THE TRANSFERRED FLAG.

BY JAMES BUCKHAM.

Frigate and schooner in conflict dread, Banners throbbing at each mast-head; England's jack in the smoke and reek, Stars and stripes at the schooner's peak. Clash and roar of the awful fight; Sabres gleaming like shafts of light; Crack of pistols; a musket's boom; Shouts and groans in the drifting gloom. Overhead, in the murk, the flags Toss, with their edges torn to rags, Lash at each other, and writhe and snap— Silken musketry, clap on clap! See! On the Yankee yard-arm stands A daring middy, with outspread hands! He bends, he leaps—and without a slip, Catches the yard of the British ship! Up, up, he climbs, till, the cross-trees past, He reaches the top of the swaying mast. Then, with a slash of his knife, he throws The British flag to his country's foes. Lo! from his bosom, like flame unfurled, He draws the banner that rules the world, And nails it there, with its crimson bars And gleaming glory of unstained stars! Quick was the brain that conceived the thought, And brave the deed that the sailor-boy wrought; Bright he his name on history's roll, And far the flash of his hero-soul!