terner tone,
That sinks away, then bursts anew
In joy, as 'mid its surges grew
The shout, the stroke, the cannon's peal,
The tread of countless number.
For the flash of a traitor's steel
Has broken the nation's slumber;
And sighing breeze and southern gale,
Seized by the fierce wind's grasp, are torn
From gentle haunt by hill or dale,
And in the whirling vortex borne.
There murm'ring on his hollow breast,
And wond'ring at his wild unrest,
Their shrieking echoes sounding far,
Loud swelled the Northman's shout to war;
For with death's dark shadows flitting by,
And the day as dark as night,
A nation's hands are raised on high
To hold their ancient right.
And the ages are rolled from the record of time;
For the years of peace with its soft'ning beam,
That soothed in love the Northman's heart,
Are now but the mists of a warrior's dream.
And the tinsel of life is burned in the glow
That flames in his heart as in years long ago,
When Norman sea-kings swept the wave,
Who loved the night, the storm, and bloody grave.

And through all the blue of heaven's vault,
Rolls the Vala's mystic charm,
Swelled with strains of the mighty past--
Victory strikes with the Northman's arm.

F.

Truly the old Northman is not dead among us. He lived in the iron
Monitor, of the descendant of Eric, and he lives in scores of thousands
of brave hearts and strong arms who came and are still coming to the
battle-call:

'Northmen, come out!
Forth into battle with storm and shout,
He who lives with victory's blest;
He who dies gains peaceful rest.
Living or dying, let us be
Still vowed to God and liberty!
Northmen, come out!'

* * * * *

The following poem is certainly _not_ behind the times:

PAYING THE SHOT.

BY J. IVES PEASE.

Yes, pay them! pay them in their chosen coin,
Bomb-shell and cannon-balls, well served and hot;
Ay, 'shell out' all the treasures of 'the mine,'
Since that's the way we've got to 'pay the shot.'

We 'owe them _one_!' and now's the time to settle,
And finish up the business to a dot;
A half a million _men_, upon their _metal_,
Accounts will soon square off, and 'pay the shot.'

We owe them one; but 'tisn't one for niggers;
Master or slave no more shall treason plot.
We've settled _that_ acco