128 THE CAPTAIN'S WIFE. Oh, never yet a woman's heart was frozen so com pletely! So unbaptized with helping tears! - so passionless and dumb! Spellbound she stood, and motionless, Madge spoke sweetly: "Dear mother, is the battle done? and will my father come?" I laid my finger on her lips, and set the child to playing. Poor Blanche! the winter in her cheek was snowy like her name! What could she do but kneel and pray, and linger at her praying? O Christ! when other heroes die, moan other wives the same? Must other women's hearts yet break, to keep the Cause from failing? God pity our brave lovers then, who face the battle's blaze! And pity wives in widowhood!— But is it unavail ing? O Lord! give Freedom first, then Peace! — and unto Thee be praise! THE DEFENDERS. 129 THE DEFENDERS. BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. UR flag on the land and our flag on the ocean, OUR An angel of peace wheresoever it goes; Nobly sustained by Columbia's devotion, The angel of death it shall be to our foes! Still shall our eagle fly, Casting his sentinel glances afar; Though bearing the olive branch, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war! Hark to the sound! There's a foe on our border, A foe striding on to the gulf of his doom; Freemen are rising and marching in order, Leaving the plough and the anvil and loom. Rust dims the harvest sheen Of scythe and of sickle keen; The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar; Veteran and youth are out Swelling the battle shout, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war! Our brave mountain eagles swoop from their eyry, Our little panthers leap from forest and plain 130 THE DEFENDERS. Out of the West flash the flames of the prairie, Out of the East roll the waves of the main : Swift as Niagara pours, They march, and their tread wakes the earth with its jar; Under the Stripes and Stars, Each with the soul of Mars, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war! Spite of the sword or assassin's stiletto, While throbs a heart in the breast of the brave, The oak of the North or the Southern palmetto Shall shelter no foe except in the grave! While the gulf billow breaks Echoing the northern lakes, And ocean replies unto ocean afar, While there's a patriot hand Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war! Rome, July 4, 1861. CARTE DE VISITE. 131 'T CARTE DE VISITE. ANONYMOUS. WAS a terrible fight," the soldier said! A group for the painter's art were they: These three in porch, where the sunlight came Through the tangled leaves of the jasmine-vine, Spilling itself like a golden wine, And flecking the doorway with rings of flame. The soldier had stopped to rest by the way, "Yes, a terrible fight: our Ensign was shot As the order to charge was given the men, 132 CARTE DE VISITE, When one from the ranks seized our colors, and then He, too, fell dead on the self-same spot. “A handsome boy was this last: his hair "What was his name? — have you never heard? Where was he from, this youth who fell? - And your regiment, stranger, which was it? tell!" "Our regiment? It was the Twenty-third.” The color fled from the young girl's cheek, 66 'Pity my daughter in mercy speak! "I never knew aught of this gallant youth," "But when we buried our dead that night, I took from his breast this picture, It is as like him as like can be: Hold it this way, toward the light." - see! |