain our beloved Constitution,
And to die for our country we are not afraid!
We fight for the Union: our cause it is glorious,

To the Stars and the Stripes we will stand ever true.
We'll sink at our quarters, or conquer victorious!
Was answered, with cheers, from the Cumberland's crew.
Now our gallant ship fired her guns' dreadful thunder,
Her broad-side, like hail, on the Rebel did pour :
The people gazed on, struck with terror and wonder:
The shots struck his sides, and glanced harmless o'er;
But the pride of our navy could never be daunted,

Tho' the dead and the wounded her deck they did strew:
And the Flag of our Union how proudly it flaunted,
Sustained by the blood of the Cumberland's crew!

Slowly they sunk beneath Virginia's waters!

Their voices on earth will ne'er be heard more.

They'll be wept by Columbia's brave sons and fair daughters !
May their blood be avenged on Virginia's shore!
In that battle-stained grave they are silently lying-
Their souls have for ever to earth bid adieu !
But the Star-Spangled Banner above them is flying-
It was nailed to the mast by the Cumberland's crew!

They fought us three hours with stern resolution,

Till those Rebels found cannon would never avail them;
For, the Flag of Secession has no power to gall them,
Tho' the blood from their scuppers it crimson'd the tide ?
She struck us amidst-ship, our planks she did sever:
Her sharp iron prong pierced our noble ship through:
And still, as they sunk on that dark rolling river,

"We'll die at our guns!" cried the Cumberland's crew.

Columbia's sweet birth-right of Freedom's communion,
Thy Flag never floated so proudly before:

For the spirits of those that died for the Union,
Above its broad folds now exultingly soar!

And when our sailors in battle assemble,

God bless our dear Banner, the Red, White, Blue! Beneath its bright Stars, we'll cause tyrants to tremble, Or sink at our guns, like the Cumberland's crew!

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THE SAILOR BOY'S DREAM,

THE SAILOR BOY'S DREAM.

DIOMND.

This popular piece should be recited in an unaffected, simple, pure, and melodious manner, until the Sailor Boy is rudely awakened from his happy dream-then the action should be animated-frenzied-and the voice thrillingly loud and effective. At the end, the voice should sink into a low monody-like tone:

In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay,

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind;
But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn;
While Memory stood sidewise, half covered with flowers,
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.
Then Fancy, her magical pinions spread wide,
And bade the young dreamer in cctasy rise:
Now far, far behind him the green waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch,
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall;
All trembling with transport, he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight,

His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear,

And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.
The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast;
Joy quickens his pulse-all hardships seem o'er;
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest:
"Kind Fate, thou has blessed me; I ask for no more."
Ah! what is that flame which now bursts on his eye?
Ah! what is that sound which now larums his ear?
'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky!
'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere!
He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck-
Amazement confronts him with images dire—
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel awreck-

The masts fly in splinters-the shrouds are on fire!

THERE'S BUT ONE PAIR OF STOCKINGS TO MEND.

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell-
In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save;
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,

And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave

O sailor boy! woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss; Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, Thy parents' fond pleasure, and love's honeyed kiss?

O sailor boy! sailor boy! never again

Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay;
Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main,
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay.

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge;
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge!

On beds of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid;
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made;
And every part suit to thy mansion below.

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll:
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye :

O sailor boy! sailor boy! peace to thy soul !

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THERE'S BUT ONE PAIR OF STOCKINGS TO MEND TONIGHT.

Recite this in a simple unaffected manner; carefully avoiding anything like rant. At times the voice should sink tremulously low, as the good dame recalls memories of her departed children:

An old wife sat by her bright fireside,
Swaying thoughtfully to and fro,

In an ancient chair whose creaky frame
Told a tale of. long ago;

While down by her side, on the kitchen floor,
Stood a basket of worsted balls-a score.

118 THERE'S BUT ONE PAIR OF STOCKINGS TO MEND,

The good man dozed o'er the latest news,
Till the light of his pipe went out,

And, unheeded, the kitten, with cunning paws,
Rolled and tangled the balls about;
Yet still sat the wife in the ancient chair,
Swaying to and fro in the fire-light glare.

But anon a misty tear-drop came
In her eye of faded blue,

Then trickled down in a furrow deep,
Like a single drop of dew;

-so silent the stream

So deep was the channel

The good man saw naught but the dimmed eye-beam.

Yet he marvelled much that the cheerful light
Of her eye had weary grown,

And marvelled he more at the tangled balls;
So he said in a gentle tone,

"I have shared thy joys since our marriage vow,
Conceal not from me thy sorrows now."

Then she spoke of the time when the basket there

Was filled to the very brim,

And how there remained of the goodly pile

But a single pair—for him.

"Then wonder not at the dimmed eye-light,

There's but one pair of stockings to mend to-night.

"I cannot but think of the busy feet,

Whose wrappings were wont to lie
In the basket, awaiting the needle's time,-
Now wandered so far away;

How the sprightly steps, to a mother dear,
Unheeded fell on the careless ear.

"For each empty nook in the basket old,
By the hearth there's a vacant seat;
And I miss the shadows from off the wall,
And the patter of many feet;

'Tis for this that a tear gathered over my sight
At the one pair of stockings to mend to-night.

"'Twas said that far through the forest wild,
And over the mountains bold,

Was a land whose rivers and darkening caves
Were gemmed with the rarest gold;
Then my first-born turned from the oaken door,
And I knew the shadows were only four.