"And why should I speak low, sailor, About my own boy John? If I was loud as I am proud I'd sing him over the town! Why should I speak low, sailor?" "That good ship went down." "How's my boy--my boy? What care I for the ship, sailor, I was never aboard her. Be she afloat or be she aground, Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound Her owners can afford her! I say, how's my John?" "Every man on board went down, Every man aboard her." "How's my boy--my boy? What care I for the men, sailor? I'm not their mother-- How's my boy--my boy? Tell me of him and no other! How's my boy--my boy?" THE SOLDIER'S DREAM _By_ THOMAS CAMPBELL Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw; And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methought from the battlefield's dreadful array Far, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track: 'Twas Autumn--and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. "Stay--stay with us!--rest!--thou art weary and worn!"-- And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;-- But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. MAKE WAY FOR LIBERTY! _By_ JAMES MONTGOMERY NOTE.--In the fourteenth century the Swiss people rose against their Austrian oppressors, and at Sempach they won, on July 9, 1386, a complete victory over an army which greatly exceeded them in numbers. According to tradition, a Swiss hero, Arnold Winkelried, seeing that the Austrian line was well-nigh unbreakable, gathered the spears of several of his enemies in his arms and pressed the points against his breast, thus making a way for his companions. A monument was erected in his honor five centuries after the battle. "Make way for Liberty!"--he cried; Made way for Liberty, and died!