Part 8 (1/2)

MAIDEN.

Where is the Atlantic? I've heard grandfather say He sailed on its huge surge from Holland far away, O take me to the Ocean where the steamer sails, A wonder to the lubbers and terror to the whales.

CAPTAIN.

Lubbers' yarns! My Maiden, trust you what I say, There never was an Ocean--nothing but this Bay, And if you'll be my bride, the whole world we'll explore, In sight of New York Harbor and Staten Island sh.o.r.e.

Luffing to the starboard, tacking o'er the Bay, Thus the married Captain sails his life away.

IT IS TIME TO BEGIN TO CONCLUDE.

Ye Parsons, desirous all sinners to save, And to make each a prig or a prude, If two thousand long years have not made us behave, It is time you began to conclude.

Ye Husbands, who wish your sweet mates to grow mum, And whose tongues you have never subdued, If ten years of your reign have not made them grow dumb, It is time to begin to conclude.

Ye Matrons of men whose brown meerschaum still mars The sweet kiss with tobacco bedewed, After pleading nine years, if they still puff cigars, It is time you began to conclude.

Ye Lawyers, who aim to reform all the land, And your statutes forever intrude, If five thousand lost years have not worked as you planned, It is time to begin to conclude.

Ye Lovers, who sigh for the heart of a maid, And for forty-four years have pursued, If two scores of young years have not taught you your trade, It is time you began to conclude.

Ye Doctors, who claim to cure every ill, And so much of mock learning exude, If the _Comma Bacillus_ still laughs at your pill, It is time to begin to conclude.

Ye Maidens of Fifty who lonely abide, Yet who heartily scout solitude, If Jack with his whiskers is not at your side, It is time to begin to conclude.

Ye Spaniards, akin to the Mexican mule, And who have not fair Cuba subdued, After three b.l.o.o.d.y years of your miscreant rule, It is time you began to conclude.

We commend to your mind Bill McKinley's big toe In a boot that is rugged and rude, When that boot and that toe give you notice to go, It is time to begin to conclude.

Walk Spanish from Cuba, with Miles at your heel, And by Fitz Hugh the Southron pursued, Or you'll learn from a thrust of American steel That it's time you began to conclude.

And Sigsbee will soon shoot it all very plain Into Blanco's most murderous brood, That the cry from the blood of the Men of the Maine Makes it meet for mere talk to conclude.

MARSHAL NEY'S FAREWELL.

Adieu to France! Land of the Brave, farewell!

Sleep sweetly there, thy sons will watch by thee, High as thy hills their burning blood will swell, To leave thee as they find thee, fair and free.

The nations gaze and tremble at thy spell, A vision of eternal Liberty, Emerging from a swift and b.l.o.o.d.y birth, The terror, wonder, glory of the earth.

Yet, France, farewell! One son may find his grave Beneath thy soil, and leave thee marching still, Napoleon with his millions of the brave, Along the paths of glory, at thy will.

Soldiers, farewell! And when your banners wave Above my bones beside some nameless hill, Stop not the thunder of your glorious tread, To mark me sleeping with th' inglorious dead.

And farewell, Foes! Brave hearts and grand of soul; We fought in fierceness, now in peace we part.

My luckless heart hath ever been the goal Sought by your sabres, but in vain, O Heart!

Welcome to death amid the drum's far roll, Great souls, where I no more will dare your dart.

'Tis best to die where war's bluff banners wave, Swathed in your guerdon, ”Bravest of the brave.”