Remembered. FROM Cuban shores in ceaseless pain, Out of the calling sea, Long cried the Spirit of the Maine, "Will ye remember me?" At last the laggard answer comes From where the war winds shrieked and sang, The battle bugles blew, And deathless names in history sprang, Proud as man ever knew. Comes the wild, wailing voice of Spain, Such waves as wash the martyred Maine, —James Lindsay Gordon. A SONG FOR THE HOUR. LE a Song for the Hour. ET Tyranny tremble and Cowardice quake, - And now for our God and humanity's sake, The sobs of the suffering appeal not in vain; And it's woe to despotic and blood-shedding Spain, When Freedom's brave knighthood has taken the field. The wrath of the Nation is kindled at last, And Liberty's light shall illumine the sky, The Faith of our fathers, that hallows our past, Proclaims from their dust that the despot must die. No longer we parley with tyrants for truce; Let the war-drum make music to clashing of steel, The eagle has screamed and the war-dogs are loose, And it's woe to Havana and woe to Castile. -William F. Dunbar. Message. O the men who fought with Decatur, то To the men who with Lawrence died, Take to them our message stern and plain, This to the men of the ships of oak From the men of the ships of steel, To the hearts that broke 'mid the flame and smoke From the living hearts that feel, There is no mizzen, nor fore, nor main, Men of the Maine! Not against foes of our own true blood, Nor kin across the sea, But straight in the face of a stranger race Tell them 'tis thus that our guns we train, And the sights are lined, and the strings astrain, Men of the Maine! A MESSAGE. Take them these tidings, ye who sleep 'Neath the murky waves by the Cuban town, The blow in the night but began the fight Which ends when the Spanish flag comes down, And our guns shall thunder their old refrain to Spain ! Men of the Maine! -P. B. In the Time of Strife. WE may not know How red the lilies of the spring shall grow; Sea-streaming, take the crimson tints of blood. We may not know If victory shall make the bugles blow; The flag above our freedom or our grave. We only know One heart, one hand, one country, meet the foe; On land and sea Her liegemen in the battle of the free. - Frank L. Stanton. |