THE MARTYRS OF THE MAINE.

A

The Martyrs of the maine.

ND they have thrust our shattered dead away in foreign graves,

Exiled forever from the port the homesick sailor

craves!

They trusted once in Spain,

They're trusting her again!

And with the holy care of our own sacred slain!
No, no, the Stripes and Stars

Must wave above our tars.

Bring them home!

On a thousand hills the darling dead of all our battles lie

In nooks of peace, with flowers and flags, but now

they seem to cry

From out their bivouac :

"Here every good man Jack

Belongs. Nowhere but here — with us.

So bring them back."

And on the Cuban gales

A ghostly rumor wails,

"Bring us home!"

Poltroon, the people that neglects to guard the bones, the dust,

The reverenced relics its warriors have bequeathed in

DIES IRAE.

WHE

Dies Irae.

HERE is the heritage that once was Spain's — Half the proud world with endless riches piled?

Ah, all hath vanished; nothing now remains

Save one sad island,

one unhappy child,

Cuba, last daughter of the Western seas,

Gaunt victim of the she-wolf's ruthless spoil, Whose piteous moans rise on each passing breeze, While drop by drop her life-blood damps the soil.

Four hundred years! God's vengeance tarrieth late; And yet, at last! the day of wrath hath come; Columbia, bare thy steel! The nations wait

To see thee drive the keen-edged weapon home!

Those Rebel Flags.

Discussed by "One of the Yanks."

SHALL we send back the Johnnies their bunting, In token, from Blue to the Gray,

That "Brothers-in-blood" and "Good Hunting" Shall be our new watchword to-day?

In olden times knights held it knightly

To return to brave foemen the sword;

Will the Stars and the Stripes gleam less brightly

If the old Rebel flags are restored?

Call it sentiment, call it misguided
To fight to the death for "a rag;"
Yet, trailed in the dust, derided,

The true soldier still loves his flag!
Does love die, and must honor perish
When colors and causes are lost?
Lives the soldier who ceases to cherish
The blood-stains and valor they cost?

Our battle-fields, safe in the keeping
Of Nature's kind, fostering care,

THOSE REBEL FLAGS.

Are blooming, our heroes are sleeping,—
And peace broods perennial there.
All over our land rings the story

Of loyalty, fervent and true;

"One flag," and that flag is "Old Glory," Alike for the Gray and the Blue.

Why cling to those moth-eaten banners?
What glory or honor to gain
While the nation is shouting hosannas,
Uniting her sons to fight Spain?

Time is ripe, and the harvest worth reaping,
Send the Johnnies their flags f. o. b.,
Address to the care and safe-keeping
Of that loyal "old Reb," Fitzhugh Lee!

Yes, send back the Johnnies their bunting,
With greetings from Blue to the Gray;
We are "Brothers-in-blood," and "Good

Hunting"

Is America's watchword to-day.

-John H. Jewett.