All sobbing, shrieking, swirls the gale, December in its sweep, Till ocean’s hoary face is pale With foam, abysses deep; Then see within the furious spray A ship against the gray! The sirens sing by George’s shoal And lure their victim in, So the _Lord Gough_, through surge and roll, The dismal drift and din, Comes round to where the breakers comb Into sheer, wind-swept foam. They see, half-way the shattered mast, The Stars and Stripes stand out; They hear, above the howling blast, Old Hughes, with mighty shout, “Now, boys, three hearty English cheers! Come forward, volunteers!” They man their boat, these gallant tars, Though skies beat down the sea-- When falls the flag with all its stars, Then to the masthead free Runs up, the blue above, to swear, “For us Fate still is fair!” In frosty blasts that seek to blow Their valor from the helm, They row as they would have you row When billows overwhelm: The baffled storm its witness bears-- The _Cleopatra’s_ theirs! He thaws the winter from his bone, He mourns the ship so gone, And Pendleton tells great gales blown, Despair since drifting dawn; Water-logged, with his boats stove in, What hope was his to win? He saw the sailors on the _Gough_-- Death stood before his eyes, He knew they would be putting off Where seas beat back the skies; His flag free on the tempest flew Lest they should perish too.... While Englishmen in mercy go Cheering, to war with Death, While the Americans can throw Off hope, for others’ breath, A tyrant Fate need slink afraid, From clear eyes, undismayed. And oh, ye folk of English speech, When such a brood ye’ve borne, What favor need ye e’er beseech From Fate so ripe for scorn? ’Tis yours, ye freemen, by your birth, All that ye will on earth! WALLACE RICE. (By special permission of the author.) 56 IN THE TUNNEL Didn’t know Flynn,-- Flynn of Virginia,-- Long as he’s been ’yar? Look’ee here, stranger, Whar _hev_ you been? Here in this tunnel He was my pardner, That same Tom Flynn,-- Working together, In wind and weather, Day out and in. Didn’t know Flynn! Well, that _is_ queer; Why, it’s a sin To think of Tom Flynn,-- Tom with his cheer, Tom without fear,-- Stranger, look ’yar! Thar in the drift, Back to the wall, He held the timbers Ready to fall; Then in the darkness I heard him call: “Run for your life, Jake! Run for your wife’s sake! Don’t wait for me.” And that was all Heard in the din, Heard of Tom Flynn,-- Flynn of Virginia.