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THE MARTYRS OF THE MAINE
by Hughes, Rupert [1872- ]

And they have thrust our shattered dead away in foreign graves,
Exiled forever from the port the homesick sailor craves!
They trusted once in Spain,
They're trusting her again!
And with the holy care of our own sacred slain!
No, no, the Stripes and Stars
Must wave above our tars.
Bring them home!
On a thousand hills the darling dead of all our battles lie,
In nooks of peace, with flowers and flags, but now they seem to cry
From out their bivouac:
"Here every good man Jack
Belongs. Nowhere but here—with us.
So bring them back."
And on the Cuban gales,
A ghostly rumor wails,
"Bring us home!"
Poltroon, the people that neglects to guard the bones, the dust,
The reverenced relics its warriors have bequeathed in trust!
But heroes, too, were these
Who sentinell'd the seas
And gave their lives, to shelter us in careless ease.
Shall we desert them, slain,
And proffer them to Spain
[613]
As alien mendicants,—these martyrs of our Maine?
No! Bring them home!
Rupert Hughes.

Source: Project Gutenberg

Source: Project Gutenberg