1862.

"The National Quarterly depicts a remarkable scene, which occurred some years since on one of the British transport ships. The commander of the troops on board, seeing that the vessel must soon sink, and that there was no hope of saving his men, drew them up in order of battle, and, as in the presence of a human enemy, bravely faced the doom that was before them. We know of no more impressive illustration of the power of military discipline in the presence of death."

I.

The last farewells are breathed by loving lips,
The last fond prayer for darling ones is said,
And o'er each heart stern sorrow's dark eclipse
Her sable pall hath spread.

II.

Far, far beyond each anxious watcher's sight,
Baring her bosom to the wanton sea,
The lordly ship sweeps onward in her might,
Her tameless majesty.

III.

Forth from his fortress in the western sky,
Flashing defiance on each crested wave,
Out glares the sun, with red and lowering eye,
Grand, even in his grave.

IV.

Till, waxing bolder as his rays decline,
The clustering billows o'er his ramparts sweep,
Slow droops his banner--fades his light divine,
And darkness rules the deep.

V.

Look once again!--Night's sombre shades have fled:
But the pale rays that glimmer from their sheath,
Serve but to show the blackness overhead,
And the wild void beneath.

VI.

Mastless and helmless drifts the helpless bark;
Her pride, her majesty, her glory gone;
While o'er the waters broods the tempest dark,
And the wild winds howl on.

VII.

But hark! amid the madness of the storm
There comes an echo o'er the surging wave;
Firm at its call the dauntless legions form,
The resolute and brave.

VIII.

Eight hundred men, the pride of England's host,
In stern array stand marshall'd on her deck,
Calmly as though they knew not they were lost--
Lost in that shattered wreck.

IX.

Eight hundred men,--old England's tried and true,
Their hopes, their fears, their tasks of glory done,
Steadfast, till the last foe be conquered too,
And the last fight be won.

X.

Free floats their banner o'er them as they stand;
No mournful dirge may o'er the waters ring;
Out peals the anthem, glorious and grand,
"The king! God save the king!"

XI.

Lower and lower sinks the fated bark,
Closer and closer creeps the ruthless wave,
But loud outswells, across the waters dark,
The death-song of the brave.

XII.

Over their heads the gurgling billows sweep;
Still o'er the waves the last fond echoes ring,
Out-thrilling from the caverns of the deep,
"The king! God save the king!"

XIII.

Oh thou! whoe'er thou art that reads this page,
Learn here a lesson of high, holy faith,
For all throughout our earthly pilgrimage,
We hold a tryst with death.

XIV.

Not in the battle-field's tumultuous strife,
Not in the hour when vanquished foemen fly,
Not in the midst of bright and happy life,
Is it most hard to die.

XV.

Greater the guerdon, holier the prize,
Of him who trusts, and waits in lowly mood;
Oh! learn how high, how holy courage lies
In patient fortitude.

Charleston.