Far distant is the day,
When you'll regain by British force
What you've lost in America;
Go tell your king and parliament,
By all the world 'tis known,
That British force, by sea and land,
By Yankees is o'erthrown.
Use every endeavor,
And strive to make a peace,
For Yankee ships are building fast,
Their navy to increase;
They will enforce their commerce,
The laws by heaven are made,
That Yankee ships in time of peace,
To any port may trade.
1813.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
COMRADES! JOIN THE FLAG OF GLORY.
Comrades! join the flag of glory,
Cheerily tread the deck of fame,
Earn a place in future story,
Seek and win a warrior's name.
Yankee tars can laugh at dangers,
While the roaring mountain wave
Teems with carnage--they are strangers
To a deed that is not brave.
May our bannered stars as ever
Splendidly o'er freemen burn,
Till the night of war is over,
Till the dawn of peace return.
1813.
[Illustration]
OUR NAVY.
On wings of glory, swift as light,
The sound of battle came,
The gallant Hull in glorious fight
Has won the wreaths of fame.
_Chorus._--Let brave Columbia's noble band
With hearts united rise,
Swear to protect their native land
Till sacred freedom dies.
Let brave Decatur's dauntless breast
With patriot ardor glow,
And in the garb of vict'ry drest
Triumphant blast the foe.
_Chorus._--Let brave, etc.
And Rogers with his gallant crew
O'er the wide ocean ride,
To prove their loyal spirits true,
And crush old Albion's pride.
_Chorus._--Let brave, etc.
Then hail another Guerrière there,
With roaring broadsides hail;
And while the thunder rends the air
See Briton's sons turn pale.
_Chorus._--Let brave, etc.
"The day is ours, my boys, huzza!"
The great commander cries,
While all responsive roar huzza!
With pleasure-sparkling eyes.
_Chorus._--Let brave, etc.
Thus shall Columbia's fame be spread,
Her heaven-born eagle soar;
Her deeds of glory shall be read
When tyrants are no more.
_Chorus._--Let brave, etc.
1813.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.
BY FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.
[Written during the bombardment of Fort McHenry, below Baltimore, by
the British fleet, 1814, the author being at the time forcibly detained
on board one of the British ships.--EDITOR.]
O Say, can you see by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
On the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming;
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does the star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
[Illustration]
On the shore dimly seen, through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream.
'Tis the star-spangled banner! O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country shall leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave,
From the terror of death and the gloom of the grave.
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
O thus be it ever when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation;
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heaven-rescued land,
Praise the power that has made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just.
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SEA AND LAND VICTORIES.
(From "The Naval Songster," 1815.)
With half the Western world at stake,
See Perry on the midland lake,
The unequal combat dare;
Unawed by vastly stronger pow'rs,
He met the foe and made him ours,
And closed the savage war.
Macdonough, too, on Lake Champlain,
In ships outnumbered, guns, and men,
Saw dangers thick increase;
His trust in God and virtue's cause
He conquer'd in the lion's jaws,
And led the way to peace.
To sing each valiant hero's name
Whose deeds have swelled the files of fame,
Requires immortal powers;
Columbia's warriors never yield
To equal force by sea or field,
Her eagle never cowers.
Long as Niagara's cataract roars
Or Erie laves our Northern shores,
Great Brown, thy fame shall rise;
Outnumber'd by a veteran host
Of conquering heroes, Britain's boast--
Conquest was there thy prize.
At Plattsburg, see the Spartan band,
Where gallant Macomb held command,
The unequal host oppose;
Provost confounded, vanquished flies,
Convinced that numbers won't suffice
Where Freemen are the foes.
Our songs to noblest strains we'll raise
While we attempt thy matchless praise,
Carolina's godlike son;
While Mississippi rolls his flood,
Or Freemen's hearts move patriots' blood,
The palm shall be thine own.
At Orleans--lo! a savage band,
In countless numbers gain the strand,
"Beauty and spoil" the word--
There Jackson with his fearless few,
The invincibles by thousands slew,
And dire destruction poured.
O Britain! when the tale is told
Of Jackson's deeds by fame enrolled,
Should grief and madness rise,
Remember God, the avenger, reigns,
Who witnessed Havre's smoking plains,
And Hampton's female cries.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
OLD IRONSIDES.
BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
[This poem was inspired by the announcement that the frigate
_Constitution_ was to be dismantled. Though written later it belongs
among the poems of the War of 1812, as the _Constitution's_ fame was
won in that war.--EDITOR.]
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has dimmed to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar;--
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more.
Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee;--
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!
[Illustration]
O better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!
1836.
[Illustration:
THE MEXICAN WAR]
[Illustration]
MONTEREY.
BY CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN.
We were not many--we who stood
Before the iron sleet that day:
Yet many a gallant spirit would
Give half his years if but he could
Have with us been at Monterey.
Now here, now there, the shot it hail'd
In deadly drifts of fiery spray,
Yet not a single soldier quail'd
When wounded comrades round them wail'd
Their dying shout at Monterey.
And on--still on our column kept
Through walls of flame its withering way
Where fell the dead, the living stept,
Still charging on the guns which swept
The slippery streets of Monterey.
The foe himself recoil'd aghast,
When, striking where he strongest lay,
We swoop'd his flanking batteries past,
And braving full their murderous blast,
Storm'd home the towers of Monterey.
Our banners on those turrets wave,
And there our evening bugles play:
Where orange-boughs above their grave
Keep green the memory of the brave
Who fought and fell at Monterey.
We are not many--we who press'd
Beside the brave who fell that day--
But who of us has not confess'd
He'd rather share their warrior rest
Than not have been at Monterey?
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
BUENA VISTA.
[By some strange oversight, this fine ballad appears in none of the
popular collections. So far as the editor can discover, indeed, it
exists nowhere in print except in a volume privately printed by General
Pike some years ago, and to his courtesy the editor is indebted for the
copy from which the piece is here reproduced.--EDITOR.]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
BUENA VISTA.
BY ALBERT PIKE.
From the Rio Grande's waters to the icy lakes of Maine,
Let all exult! for we have met the enemy again;
Beneath their stern old mountains we have met them in their pride,
And rolled from BUENA VISTA back the battle's bloody tide;
Where the enemy came surging swift, like the Mississippi's flood,
And the reaper, Death, with strong arms swung his sickle red with blood.
SANTANA boasted loudly that, before two hours were past,
His Lancers through Saltillo should pursue us fierce and fast:--
On comes his solid infantry, line marching after line;
Lo! their great standards in the sun like sheets of silver shine:
With thousands upon thousands,--yea, with more than three to one,--
Their forests of bright bayonets fierce-flashing in the sun.
Lo! Guanajuato's regiment; Morelos' boasted corps,
And Guadalajara's chosen troops!--all veterans tried before.
Lo! galloping upon the right four thousand lances gleam,
Where, floating in the morning-wind, their blood-red pennons stream;
And here his stern artillery climbs up the broad plateau:
To-day he means to strike at us an overwhelming blow.
Now, WOOL, hold strongly to the heights! for, lo! the mighty tide
Comes, thundering like an avalanche, deep, terrible and wide.
Now, ILLINOIS, stand steady! Now, KENTUCKY, to their aid!
For a portion of our line, alas! is broken and dismayed:
Great bands of shameless fugitives are fleeing from the field,
And the day is lost, if Illinois and brave Kentucky yield.
One of O'Brien's guns is gone!--On, on their masses drift,
Till their cavalry and infantry outflank us on the left;
Our light troops, driven from the hills, retreat in wild dismay,
And round us gather, thick and dark, the Mexican array.
SANTANA thinks the day is gained; for, now approaching near,
MIÑON'S dark cloud of Lancers sternly menaces our rear.
Now, LINCOLN, gallant gentleman, lies dead upon the field,
Who strove to stay those cravens, when before the storm they reeled.
Fire, WASHINGTON, fire fast and true! Fire, SHERMAN, fast and far!
Lo! BRAGG comes thundering to the front, to breast the adverse war!
SANTANA thinks the day is gained! On, on his masses crowd,
And the roar of battle swells again more terrible and loud.
NOT YET! Our brave old General comes to regain the day;
KENTUCKY, to the rescue! MISSISSIPPI, to the fray!
Again our line advances! Gallant DAVIS fronts the foe,
And back before his rifles, in red waves the Lancers flow.
Upon them yet once more, ye brave! The avalanche is stayed!
Back roll the Aztec multitudes, all broken and dismayed.
Ride! MAY!--To Buena Vista! for the Lancers gain our rear,
And we have few troops there to check their vehement career.
Charge, ARKANSAS! KENTUCKY, charge! YELL, PORTER, VAUGHAN, are slain,
But the shattered troops cling desperately unto that crimsoned plain;
Till, with the Lancers intermixed, pursuing and pursued,
Westward, in combat hot and close, drifts off the multitude.
And May comes charging from the hills with his ranks of flaming steel,
While shattered with a sudden fire, the foe already reel:
They flee amain!--Now to the left, to stay the torrent there,
Or else the day is surely lost, in horror and despair!
For their hosts pour swiftly onward, like a river in the spring,
Our flank is turned, and on our left their cannon thundering.
Now, good Artillery! bold Dragoons! Steady, brave hearts, be calm!
Through rain, cold hail, and thunder, now nerve each gallant arm!
What though their shot fall round us here, yet thicker than the hail?
We'll stand against them, as the rock stands firm against the gale.
Lo! their battery is silenced! but our iron sleet still showers:
They falter, halt, retreat!--Hurrah! the glorious day is ours!
In front, too, has the fight gone well, where upon gallant LANE,
And on stout Mississippi, the thick Lancers charged in vain:
Ah! brave Third Indiana! you have nobly wiped away
The reproach that through another corps befell your State to-day;
For back, all broken and dismayed, before your storm of fire,
SANTANA'S boasted chivalry, a shattered wreck, retire.
Now charge again, SANTANA! or the day is surely lost--
For back, like broken waves, along our left your hordes are tossed.
Still faster roar his batteries,--his whole reserve moves on;
More work remains for us to do, ere the good fight is won.
Now for your wives and children men! Stand steady yet once more!
Fight for your lives and honors! Fight as you never fought before!
Ho! HARDIN breasts it bravely! and heroic BISSELL there
Stands firm before the storm of balls that fill the astonished air:
The Lancers dash upon them too! The foe swarm ten to one:
HARDIN is slain; MCKEE and CLAY the last time see the sun:
And many another gallant heart, in that last desperate fray,
Grew cold, its last thought turning to its loved ones far away.
Speed, speed, Artillery! to the front!--for the hurricane of fire
Crushes those noble regiments, reluctant to retire!
Speed swiftly! Gallop! Ah! they come! Again BRAGG climbs the ridge,
And his grape sweeps down the swarming foe, as a strong man moweth sedge:
Thus baffled in their last attack, compelled perforce to yield,
Still menacing in firm array, their columns leave the field.
The guns still roared at intervals; but silence fell at last,
And on the dead and dying came the evening shadows fast.
And then above the mountains rose the cold moon's silver shield,
And patiently and pitying she looked upon the field.
While careless of his wounded, and neglectful of his dead,
Despairingly and sullenly by night SANTANA fled.
And thus on BUENA VISTA'S heights a long day's work was done,
And thus our brave old General another battle won.
Still, still our glorious banner waves, unstained by flight or shame,
And the Mexicans among their hills still tremble at our name.
SO, HONOR UNTO THOSE THAT STOOD! DISGRACE TO THOSE THAT FLED!
AND EVERLASTING GLORY UNTO BUENA VISTA'S DEAD!
February 28, 1847.
[Illustration]
THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD.
BY THEODORE O'HARA.
[Originally written on the occasion of the erection of a monument to
the Kentucky volunteers who fell at Buena Vista.--EDITOR.]
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on Life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards, with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foe's advance
Now swells upon the wind;
No troubled thought at midnight haunts
Of loved ones left behind;
No vision of the morrow's strife
The warrior's dream alarms;
No braying horn nor screaming fife
At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shivered swords are red with rust;
Their plumèd heads are bowed;
Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,
Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed
The red stains from each brow,
And the proud forms, by battle gashed,
Are free from anguish now.
The neighing troop, the flashing blade,
The bugle's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade,
The din and shout are past;
Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal,
Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that nevermore may feel
The rapture of the fight.
Like the fierce northern hurricane
That sweeps his great plateau,
Flushed with the triumph yet to gain,
Came down the serried foe.
Who heard the thunder of the fray
Break o'er the field beneath,
Knew well the watchword of that day
Was "Victory or Death."
Long had the doubtful conflict raged
O'er all that stricken plain,
For never fiercer fight had waged
The vengeful blood of Spain;
And still the storm of battle blew,
Still swelled the gory tide;
Not long our stout old chieftain knew,
Such odds his strength could bide.
'Twas in that hour his stern command
Called to a martyr's grave
The flower of his belovèd land,
The nation's flag to save.
By rivers of their fathers' gore
His first-born laurels grew
And well he deemed the sons would pour
There lives for glory too.
Full many a norther's breath has swept,
O'er Angostura's plain--
And long the pitying sky has wept
Above its mouldered slain.
The raven's scream or eagle's flight
Or shepherd's pensive lay,
Alone awakes each sullen height
That frowned o'er that dread fray.
Sons of the Dark and Bloody ground,
Ye must not slumber there,
Where stranger steps and tongues resound
Along the heedless air.
Your own proud land's heroic soil
Shall be your fitter grave;
She claims from war his richest spoil--
The ashes of her brave.
Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest,
Far from the gory field,
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast
On many a bloody shield;
The sunshine of their native sky
Smiles sadly on them here,
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by
The heroes' sepulchre.
Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead!
Dear as the blood ye gave,
No impious footstep here shall tread
The herbage of your grave;
Nor shall your story be forgot,
While Fame her record keeps,
Or Honor points the hallowed spot
Where Valor proudly sleeps.
Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
In deathless song shall tell
When many a vanished age hath flown,
The story how ye fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,
Nor Time's remorseless doom,
Shall dim one ray of glory's light
That gilds your deathless tomb.
[Illustration]
[Illustration:
THE CIVIL WAR]
[Illustration]
BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT FOR SISTER CAROLINE.
BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
(Written in December, 1860, when South Carolina adopted the Ordinance
of Secession.)
She has gone,--she has left us in passion and pride--
Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side!
She has torn her own star from our firmament's glow,
And turned on her brother the face of a foe!
O Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun,
We can never forget that our hearts have been one,--
Our foreheads both sprinkled in Liberty's name,
From the fountain of blood with the finger of flame!
You were always too ready to fire at a touch;
But we said: "She's a beauty--she does not mean much."
We have scowled when you uttered some turbulent threat;
But Friendship still whispered: "Forgive and forget."
Has our love all died out? Have its altars grown cold?
Has the curse come at last which the fathers foretold?
Then Nature must teach us the strength of the chain
That her petulant children would sever in vain.
They may fight till the buzzards are gorged with their spoil,--
Till the harvest grows black as it rots in the soil,
Till the wolves and the catamounts troop from their caves,
And the shark tracks the pirate, the lord of the waves:
In vain is the strife! When its fury is past,
Their fortunes must flow in one channel at last,
As the torrents that rush from the mountains of snow
Roll mingled in peace in the valleys below.
Our Union is river, lake, ocean, and sky;
Man breaks not the medal when God cuts the die!
Though darkened with sulphur, though cloven with steel,
The blue arch will brighten, the waters will heal!
O Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun,
There are battles with fate that can never be won!
The star-flowering banner must never be furled,
For its blossoms of light are the hope of the world!
Go, then, our rash sister, afar and aloof,--
Run wild in the sunshine away from our roof;
But when your heart aches and your feet have grown sore,
Remember the pathway that leads to our door!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE TWELFTH OF APRIL.
A.D., 1861.
BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.
[Peculiar interest attaches to this piece as the first poem written
after the actual outbreak of the Civil War and inspired by its events.
The poem appeared in the evening edition of the New York _World_, on
April 16, 1861.--EDITOR.]
Came the morning of that day,
When the God to whom we pray,
Gave the soul of Henry Clay
To the land;
How we loved him--living, dying!
But his birthday banners flying,
Saw us asking and replying,
Hand to hand.
For we knew that far away,
Round the fort at Charleston bay,
Hung the dark impending fray,
Soon to fall;
And that Sumter's brave defender
Had the summons to surrender:
Seventy loyal hearts and tender--
That was all.
[Illustration]
And we knew the April sun
Lit the length of many a gun--
Hosts of batteries to the one
Island crag;
Guns and mortars grimly frowning,
Johnson, Moultrie, Pinckney, crowning,
And ten thousand men disowning
The old flag.
O the fury of the fight
Even then was at its height!
Yet no breath from noon till night
Reached us here;
We had almost ceased to wonder,
And the day had faded under,
When--the echo of the thunder
Filled each ear!
Then our hearts more fiercely beat,
As we crowded on the street,
Hot to gather and repeat
All the tale;
All the doubtful chances turning,
Till our souls with shame were burning,
As if all our bitter yearning
Could avail!
Who had fired the earliest gun?
Was the fort by traitors won?
Was there succor? What was done,
Who could know?
And once more our thoughts would wander
To the gallant, lone commander,
On his battered ramparts grander
Than the foe.
Not too long the brave shall wait:
On their own heads be their fate,
Who against the hallowed State
Dare begin;
Flag defied and compact riven!
In the record of high Heaven,
How shall southern men be shriven
For the sin!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
MEN OF THE NORTH AND WEST.
BY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.
[This poem was the second piece that appeared in print after the fall
of Fort Sumter. It was published in the _World_ on the day after the
appearance of Mr. Stedman's "The Twelfth of April."--EDITOR.]
Men of the North and West,
Wake in your might.
Prepare, as the rebels have done,
For the fight!
You cannot shrink from the test;
Rise! Men of the North and West!
They have torn down your banner of stars;
They have trampled the laws;
They have stifled the freedom they hate,
For no cause!
Do you love it or slavery best?
Speak! Men of the North and West!
They strike at the life of the State:
Shall the murder be done?
They cry: "We are two!" And you?
"We are one!"
You must meet them, then, breast to breast;
On! Men of the North and West!
Not with words; they laugh them to scorn,
And tears they despise;
But with swords in your hands, and death
In your eyes!
Strike home! leave to God all the rest;
Strike! Men of the North and West!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
RHODE ISLAND TO THE SOUTH.
BY GENERAL F. W. LANDER.
Once, on New England's bloody heights,
And o'er a southern plain,
Our fathers fought for sovereign rights,
That working men might reign.
And by that only Lord we serve,
The great Jehovah's name;
By those sweet lips that ever nerve
High hearts to deeds of fame;
By all that makes the man a king,
The household hearth a throne,--
Take back the idle scoff ye fling,
Where freedom claims its own.
For though our battle hope was vague
Upon Manassas' plain,
Where Slocum stood with gallant Sprague
And gave his life in vain,--
Before we yield the holy trust
Our old forefathers gave,
Or wrong New England's hallowed dust,
Or grant the wrongs ye crave,--
We'll print in kindred gore so deep
The shore we love to tread,
That woman's eyes shall fail to weep
O'er man's unnumbered dead.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
OUR COUNTRY'S CALL.
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
Lay down the axe, fling by the spade;
Leave in its track the toiling plough;
The rifle and the bayonet-blade
For arms like yours were fitter now;
And let the hands that ply the pen
Quit the light task, and learn to wield
The horseman's crooked brand, and rein
The charger on the battle-field.
Our country calls; away! away!
To where the blood-stream blots the green;
Strike to defend the gentlest sway
That Time in all his course has seen.
See, from a thousand coverts--see
Spring the armed foes that haunt her track;
They rush to smite her down, and we
Must beat the banded traitors back.
Ho! sturdy as the oaks ye cleave,
And moved as soon to fear and flight,
Men of the glade and forest! leave
Your woodcraft for the field of fight.
The arms that wield the axe must pour
An iron tempest on the foe;
His serried ranks shall reel before
The arm that lays the panther low.