The ocean-eagle soared

From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared; This was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim-band;

Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow, serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?

Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?-
They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Aye, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod!

They have left unstained what there they found—

Freedom to worship God!

Felicia Dorothea Hemans

CASABIANCA

[BATTLE OF THE NILE, AUGUST, 1798]

The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;

A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though child-like form.

The flames rolled on; he would not go
Without his father's word;

That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud, "Say, father, say,
If yet my task be done!"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once again he cried,
"If I may yet be gone!"

And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair,

And looked from that lone post of death

In still, yet brave despair;

And shouted but once more aloud,

"My father! must I stay?"

While o'er him, fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapped the ship in splendor wild,

They caught the flag on high,

And streamed above the gallant child,

Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound;
The boy,-oh! where was he?

Ask of the winds, that far around

With fragments strewed the sea,

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part,—
But the noblest thing that perished there,
Was that young, faithful heart.

Felicia Dorothea Hemans

THE LOST COLORS

[1843]

Frowning, the mountain stronghold stood,
Whose front no mortal could assail;
For more than twice three hundred years
The terror of the Indian vale.

By blood and fire the robber band
Answered the helpless village wail.

Hot was his heart and cool his thought,
When Napier from his Englishmen
Up to the bandits' rampart glanced,
And down upon his ranks again.
Summoned to dare a deed like that,
Which of them all would answer then?

What sullen regiment is this
That lifts its eyes to dread Cutchee?
Abased, its standard bears no flag.
For thus the punishment shall be
That England metes to Englishmen
Who shame her once by mutiny.

From out the disgraced Sixty-Fourth
There stepped a hundred men of might.
Cried Napier: "Now prove to me

I read my soldiers' hearts aright!

Form! Forward! Charge, my volunteers!
Your colors are on yonder height!”

So sad is shame, so wise is trust!
The challenge echoed bugle-clear.
Like fire along the Sixty-Fourth
From rank to file rang cheer on cheer.
In death and glory up the pass

They fought for all to brave men dear.

Old is the tale, but read anew
In every warring human heart,

What rebel hours, what coward shame,
Upon the aching memory start!
To find the ideal forfeited,

-What tears can teach the holy art?

Thou great Commander! leading on
Through weakest darkness to strong light;
By any anguish, give us back

Our life's young standard, pure and bright.
O fair, lost Colors of the soul!

For your sake storm we any height.

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward

THE LOSS OF THE BIRKENHEAD

SUPPOSED TO BE TOLD BY A SOLDIER WHO SURVIVED [FEBRUARY 26, 1852]

Right on our flank the crimson sun went down;

The deep sea rolled around in dark repose;

When, like the wild shriek from some captured town,

A cry of women rose.

The stout ship Birkenhead lay hard and fast,

Caught without hope upon a hidden rock;

Her timbers thrilled as nerves, when through them passed The spirit of that shock.

And ever like base cowards, who leave their ranks
In danger's hour, before the rush of steel,
Drifted away disorderly the planks

From underneath her keel.

So calm the air, so calm and still the flood,
That low down in its blue translucent glass
We saw the great fierce fish, that thirst for blood,
Pass slowly, then repass.

They tarried, the waves tarried, for their prey!
The sea turned one clear smile! Like things asleep
Those dark shapes in the azure silence lay,

As quiet as the deep.

Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck,
Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply,
Our Colonel gave the word, and on the deck
Formed us in line to die.

To die! 'twas hard, whilst the sleek ocean glowed
Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers:-
All to the boats! cried one:-he was, thank God,
No officer of ours!

Our English hearts beat true:-we would not stir:
That base appeal we heard, but heeded not:
On land, on sea, we had our Colors, sir,
To keep without a spot!

They shall not say in England, that we fought
With shameful strength, unhonored life to seek;
Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought
By trampling down the weak.

So we made women with their children go,
The oars ply back again, and yet again;