Oh, light and merry of heart are they when they swing into port once
          more,
  When, with more than enough of the “green-backed stuff,” they start
          for their leave-o’-shore;
  And you’d think, perhaps, that the blue-bloused chaps who loll along
          the street
  Are a tender bit, with salt on it, for some fierce “mustache” to
          eat—­
  Some warrior bold, with straps of gold, who dazzles and fairly stuns
  The modest worth of the sailor boys—­the lads who serve the guns.

  But say not a word till the shot is heard that tells the fight is
          on. 
  Till the long, deep roar grows more and more from the ships of
          “Yank” and “Don,”
  Till over the deep the tempests sweep of fire and bursting shell,
  And the very air is a mad Despair in the throes of a living hell;
  Then down, deep down, in the mighty ship, unseen by the midday suns,
  You’ll find the chaps who are giving the raps—­the men behind the
          guns!

  Oh, well they know how the cyclones blow that they loose from their
          cloud of death,
  And they know is heard the thunder-word their fierce ten-incher
          saith! 
  The steel decks rock with the lightning shock, and shake with the
          great recoil,
  And the sea grows red with the blood of the dead and reaches for his
          spoil—­
  But not till the foe has gone below or turns his prow and runs,
  Shall the voice of peace bring sweet release to the men behind the
          guns!

JOHN JEROME ROONEY.

* * * * *

THE BATTLE OF MANILA.  A FRAGMENT.

[May I, 1898.]

  By Cavite on the bay
  ’Twas the Spanish squadron lay;
  And the red dawn was creeping
  O’er the city that lay sleeping
  To the east, like a bride, in the May. 
  There was peace at Manila,
  In the May morn at Manila,—­
  When ho, the Spanish admiral
  Awoke to find our line
  Had passed by gray Corregidor,
  Had laughed at shoal and mine,
  And flung to the sky its banners
  With “Remember” for the sign!

  With the ships of Spain before
  In the shelter of the shore,
  And the forts on the right,
  They drew forward to the fight,
  And the first was the gallant Commodore;
  In the bay of Manila,
  In the doomed bay of Manila—­
  With succor half the world away,
  No port beneath that sky,
  With nothing but their ships and guns
  And Yankee pluck to try,
  They had left retreat behind them,
  They had come to win or die!

* * * * *

  For we spoke at Manila,
  We said it at Manila,
  Oh be ye brave, or be ye strong,
  Ye build your ships in vain;
  The children of the sea queen’s brood
  Will not give up the main;
  We hold the sea against the world
  As we held it against Spain.