"He had heard of the terrible need Of the patriot army there In Boston town. Now for a deed To save it from despair! To thrill with joy the great commander's heart, And hope new-born to all the land impart! "Hope! ay; that was the very name Of the good ship that came From England far away, Laden with enginery of death, Food for the cannon's fiery breath; Hope-laden for great Washington, Who, but for her, was quite undone A hundred years ago to-day. "'Oh, but to meet her there, And grapple with her fair, Out in the open bay!' Mugford to Glover said. How could he answer nay? And Mugford sailed away, Brave heart and newly wed. "But what are woman's tears, And rosy cheeks made pale, To one who far off hears The generations hail A deed like this we celebrate to-day, A hundred years since Mugford sailed away! "I love to picture him, Clear-eyed and strong of limb, Gazing his last upon the rocky shore His feet should press no more; Seeing the tall church-steeples fade away In distance soft and gray; So dropping down below the horizon's rim Where fame awaited him. "Slow sailing from the east his victim came. They met; brief parley; struggle brief and tame, And she was ours; In Boston harbor safe ere set of sun, Great joy for Washington! But heavy grew the hours On Mugford's hands, longing to bring to me, His mother proud, news of his victory; But that was not to be! "Abreast Nantasket's narrow strip of gray The British cruisers lay: They saw the daring skipper dropping down From the much-hated rebel-haunted town, And in the twilight dim Their boats awaited him, While wind and tide conspired To grant what they desired. "Thickly they swarmed about his tiny craft; But Mugford gayly laughed And gave them blow for blow; And many a hapless foe Went hurtling down below. Upon the schooner's rail Fell, like a thresher's flail, The strokes that beat the soul and sense apart, And pistol-crack through many an eager heart Sent deadly hail. But when the fight was o'er, Brave Mugford was no more. Crying, with death-white lip, 'Boys, don't give up the ship!' His soul struck out for heaven's peaceful shore. "We gave him burial meet; Through every sobbing street A thousand men marched with their arms reversed; And Parson Story told, In sentences of gold, The tale since then a thousand times rehearsed." Such is the story she tells, Our mother, the pride of us all. Ring out your music, O bells, That ever such things could befall! Ring not for Mugford alone, Ring for the twenty unknown, Who fought hand-to-hand at his side, Who saw his last look when he died, And who brought him, though dead, to his own! JOHN WHITE CHADWICK.