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Page 146
Meantime the Jamestown, gallant boat,
Engages strong redoubts at land--
While Patrick Henry glides along,
To board the Congress, still astrand.
This done, we turn intently on
The Minnesota, which replies,
With whizzing shell to Teuser's gun,
Whose booming cleaves the distant skies.
The naval combat sounds anew;
The hostile fleets are not withdrawn,
Though night is closing earth and sea
In twilight's pale and mystic dawn.
Strange whistling noises fill the air;
The powdered smoke looks dark as night,
And deadly, lurid flames, pour forth
Their radiance on the missiles' flight;
Grand picture on the noisy waves!
The breezy zephyrs onward roam,
And echoing volleys float afar,
Disturbing Neptune's coral home.
The victory's ours, and let the world
Record Buchanan's[1] name with pride;
The _crew is brave, the banner bright_,
That ruled the day when Hutter[2] died.
[1] Commander of the "Merrimac."
[2] Midshipman on the "Patrick Henry."
Macon Daily Telegraph.
Is This a Time to Dance?
The breath of evening' sweeps the plain,
And sheds its perfume in the dell,
But on its wings are sounds of pain,
Sad tones that drown the echo's swell;
And yet we hear a mirthful call,
Fair pleasure smiles with beaming glance,
Gay music sounds in the joyous hall:
Oh God! is this a time to dance?
Sad notes, as if a spirit sighed,
Float from the crimson battle-plain,
As if a mighty spirit cried
In awful agony and pain:
Our friends we know there suffering lay,
Our brothers, too, perchance,
And in reproachful accents say,
Loved ones, is this a time to dance?
Oh, lift your festal robes on high!
The human gore that flows around
Will stain their hues with crimson dye;
And louder let your music sound
To drown the dying warrior's cry!
Let sparkling wine your joy enhance
Forget that _blood_ has tinged its dye,
And quicker urge the maniac dance.
But stop! the floor beneath your feet
Gives back a _coffin's_ hollow moan,
And every strain of music sweet,
Wafts forth a _dying soldier's groan_.
Oh, sisters! who have brothers dear
Exposed to every battle's chance,
Brings dark Remorse no forms of fear,
To fright you from the heartless dance?
Go, fling your festal robes away!
Go, don the mourner's sable veil!
Go, bow before your God, and pray!
If yet your prayers may aught avail.
Go, face the fearful form of Death!
And trembling meet his chilling glance,
And then, for once, with truthful breath,
Answer, _Is this a time to dance?_
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