City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede, whirling in and
out with eddies and foam!
City of wharves and stores--city of tall facades of marble and iron!
Proud and passionate city--mettlesome, mad, extravagant city!
Spring up, O city--not for peace alone, but be indeed yourself,
warlike!
Fear not--submit to no models but your own O city!
Behold me--incarnate me as I have incarnated you!
I have rejected nothing you offer'd me--whom you adopted I have
adopted,
Good or bad I never question you--I love all--I do not condemn any
thing,
I chant and celebrate all that is yours--yet peace no more,
In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine,
War, red war is my song through your streets, O city!



THE CENTENARIAN'S STORY.


_Volunteer of 1861-2, (at Washington Park, Brooklyn, assisting the
Centenarian.)_

Give me your hand old Revolutionary,
The hill-top is nigh, but a few steps, (make room gentlemen,)
Up the path you have follow'd me well, spite of your hundred and
extra years,
You can walk old man, though your eyes are almost done,
Your faculties serve you, and presently I must have them serve me.