THE CUMBERLAND.

AT anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,

On board of the Cumberland sloop-of-war, And at times from the fortress across the bay The alarum of drums swept past,

Or a bugle-blast

From the camp on the 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 a wrack, With a sudden shudder of death,

And the cannon's breath

For her dying gasp.

Next morn as the sun rose over the bay,

Still floated our flag at the main mast-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!

H. W. Longfellow.

CCCXXXVI.

UNITED STATES NATIONAL ANTHEM.

GOD of the Free! upon Thy breath

Our Flag is for the Right unrolled,

As broad and brave as when its stars
First lit the hallowed time of old.

For Duty still its folds shall fly;
For Honor still its glories burn,
Where Truth, Religion, Valor, guard
The patriot's sword and martyr's urn.

No tyrant's impious step is ours;

No lust of power on nations rolled : Our Flag-for friends, a starry sky; For traitors, storm in every fold.

O thus we'll keep our Nation's life,
Nor fear the bolt by despots hurled ;

The blood of all the world is here,
And they who strike us strike the world!

God of the Free! our Nation bless
In its strong manhood as its birth;
And make its life a Star of Hope
For all the struggling of the Earth.

Then shout beside thine Oak, O North!
O South! wave answer with thy Palm;
And in our Union's heritage

Together sing the Nation's Psalm!

W. R. Wallace.

CCCXXXVII.

THE FISHERMAN OF BEAUFORT.

THE tide comes up, and the tide goes down,

And still the fisherman's boat,

At early dawn and at evening shade, Is ever and ever afloat:

His net goes down, and his net comes up, And we hear his song of glee:

"De fishes dey hates de ole slave nets, But comes to de nets of de free."

The tide comes up, and the tide goes down,

And the oysterman below

Is picking away, in the slimy sands,
In the sands ob de long ago.

But now if an empty hand he bears,
He shudders no more with fear,

There's no stretching-board for the aching bones,

And no lash of the overseer.

The tide comes up, and the tide goes down,

And ever I hear a song,

As the moaning winds, through the moss-hung oaks,

Sweep surging ever along :

"O massa white man! help de slave,

And de wife and chillen too;

Eber dey 'll work, wid de hard worn hand
Ef ell gib 'em de work to do."

The tide comes up, and the tide goes go down,
But it bides no tyrant's word,
As it chants unceasing the anthem grand,
Of its Freedom to the Lord.
The fisherman floating on its breast
Has caught up the key-note true:

"De sea works, massa, for 't sef and God,
And so must de brack man too."

Den gib him de work, and gib him de pay,
For de chillen and wife him love;

And de yam shall grow, and de cotton shall blow,

And him nebber, nebber rove;

For him love de ole Carlina State,

And de ole magnolia-tree :

Oh! nebber him trouble de icy Norf,

Ef de brack folks am go free."

Mrs. F. D. Gage.

CCCXXXVIII.

THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY.

WHAT flower is this that greets the morn,

Its hues from heaven so freshly born?

With burning star and flaming band

It kindles all the sunset land;

O, tell us what its name may be !
Is this the Flower of Liberty?

It is the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

In savage Nature's far abode

Its tender seed our fathers sowed;
The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud,
Its opening leaves were streaked with blood,
Till, lo! earth's tyrants shook to see
The full-blown Flower of Liberty!

Then hail the banner of the free,

The starry Flower of Liberty!

Behold its streaming rays unite

One mingling flood of braided light, —
The red that fires the Southern rose,
With spotless white from Northern snows,

And, spangled o'er its azure, see

The sister Stars of Liberty!

Then hail the banner of the free,

The starry Flower of Liberty!