Oh, fatal night! the hostile hordes

Of Newport camp spread dire alarms; The Cumberland for fight prepares

The fierce marines now rush to arms. The Merrimac, strong cladded o'er,

In quarters close begins her fire, Nor fears the rushing hail of shot,

And deadly missiles swift and dire, But, rushing on 'mid smoke and flame, And belching thunder long and loud, Salutes the ship with bow austere,

And then withdraws in wreaths of cloud.

The work is done. The frigate turns
In agonizing, doubtful poise-
She sinks! she sinks! along the deck
I heard a shrieking, wailing noise.
Engulfed beneath those placid waves
Disturbed by battle's onward surge,
The crew is gone; the vessel sleeps,
And whistling bombshells sing her dirge.

The battle still is raging fierce;

The Congress, "high and dry” aground, Maintains in vain her boasted power, For now the gunboats flock around, With "stars and bars" at mainmast reared, And pour their lightning on the main, While Merrimac, approaching fast,

Sends forth her shell and hot-shot rain.

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 Teaser'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The hostile fleets are not withdrawn,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 name with pride;
The crew is brave, the banner bright,
That ruled the day when Hutter died.

CHANSON LOUIS XIII

By MRS. CHARLOTTE PRENTISS HARDIN [Atlantic Monthly, September, 1908.]

T

Nay, I cannot love you so

Now you choose a dragging measure

Full of pauses, stepping slow

At the flying heels of pleasure.

Come from out your high-walled gloom, Let us make a holiday

In the meadow's pleasant room

Where the sliding shadows play.

Here in golden splendor high

Butterfly loves butterfly:

Shall they live and love forever?
Never, never!

II

Still and still you sigh and plead,
Still and still I love you,

While the little breezes speed

Butterflies above you.

['In Love's Domain and the Call of the Woods,' 1909. pany, Charlotte, North Carolina. By permission.]

Stone and Barringer Com

Have you plucked the snowy daisies in the Spring?
Then a memory of their sweetness yet must cling
To the Past with all its treasure-

To the Past's untainted pleasure

That in your soul forevermore will sing.

Have you watched the snowy daisy fields at night?
Every stem with heart of gold and petals white,
With the moonlight on them streaming
And half the stars a-dreaming,

And Love beside you walking in the light.

Have you heard the mock-bird singing soft and low?
In the stillness of the night-time, singing slow,
With a harvest moon a-clinging

To the sky where stars are flinging

Worlds of light because they love the daisies so.

Then you've heard the South a-calling in the Spring When the crocus comes a-blooming, dainty thing; No matter where you wander,

O'er these memories you'll ponder When you hear the South a-calling in the Spring.

YELLOW-HOUSE CANYON

By JAKE H. HARRISON

[Dallas News, Dallas, Texas.]

Just a seam upon the surface,
Just a scar across the plain,
Just a rift that shows erosion,
Or a slight eruptive pain;
When the world was young and plastic,
And its face was tender, quite;
Possibly the smile of rapture,

At the words: "Let there be light!"

You are, yet, a slight depression,
Visible but at a span,

Just a rill to carry water,

For the use of beast and man;
Still you wind across the prairie,
Like a "love vine" in its crooks,
Passing in your ceaseless turnings,
Many green and pleasant nooks.

And the minnows in your waters,
Frolic through the livelong day,
Stirring water-cress and grasses,
In their never-ending play.
Break the silence of your musing,
Tell me when you first began,
Tell me, do! whence came the waters,
Which at first adown you ran.

And what creatures came to greet you, On this wide-expanding plain, Tasting first your rippling waters, Came again, and then again; Blessing you, as all must bless you, Who your liquid blessings taste, Blessings, which for countless ages, Seemingly, have run to waste.

Long before the red man sought you,
Long before the bison came,
Long before the deer beheld you,
You were rippling here the same,
As you are this present moment;
Minnows sporting in you too;
Tell me, then, what creatures sought you,
First, to life and strength renew?

Ah, you smile, but you are silent,
Nature's secrets you must keep;
Men may ponder and conjecture—
Speculation aye was cheap-
Yes, the ages now behind you,

Providence would have you hold-
By the tongues that could reveal them,
Nature's secrets are not told!

Wander on, ye rippling wavelets,
While the minnows in you play,
Wander down this winding fissure,
Then away, away, away,