What lofty pennons flaunt ?
What mighty echoes haunt,
As of great guns, o'er the main?
Hark to the sound again!
The Congress is all-ataunt!

The Cumberland's manned again!

All the ships and their men

Are in line of battle to-day,

All at quarters, as when

Their last roll thundered away,

All at their guns, as then,

For the Fleet salutes to-day.

The armies have broken camp
On the vast and sunny plain,
The drums are rolling again;
With steady, measured tramp,
They're marching all again.

With alignment firm and solemn,
Once again they form

In mighty square and column,—
But never for charge and storm.

The Old Flag they died under
Floats above them on the shore,
And on the great ships yonder
The ensigns dip once more,-
And once again the thunder

Of the thirty guns and four!

In solid platoons of steel,

Under heaven's triumphal arch, The long lines break and wheel; And the word is, "Forward, march

The colors ripple o'erhead,

The drums roll up to the sky,

And with martial time and tread
The regiments all pass by,-
The Ranks of our faithful Dead,
Meeting their President's eye.
With a soldier's quiet pride
They smile o'er the perished pain,
For their anguish was not vain,---
For thee, O Father, we died!
And we did not die in vain.

March on, your last brave mile!
Salute him, Star and Lace,
Form round him, rank and file,
And look on the kind, rough face;
But the quaint and homely smile
Has a glory and a grace

It never had known erewhile,—
Never, in time and space.

Close round him, hearts of pride!
Press near him, side by side,-

Our Father is not alone!
For the Holy Right ye died,
And Christ, the Crucified,

Waits to welcome his own.

-

HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL.

PROMETHEUS VINCTUS.

[Written while Jefferson Davis was a prisoner in Fortress Monroe, where he was confined for two years after the downfall of the Confederacy.]

PROMETHEUS on the cold rock bound,

The vulture at his heart,

In you, O Southern Chief, has found
Á fitting counterpart.

The Titan by his wondrous skill
Fashioned a man from clay;
You formed a nation at your will,
And bent it to your sway.

He made a dull insensate thing,
A form without a soul;

Your spirit, with life's stirring spring,
Electrified the whole.

Like him, your greatness did you wrong, Your virtue was your bane;

Each soared above the common throng, Each found a prison chain!

Your aims alike were noble; well
Ye battled, till at length

Each, having done his utmost, fell—
Dragged down by Force and Strength!

Ye fell, but gained a height sublime,
And more than mortal fame,
Binding upon the breast of Time
An ever glorious name.

No farther may the semblance go.
O'erwhelmed by Zeus' frown,
Prometheus with supernal woe
In agony bowed down:

While you, O gentle sufferer, feel,
Though bending 'neath the rod,
A holy joy, the sign and seal
Of a sustaining God!

Within your grated prison cell
A gracious guest abides,
And by the same low-spoken spell
Which stilled the raging tides

Of fierce Tiberias, he exerts

A spirit-soothing calm,

And heals the sting of earthly hurts
With heavenly peace and balm.

Around you in unending play
The bounding billows roar,

And white with crests of seething spray
Break thundering on the shore.

These ocean-surges well express
The love, the hopes, the care,
Which to you in your loneliness
Your faithful people bear.

Chains and a prison cannot wrest
Your empire from its throne;
You find in every Southern breast
A kingdom and a home!

The stately land you strove to save,
In sable robes arrayed,
Majestic mourns beside the grave
Where all her hopes are laid.

But though she weeps her cherished dead
With sorrow deep and true,

No tears of bitterness are shed
Like those that fall for you!

You hold her heart-strings in your hand,
And every blow and slur

That strikes you as you helpless stand

Falls doubly hard on her!

Heaven help us all! The New Year dawns

Again with gladsome birth;

God grant, ere many smiling morns

Have glorified the earth,

That one may break amid the stars,
Which, by His blest decree,
Beaming across your prison bars,
Shall shine upon you free!

FANNY DOWNING.

"GONE FORWARD."

[General Robert E. Lee died October 12, 1870. His last words were: "Let the tent be struck!"]

YES, "Let the tent be struck": Victorious morning Through every crevice flashes in a day Magnificent beyond all earth's adorning :

The night is over; wherefore should he stay? And wherefore should our voices choke to say, The General has gone forward!"

44

Life's foughten field not once beheld surrender,
But with superb endurance, present, past,
Our pure Commander, lofty, simple, tender,
Through good, through ill, held his high purpose
fast,

Wearing his armor spotless,-till at last

Death gave the final "Forward!"

All hearts grew sudden palsied: Yet what said he, Thus summoned ?-"Let the tent be struck!"For when

Did call of duty fail to find him ready

Nobly to do his work in sight of men,

For God's and for his country's sake-and then To watch, wait, or go forward?

Such a story

We will not weep,-we dare not! -
As his large life writes on the century's years
Should crowd our bosoms with a flush of glory,
That manhood's type, supremest that appears
To-day, he shows the ages. Nay, no tears
Because he has gone forward!