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Some warrior bold, with straps of gold, who dazzles and fairly stuns

The modest worth of the sailor boys, -the lads who serve the guns.

But say not a word till a shot is heard that tells the fight is on,

Till the long deep roar grows more and more from the ships of "Yank " and " Don,"

Till over the deep the tempests sweep of fire and bursting shell,

And the very air is a mad Despair in the throes of a living hell;

Then down, deep down, in the mighty ship, unseen by the midday suns,

You'll find the chaps who are giving the raps,

men behind the guns!

the

Oh, well they know how the cyclones blow that they loose from their cloud of wrath,

And they know is heard the thunder-word their fierce ten-inchers saith!

The steel decks rock with the lightning shock, and shake with the great recoil,

And the sea grows red with the blood of the dead and reaches for its spoil,

THE MEN BEHIND THE GUNS.

But not till the foe has gone below, or turns his prow and runs,

Shall the voice of peace bring sweet release to the men behind the guns!

-John James Rooney.

Dewey in Manila Bay.

HE took a thousand islands and he didn't lose a

man

(Raise your heads and cheer him as he goes!)

He licked the sneaky Spaniard till the fellow cut and

ran,

For fighting's part of what a Yankee knows.

He fought 'em and he licked 'em, and he didn't give a d

(It was only his profession for to win),

He sank their boats beneath 'em, and he spared 'em

as they swam,

And then he sent his ambulances in.

He had no word to cheer him and had no bands to

play,

He had no crowds to make his duty brave;

But he risked the deep torpedoes at the breaking of

the day,

For he knew he had our self-respect to save.

He flew the angry signal crying justice for the Maine, He flew it from his flagship as he fought.

He drove the tardy vengeance in the very teeth of

Spain,

And he did it just because he thought he ought.

DEWEY IN MANILA BAY.

He busted up their batteries, and sank eleven ships (He knew what he was doing, every bit);

He set the Maxims going like a hundred cracking whips,

And every shot that crackled was a hit.

He broke 'em and he drove 'em, and he didn't care at all,

He only liked to do as he was bid;

He crumpled up their squadron and their batteries

[blocks in formation]

He knew he had to lick 'em, and he did.

And when the thing was finished and they flew the frightened flag,

He slung his guns and sent his foot ashore,

And he gathered in their wounded, and he quite forgot to brag,

For he thought he did his duty, nothing more.

Oh, he took a thousand islands and he didn't lose a

man

(Raise your heads and cheer him as he goes!) He licked the sneaky Spaniard till the fellow cut and

ran,

For fighting's part of what a Yankee knows!

-R. V. Risley.

The Spirit of the Maine.

N battle-line of sombre gray

IN

Our ships of war advance,

As Red Cross knights in holy fray
Charged with avenging lance.
And terrible shall be thy plight,

O fleet of cruel Spain !
For ever in our van doth fight
The spirit of the Maine!

As when, beside Regillus Lake,
The great twin brethren came
A righteous fight for Rome to make
Against a deed of shame,

So now a ghostly ship shall doom

The fleet of treacherous Spain, — Before her guilty soul doth loom The spirit of the Maine!

A wraith arrayed in peaceful white, As when asleep she lay

Above the traitorous mine that night Within Havana Bay,

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