Wherever they may be.
God pity wives and sweethearts
Who wait and wait in vain,
And pity little Mabel,
With her face against the pane!
A boom! the lighthouse gun.
How it echoes, rolls and rolls,-
'Tis to warn home-bound ships
Off the shoals.
See! a rocket cleaves the sky
From the fort, a shaft of light!
See, it fades, and fading leaves
Golden furrows on the night!
What makes Mabel's cheek so pale
What makes Mabel's lips so white?
Did she see the helpless sail
That tossing here and there
Like a feather in the air,
Went down and out of sight,
Down, down and out of sight?
O, watch no more, no more,
With face against the pane-
You cannot see the men that drown
By the beacon in the rain!
From a shoal of richest rubies
Breaks the morning clear and cold,
And the angel on the village spire,
Frost touched, is bright as gold.
Four ancient fishermen
In the pleasant autumn air
Come toiling up the sands,
With something in their hands.
Two bodies stark and white,
Ah! so ghastly in the light,
With sea weed in their hair.
O, ancient fishermen,
Go up to yonder cot!
You'll find a little child
With face against the pane,
Who looks toward the beach
And looking sees it not.
She will never watch again,
Never watch and wake at night,
For those pretty saintly eyes,
Look beyond the stormy skies,
And they see the beacon light.
[Heavy force, simple description, tremulous aspirate, effusive explo sive and calling voice should all be employed. Study carefully.]
The storm o'er the ocean flew furious and fast,
And the waves rose in foam at the voice of the blast,
And heavily labored the gale-beaten ship,
Like a stout-hearted swimmer, the spray at his lip;
And dark was the sky o'er the mariner's path,
Save when the wild lightning illumined in wrath.
A young mother knelt in the cabin below,
And pressing her babe to her bosom of snow,
She prayed to her God 'mid the hurricane wild,
"O Father, have mercy, look down on my child!”
It passed-the fierce whirlwind careered on its way,
And the ship like an arrow divided the spray;
Her sails glimmered white in the beams of the moon,
And the wind up aloft seemed to whistle a tune-to whistle a tune. There was joy in the ship as she furrowed the foam,
For fond hearts within her were dreaming of home.
The fond mother pressed her young babe to her breast,
And sang a sweet song as she rocked it to rest;
And the husband sat cheerily down by her side
And looked with delight on the face of his bride.
"Oh, happy," said he, " when our roaming is o'er,
We'll dwell in our cottage that stands by the shore.
Already in fancy its roof I descry,
And the smoke of its hearth curling up to the sky;
Its garden so green, and its vine-covered wall;
The kind friends awaiting to welcome us all,
And the children that sport by the old oaken tree."
Ah, gently the ship glided over the sea!
Hark! what was that? Hark! Hark to the shout!
"Fire!" Then a tramp, and a rout, and a tumult of voices uprose on
And the mother knelt down, and the half-spoken prayer
That she offered to God in her agony wild
Was, "Father, have mercy, look down on my child!"
She flew to her husband, she clung to his side—
Oh, there was her refuge whate'er might betide.
"Fire!" "Fire!" It was raging above and below-
And the checks of the sailors grew pale at the sight,
And their eyes glistened wild in the glare of the light.
'Twas vain o'er the ravage the waters to drip;
The pitiless flame was the lord of the ship,
And the smoke in thick wreaths mounted higher and higher.
“O God, it is fearful to perish by fire."
Alone with destruction, alone on the sea;
"Great Father of mercy, our hope is in Thee."
Sad at heart and resigned, yet undaunted and brave,
They lowered the boat, a mere speck on the wave.
First entered the mother, enfolding her child:
It knew she caressed it, looked upward and smiled.
Cold, cold was the night as they drifted away,
And mistily dawned o'er the pathway the day—
They prayed for the light, and, at noontide about,
The sun o'er the waters shone joyously out.
"Ho! a sail!" and they turned their glad eyes o'er the sea.
They see us, they see us, the signal is waved!
They bear down upon us, they bear down upon us :
ATTACK OF THE CUMBERLAND.
[The following describes the fatal encounter of the Cumberland and the Merrimac, on March 7, 1862. Strive to bring out the scene vividly in reading.]
"Stand to your guns, men !" Morris cried;
Small need to pass the word;
Our men at quarters ranged themselves
Before the drum was heard.
And then began the sailors' jests:
"What thing is that, I say?
A 'longshore meeting-house adrift
Is standing down the bay!"
A frown came over Morris's face;
The strange, dark craft he knew;
"That is the iron Merrimac,
Manned by a rebel crew.
"So shot your guns and point them straight:
Before this day goes by,
We'll try of what her metal's made."
A cheer was our reply.
"Remember, boys, this flag of ours
Has seldom left its place;
And where it falls, the deck it strikes
Is covered with disgrace.
"I ask but this; or sink or swim,
Or live or nobly die,
My last sight upon earth may be
To see that ensign fly!"
Meanwhile the shapeless iron mass
Came moving o'er the wave,
As gloomy as a passing hearse,
As silent as the grave.
Her ports were closed; from stem to stern
No sign of life appeared:
We wondered, questioned, strained our eyes,
Joked-everything but feared.
She reached our range. Our broadsides rang;
Our heavy pivots roared;
And shot and shell, a fire of hell,
Against her side we poured.
God's mercy! from her sloping roof
The iron tempest glanced,
As hail bounds from a cottage-thatch,
And round her leaped and danced;
Or when against her dusky hull
We struck a fair, full blow,
The mighty, solid iron globes
Were crumbled up like snow.
On. on, with fast increasing speed,
The silent monster came,
Though all our starboard battery
Was one long line of flame.
She heeded not; no guns she fired;
Straight on our bow she bore;
Through riving plank and crashing frame
Her furious way she tore.
Alas! our beautiful, keen bow,
That in the fiercest blast
So gently folded back the seas,
They hardly felt we passed-
Alas! alas! my Cumberland,
That ne'er knew grief before,
To be so gored, to feel so deep
The tusk of that sea-boar !
Once more she backward drew apace;
Once more our side she rent,
Then, in the wantonness of hate,
Her broadside through us sent.
The dead and dying round us lay,
But our foemen lay abeam;
Her open port-holes maddened us,
We fired with shout and scream.
We felt our vessel settling fast;
We knew our time was brief:
"Ho! man the pumps!" But they who worked, And fought not, wept with grief.
"Oh! keep us but an hour afloat! Oh! give us only time
To mete unto yon rebel crew
The measure of their crime!
From captain down to powder-boy,
No hand was idle then :
Two soldiers, but by chance aboard,
Fought on like sailor men.
And when a gun's crew lost a hand,
Some bold marine stepped out,
Aud jerked his braided jacket off,
And hauled the gun about.
Our forward magazine was drowned,
And up from the sick-bay
Crawled out the wounded, red with blood,
And round us gasping lay;
Yes, cheering, calling us by name,
Struggling with failing breath
To keep their shipmates at the post
Where glory strove with death.
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