The Universal Reciter Part 31

"'Pears like, she was watching Ma.s.sa-- If Pompey should beside him stay, Mebbe she'd remember better How for him she used to pray; Telling him that way up yonder White as snow his soul would be, If he served the Lord of Heaven While he lived in Tennessee."

Silently the tears were rolling Down the poor old dusky face, As he stepped behind his master, In his long-accustomed place.

Then a silence fell around them, As they gazed on rock and tree Pictured in the placid waters Of the rolling Tennessee;--

Master, dreaming of the battle Where he fought by Marion's side, When he bid the haughty Tarleton Stoop his lordly crest of pride;-- Man, remembering how yon sleeper Once he held upon his knee, Ere she loved the gallant soldier, Ralph Vervair of Tennessee.

Still the south wind fondly lingers 'Mid the veteran's silver hair; Still the bondman close beside him Stands behind the old arm-chair, With his dark-hued hand uplifted, Shading eyes, he bends to see Where the woodland, boldly jutting, Turns aside the Tennessee.

Thus he watches cloud-born shadows Glide from tree to mountain-crest, Softly creeping, aye and ever To the river's yielding breast.

Ha! above the foliage yonder Something flutters wild and free "Ma.s.sa! Ma.s.sa! Hallelujah!

The flag's come back to Tennessee!"

"Pompey, hold me on your shoulder, Help me stand on foot once more, That I may salute the colors As they pa.s.s my cabin door.

Here's the paper signed that frees you, Give a freeman's shout with me-- 'G.o.d and Union!' be our watchword Evermore in Tennessee!"

Then the trembling voice grew fainter, And the legs refused to stand; One prayer to Jesus--and the soldier Glided to the better land.

When the flag went down the river Man and master both were free; While the ring-dove's note was mingled With the rippling Tennessee.

THE BLACK REGIMENT. PORT HUDSON.

MAY 27, 1863.

GEO. H. BOKER.

Dark as the clouds of even, Ranked in the western heaven, Waiting the breath that lifts All the dread ma.s.s, and drifts Tempest and falling brand Over a ruined land;-- So still and orderly, Arm to arm, knee to knee, Waiting the great event Stands the black regiment.

Down the long dusky line Teeth gleam and eye-b.a.l.l.s s.h.i.+ne, And the bright bayonet, Bristling, and firmly set, Flashed with a purpose grand, Long, ere the sharp command Of the fierce rolling drum Told them their time had come, Told them what work was sent For the black regiment.

"Now," the flag-sergeant cried, "Though death and h.e.l.l betide, Let the whole nation see If we are fit to be Free in this land; or bound Down, like the whining hound,-- Bound with red stripes of pain In our cold chains again!"

Oh! what a shout there went From the black regiment!

"Charge!" trump and drum awoke, Onward the bondmen broke: Bayonet and sabre stroke Vainly opposed their rush.

Through the wild battle's crush, With but one thought aflush, Driving their lords like chaff, In the guns' mouths they laugh; Or at the slippery brands Leaping with open hands, Down they tear man and horse, Down in their awful course; Trampling with b.l.o.o.d.y heel Over the cras.h.i.+ng steel, All their eyes forward bent, Rushed the black regiment.

"Freedom!" their battle-cry,-- "Freedom! or learn to die!"

Ah! and they meant the word, Not as with us 'tis heard, Not a mere party shout: They gave their spirits out; Trusted the end to G.o.d, And on the glory sod Rolled in triumphant blood.

Glad to strike one free blow, Whether for weal or woe; Glad to breathe one free breath, Though on the lips of death, Praying--alas! in vain!-- That they might fall again, So they could once more see That burst to liberty!

This was what "freedom" lent To the black regiment.

Hundreds on hundreds fell; But they are resting well; Scourges and shackles strong Never shall do them wrong.

O, to the living few, Soldiers, be just and true!

Hail them as comrades tried; Fight with them side by side; Never in field or tent, Scorn the black regiment.

THE THIEF OF TIME.

CHARACTERS.

JOHN RAY, } CHARLEY CHEERFUL, } School-boys.

RALPH READY, } MR. HANKS, a Deaf Gentleman.

JOHN CLOD, a Countryman.

PATSY FLINN, an Irishman.

SCENE.--_A Quiet Place in the Country._

_Enter_ RALPH READY, R., _with School-books_.

_Ralph._ Twenty minutes of nine. I can take it easy this morning. How glad I am I staid at home last night and studied "Spartacus." It's Declamation Day, and I want to win the highest mark. If I fail, it will not be for want of study. I believe I'm all right. (_Declaims._)

"Ye call me Chief--"[1]

[Footnote 1: The dialogue can be lengthened, if necessary, by allowing Charley and Ralph to declaim the whole of their pieces.]

_Enter_ CHARLEY CHEERFUL, L.

_Charley._ (_Clapping his hands._) Bravo! Bravo! Spartacus. "They do well to call _you_ chief!" number one in arithmetic, history, and geography; and to-day I've no doubt we shall call you number one in declamation.

_Ralph._ Ah, Charley, glad to see you. Are you all ready for the contest?

_Charley._ Yes, Ralph. (_Declaims._)

"Again to the battle, Achaians; Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance."

_Ralph._ I see "a foeman worthy of my steel." Well, Charley, good luck to you.

_Charley._ The same to you. I believe we are about equally matched. I want to take the highest mark, but if I am to be defeated, there's no one to whom I'd sooner surrender the "victor's laurels" than to you.

_Ralph._ And I can heartily say the same of you; but we must both look out. John Ray told the boys yesterday he was bound to have the highest mark.

_Charley._ I don't fear him.

_Ralph._ But he's a good declaimer, Charley.

_Charley._ I'll acknowledge that; but you know he's a terrible fellow for putting off study until the last moment. It was only yesterday morning Master Jones decided to have declamation to-day. The only time we had to prepare was yesterday noon, last night, and this morning.

_Ralph._ Time enough, Charley.

_Charley._ Certainly. But I know John Ray hasn't employed it.

Yesterday noon he went boating; last night I'm afraid he visited Hopkins's melon patch; and this morning I saw him from my window playing ball.

_Ralph._ Then we've not much to fear from him; but here he is, puffing like a porpoise.