Father of earth and heaven! I call thy name!
Round me the smoke and shout of battle roll;
Mine eyes are dazzled with the rustling flame;
Father, sustain an untried soldier's soul.
Or life, or death, whatever be the goal
That crowns or closes round this struggling hour,
Thou knowest, if ever from my spirit stole
One deeper prayer, 't was that no cloud might lower
On my young fame!—O hear! God of eternal power!
Now for the fight—now for the cannon-peal—
Forward—through blood, and toils and cloud, and fire!
Glorious the shout, the shock, the crash of steel,
The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire;
They shake—like broken waves their squares retire,—
On, hussars!—Now give them rein and heel;
Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire;—
Earth cries for blood—in thunder on them wheel!
This hour to Europe's fate shall set the triumph-seal!
Körner.
CCXXXIV.
THE MAIN TRUCK, OR A LEAP FOR LIFE.
Old Ironsides at anchor lay
In the harbor of Mahon;
A dead calm rested on take bay,—
The waves to sleep had gone;
When little Hal, the Captain's son,
A lad both brave and good,
In sport, up shroud and rigging ran,
And on the main truck stood!
A shudder shot through every vein,—
All eyes were turned on high!
There stood the bop with dizzy brain,
Between the sea and sky;
No hold had he above, below;
Alone he stood in air:
To that far height none dared to go;—
No aid could reach him there.
We gazed,—but not a man could speak!
With horror all aghast,
In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,
We watched the quivering mast.
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,
And of a lurid hue;—
As riveted unto the spot,
Stood officers and crew.
The father came on deck:—he gasped,
"Oh God! Thy will be done!"
Then suddenly a rifle grasped,
And aimed it at his son:
"Jump, far out, boy into the wave!
Jump, or I fire!" he said;
"That only chance your life can save!
Jump, jump, boy!" He obeyed.
He sunk, he rose, he lived,—he moved,—
And for the ship struck out.
On board, we hailed the lad beloved,
With many a manly shout.
His father drew, in silent joy,
Those wet arms round his neck—
Then folded to his heart his boy,
And fainted on the deck.
G. P. Morris.