[Illustration:  George H. Boker.]

Mr. Boker was fond of the sonnet, as poets are apt to be who have once yielded to its attraction, and he used it with much effect.  But chiefly his poems of the Civil War will make his name remembered.  His lyre responded sympathetically to the heroic deeds which characterized that conflict—­not always with the smoothness and polish of his more studied work, but worthily, and in the spirit of the time.

He was born in Philadelphia, October 6th, 1823, and died there January 2d, 1890.  He was graduated from Princeton in 1842, and after studying law and traveling for a number of years in Europe, settled down in his native city, where most of his life was spent.  He was Minister to Turkey from 1871 to 1875, and Minister to Russia from 1875 to 1879.  His first volume, ‘The Lesson of Life and other Poems,’ was published in 1847, and was followed by various plays.—­’Calaynos,’ ‘Anne Boleyn,’ ’The Betrothal,’ ‘Leonor de Guzman,’ ‘Francesca da Rimini,’ etc., which, with some shorter pieces, were collected in ‘Plays and Poems,’ published in 1856.  His ‘Poems of the War’ appeared in 1864, and still later a number of other volumes:  ‘Street Lyrics,’ ‘Our Heroic Themes’ (1865), ‘Koenigsmark’ (1869), ‘The Book of the Dead’ (1882), a very close imitation of ‘In Memoriam’ in both matter and form, and ‘Sonnets’ (1886).

THE BLACK REGIMENT

     From ‘Plays and Poems’

     Port Hudson, May 27th, 1863.

     Dark as the clouds of even,
     Ranked in the western heaven,
     Waiting the breath that lifts
     All the dread mass, and drifts
     Tempest and falling brand
     Over a ruined land;—­
     So still and orderly,
     Arm to arm, knee to knee,
     Waiting the great event,
     Stands the black regiment.

     Down the long dusky line
     Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;
     And the bright bayonet,
     Bristling and firmly set,
     Flashed with a purpose grand,
     Long ere the sharp command
     Of the fierce rolling drum
     Told them their time had come,
     Told them what work was sent
     For the black regiment.

     “Now,” the flag-sergeant cried,
     “Though death and hell betide,
     Let the whole nation see
     If we are fit to be
     Free in this land; or bound
     Down, like the whining hound,—­
     Bound with red stripes of pain
     In our old chains again!”
     Oh, what a shout there went
     From the black regiment!

     “Charge!” Trump and drum awoke,
     Onward the bondmen broke;
     Bayonet and sabre-stroke
     Vainly opposed their rush. 
     Through the wild battle’s crush,
     With but one thought aflush,
     Driving their lords like chaff,
     In the guns’ mouths they laugh;
     Or at the slippery brands