REMEMBER THE "MAINE" BOYS.
The gallant ship "Maine" in the harbor
Neath the guns of the Spanish fort lay,
Her brave crew were peacefully resting
In sleep from the duties of day.
Morro Castle loomed dark in the distance,
Havana's lights twinkled afar,
And night settled down o'er the waters
With never a glimmering star.
The tread of the sentry sounds faintly
As its echo is borne o'er the deep,
And the sailor is dreaming of sweetheart and home
As he lies in his ocean rocked sleep.
No fear has the brave tar of danger
For his ship's in a friendly port,
A Spaniard's the soul of honor,
And Morro-a Spanish fort.
But hark! On the silence comes crashing,
Appalling with terror each heart,
A sound that is telling of horror and death,
For the good ship is breaking apart,
From their berths spring the seamen, but only
To meet death in flame and in flood,
For the treacherous Spaniards have blown up the ship
And the debt must be wiped out in blood.
Two hundred and sixty and six, my lads,
Of our brothers were murdered by Spain,
Let us never turn back when we start on their track,
Nor forget to remember the "Maine."
And when we have driven the "butchers"
From Cuba, the gem of the sea,
We shall feel that our brothers at last are avenged,
And Cuba, fair Cuba is free.
Then strike out for freedom, my lads brave and true,
And shout it in chorus again.
For Cuba and Honor, For Red, White and Blue,
And remember, remember the "Maine."
By the flow of the inland river,
Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead.
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day—
Under the one, the Blue,
Under the other, the Gray.
Those in the robings of glory,
These in the gloom of defeat,
All with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet.
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day—
Under the laurel, the Blue,
Under the willow, the Gray.
From the silence of sorrowful hours
The desolate mourners go,
Lovingly laden with flowers
Alike for the friend and the foe.
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day
Under the roses the Blue,
Under the lilies, the Gray.
So, with an equal splendor
The morning sun-rays fall,
With touch, impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all.
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day-
Broidered with gold, the Blue,
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.
So when the summer calleth
On forest and field of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain.
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day—
Wet with the rain, the Blue,
Wet with the rain, the Gray.
Sadly, but not upbraiding,
The generous deed was done;
In the storm of years that are fading
No braver battle was won.
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day-
Under the blossoms, the Blue,
Under the garlands, the Gray.
No more shall the war-cry sever,
Nor the winding river be red;
They banish our anger forever,
When they laurel the graves of our dead.
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day
Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.
You can talk about your heroes who 'mid storm of solid shot,
Walked boldly into battle, when the fray was raging hot.
There are heroes at Manila, there are heroes everywhere,
There are manly noble fellows, ready now to do or dare,
But the greatest of all heroes is the one who dares to go
To a certain death of horror in the awful depths below.
Who knows but not a shadow of chance for life remains,
That a death both swift and sudden is reward for all his pains.
But who in spite of danger answers "here" at duty's calls,
And leaps to his post of duty, little recking if he falls.
All honor to young Deignan, a hero brave is he,
As honest and as true a lad as ever sailed the sea.
All honor to his mother in her far off little home,
May peace and plenty be her lot and sorrow never come,
And when her boy returns to her, his duty bravely done,
I hope you Stuart people will remember Deignan's son.
Like a dark cloud of warning our fleet rolls out to sea-
Rolls out upon the ocean to make a people free;
Across the raging waters behold the lightning's flash,
Across the deep's mad billows hear the thunders crash!
Once more the nation rises, a giant strong and bold,
To strike the blow for freedom, in song and story told;
Let kings turn pale with anger, if angry they must be,
We are the sons of freemen, we fight for liberty.
Let others war for plunder-unholy be their fight;
Although we are the mighty, we fight but for the right;
God bless our arms and armies upon the sea and land,
And may the hand that guides them have hold of Thine Own Hand!
It was the treacherous hand of Spain
Uplifted and with foul intent,
Her cowardly emissaries sent
To strike the gallant warship Maine.
Her hands already stained with blood
Of patriots, struggling to be free,
The haughty tyrant crossed the sea,
And sank our proud ship in the flood.
They dared not challenge her to fight,
Nor face the thunder of her guns
Manned by a nation's free born sons,
But struck the fatal blow at night.
More than two hundred harmless souls
To an untimely grave were hurl'd-
Such treachery has shocked the world-
Havana's water o'er them rolls.
Can we demand too much of Spain,
Or place indemnity too high?
The wealth of Europe could not buy
The life of one so foully slain.
Let tardy justice now awake
And sweep the Spaniard from the sea, And set the Cuban patriots free
A proper restitution make.
God help them, when the gathering cloud
Shall burst in fury on their head!
The cry of all our martyr'd dead
Will call for vengeance fierce and loud.
IF WE FORGET THEE!
JULIA NEELY FINCH.
If we forget thee, O Maine!
May our blood lose its crimson strain,
And our cheeks be blanched with pain—
May the craven and coward of Spair
Who crouches and creeps to spring
Reign over our country as king-
If we forget thee, O Maine!
The watch for the night was set;
The sailor lads dreaming, slept;
And the mothers, awaking, wept
For the lads that came home no more.
A clamor! A clash! A roar!
The earth and the far sky met-
O Maine!-and dost thou forget?
By a dastardly deed of the dark
Were thy best and thy bravest slain.
Unshrouded, unshriven, unknown,
They were buried there, stiff and stark,
Tho' he dies of his long regret
No father could claim his own:
Thinkest thou that he will forget?
Out of their red wounds' lips,
Where the salt-sea stings and slips,
And the flesh is shredded in strips,
By the tide as it sweeps and dips,
Comes a terrible cry, and strong—
A dolor of death and wrong.
It recordeth a nation's debt
That a nation will not forget.
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