For, saith the High and Mighty One,
Who sitteth in the heaven,
'Tis not of earth and time alone
That nations thus are riven;
Behold! the armies of the skies,-
The embattled legions, see them rise!
Arrayed, and officered, and led,
By angel chieftains from the dead!

The solemn vision deepening, lo!
What mighty numbers swell,
Rising from their dark pits of woe,
The serried ranks of hell!
Great God! it is the conflict dire
Which raged of old on plains of fire!
Jesus, the mighty victor, knew,
Both worlds were open to his view.

And when again, on Canaan's land,
The rebel armies stood,
Behold! the angel in command-
How soldierly his word:
"I'm captain of the hosts!" he said,
With sword drawn in his hand, and led
Unseen by Joshua before,

To victory all the tribes of war.

And so, when Syria's guilty king,
'Gainst Israel led the foe,
And omens dire began to spring

From out that threatening woe;

The following lines were suggested by seeing an old man intently gazing at the American flag, as it floated from the dome of one of the hotels in Memphis, Tenn. "I live," said he, "in Mississippi, where they won't let that flag be raised, but I love that flag; I bore it through the Indian wars, and at New Orleans, under Gen. Jackson, I am sixty-nine years of age. I was born and raised in this State. My father, an old Revolutionary soldier, was one of the first settlers. My country has been very good to me, and gave me all I love. My country I love. I love Tennessee; I am sorry I ever left her. I want to live where that flag waves. I don't like the people of Missinsippi; they call me a traitor now!”

I have borne that flag in former years
To conquer a savage foe,

Whose ravaging deeds on our then frontier,
Brought terror, and death, and woe;
And how we suffered 'mid toil and pain,
'Tis history will tell you how,

Yet those whose peace those wars did gain,
Can call me a traitor now!

I bore that flag in New Orleans,
Which city's doom was thought
Beyond the power of patriot means
Ere the glorious Eighth was fought;
But when I saw to the Stripes and Stars
The British lion bow,

I little thought, in my grateful prayers,
To be called a traitor now!

No pelican was heard of then;

No moon's lone star was found; No palmetto bush, with its shaggy stem, And the serpent coiled around;

But the Stars and Stripes alone remained;
And pray, can you tell me how
That he who bore that flag unstained,
Can be called a traitor now?

Oh! had I remained in my native State,
Where my chieftain's grave was made;
Or had I been doomed to a similar fate,
And my bones near his been laid;

Or had he been spared for his country's good,
I am sure he'd not allow
Those friends who in arms by him had stood
Should be branded as traitors now.

But why, in my age, am I thus assailed?
To my name why apply this stain?
Have I to my country ever failed,

Or to society proved a bane?
No! no such charge or kindred crime

Can be stamped on my furrowed brow; But because rebellion I must decline, They call me a traitor now!

But ye, in my heart, I can't despair-
My country, so free and pure,

Whose toils and triumphs I helped to share,
For ages will yet endure.

When madmen cease and calm re-act,

And reason their minds endow,

They'll then these cruel words retract

That make me a traitor now.

THE WAR SLOGAN.

DEDICATED TO CAPTAIN M'MULLEN'S RANGERS.

"McGregor's Gathering."

Columbia is calling her sons to the border,

Rouse, rouse, ye brave hearts, to conquer or die; Revenge on the Southron, and death to the traitorOur Union forever, the slogan we cry.

Then gather! gather! gather!
Then gather! gather! gather!

While leaves on the forest, or foam on the river,
Our Union, despite them, shall flourish forever!

They trample her banner, and murder her freemen;
They curse us as cowards, and swear we shall fly;
Give their homes to the flames and their flesh to the
ravens,

Our arms, keen and gory, shall answer the lie.
Then gather! gather! gather!
Then gather! gather! gather!

While leaves on the forest, or foam on the river,
Our Union, despite them, shall flourish forever!

THE TWO UNIONS.

DEDICATED TO IRISH PATRIOTS.

BY F. D. B.

When concord and peace to this land are restored,

And the Union's established forever,

Though the "Star-Spangled Banner" proclaim o'er the sea

Success crown'd each noble endeavor,
Will any acknowledge Hibernians are free,
While the Sunburst's in exile? No! never.

On Erin's green soil (and on Erin's alone)
You can purchase your freedom forever,
When, join'd with your patriot brothers at home,
The foul Union of tyrants you sever.
NEW YORK.

THE RECAPTURED FLAG.

The following lines were suggested by an event which occurred during the battle of Stone Bridge. In the heat of the engagement the colors of the Sixty Ninth regiment, New York State Militia, were captured by the enemy, but while in the hands of two of the rebels, the attention of Capt. Wildey, of the New York Fire Zouaves, was drawn to the incident; he immediately fired, and succeeded in killing both of the insurgents, and recapturing the flag.

When sacrilegious rebel hands,
With rage and deadly hate,

Had rudely grasped our sacred flag,
Their doom was sealed by fate.

The flags of two nations appear on the field;-
You have vow'd to defend them forever;

Your duty to one, is the Union to shield;—
To the other, the Union to sever!

The red rose speaks of love:
-And love I not my dead?
What speaks the white rose of?
Despair! Love's last despair!
This is the load I bear;
So I the white rose wear.

BY GEORGE ALFRED TOWNSEND.

We were informed that two members of the National Guards were married, just before being ordered to march, in the area adjacent to the fountain at the centre of the camp, in Franklin Square. A squad of soldiers remarked the ceremony, and a corps of drummers and fifers that were at hand struck up a certain goodly tune.--Reporter of Phila. Press, May 15.

I find it hard to credit the experience I have known: To be married in the twilight-in the darkness be alone;

To sit beside my window, when the clouds blot out the arch,

And think how long my heart must wait while he is

on the march.

I buckled on his knapsack-its weight was like rock,

And as I gave his musket, some tears ran down the stock.

He said: "Good bye, Maria!" My throat was hard and dry,

He said that I should write to him—I could not make reply;

But when he stood amid the lines, I felt my pulses leaping:

Why should a soldier's wife be dumb, and shame his flag by weeping?

The band struck up a glorious air: my thoughts were sad and bitter,

And tramping down the leafy aisles, I saw the bayonets glitter;

He might have turned his head again, but I was blind with sobbing;

The fountain tinkled on the night-I heard the music throbbing.

They vanished in the dusky light; how wild the streets with rattle!

loves to battle!

'Tis well for those to wave their hats who send no I think, when all the war is done, and still the nation free,

If, in the scattered regiment, he shall come back to

me?

"What saw I?" Little. Clouds of dust;
Great squares of men, with standards thrust
Against their course; dense columns crowned
With billowing steel. Then, bound on bound,
The long black lines of cannon poured
Behind the horses, streaked and gored
With sweaty speed. Anon shot by,
Like a lone meteor of the sky,
A single horseman; and he shone
His bright face on me, and was gone.
All these, with rolling drums, with cheers,
With songs familiar to my ears,
Passed under the far-hanging cloud,
And vanished, and my heart was proud!

For mile on mile the line of war
Extended; and a steady roar,
As of some distant stormy sea,
On the south-wind came up to me.
And high in air, and over all,
Grew, like a fog, that murky pall,
Beneath whose gloom of dusty smoke
The cannon flamed, the bombshell broke,
And the sharp rattling volley rang,
And shrapnell roared, and bullets sang,
And fierce-eyed men, with panting breath,
Toiled onward at the work of death.
I could not see, but knew too well,
That underneath that cloud of hell,
Which still grew more by great degrees,
Man strove with man in deeds like these.

But when the sun had passed his stand At noon, behold! on every hand The dark brown vapor backward bore And fainter came the dreadful roar From the huge sea of striving men. Thus spoke my rising spirit then: "Take comfort from that dying sound, Faint heart, the foe is giving ground! And one, who taxed his horse's powers, Flung at me, "Ho! the day is ours!" And scoured along. So swift his pace, I took no memory of his face. VOL. II-POETRY 7

Then turned I once again to Heaven;
All things appeared so just and even;
So clearly from the highest Cause
Traced I the downward-working laws-
Those moral springs, made evident,
In the grand, triumph-crowned event.
So half I shouted, and half sang,
Like Jephtha's daughter, to the clang
Of my spread, cymbal-striking palms,
Some fragments of thanksgiving psalms.

Meanwhile a solemn stillness fell
Upon the land. O'er hill and dell
Failed every sound. My heart stood still,
Waiting before some coming ill.

The silence was more sad and dread,
Under that canopy of lead,

Than the wild tumult of the war
That raged a little while before.
All nature, in her work of death,
Paused for one last, despairing breath;
And, cowering to the earth, I drew
From her strong breast my strength anew.

When I arose, I wondering saw Another dusty vapor draw, From the far right, its sluggish way Towards the main cloud, that frowning lay Against the westward sloping sun; And all the war was re-begun, Ere this fresh marvel of my sense Caught from my mind significance. And then-why ask me? Oh! my God! Would I had lain beneath the sod, A patient clod, for many a day, And from my bones and mouldering clay The rank field grass and flowers had sprung, Ere the base sight, that struck and stung My very soul, confronted me, Shamed at my own humanity. O happy dead, who early fell, Ye have no wretched tale to tell Of causeless fear and coward flight, Of victory snatched beneath your sight, Of martial strength and honor lost, Of mere life bought at any cost, Of the deep, lingering mark of shame, Forever scorched on brow and name, That no new deeds, however bright, Shall banish from men's loathful sight! Ye perished in your conscious pride, Ere this vile scandal opened wide A wound that cannot close nor heal. Ye perished steel to levelled steel, Stern votaries of the god of war, Filled with his godhead to the core! Ye died to live, these lived to die, Beneath the scorn of every eye! How eloquent your voices sound From the low chambers under ground! How clear each separate title burns From your high set and laurelled urns! While these, who walk about the earth, Are blushing at their very birth! And, though they talk, and go, and come, Their moving lips are worse than dumb. Ye sleep beneath the valley's dew, And all the nation mourns for you; So sleep till God shall wake the lands! For angels, armed with fiery brands, Await to take you by the hands.

The right hand vapor broader grew;
It rose, and joined itself unto

The main cloud with a sudden dash.
Loud and more near the cannon's crash
Came towards me, and I heard a sound
As if all hell had broken bound-
A cry of agony and fear.

Still the dark vapor rolled more near
Till at my very feet it tossed,
The vanward fragments of our host.
Can man, Thy image, sink so low,
Thou, who hast bent Thy tinted bow
Across the storm and raging main;
Whose laws both loosen and restrain
The powers of earth, without whose will
No sparrow's little life is still?
Was fear of hell, or want of faith,
Or the brute's common dread of death
The passion that began a chase
Whose goal was ruin and disgrace?
What tongue the fearful sight may tell?
What horrid nightmare ever fell
Upon the restless sleep of crime-
What history of another time-
What dismal vision, darkly seen
By the stern-featured Florentine
Can give a hint to dimly draw
The likeness of the scene I saw ?
I saw, yet saw not.

In that sea,
That chaos of humanity,
No more the eye could catch and keep
A single point, than on the deep
The eye may mark a single wave
Where hurrying myriads leap and rave.
Men of all arms, and all costumes,
Bare-headed, decked with broken plumes;
Soldiers and officers, and those
Who wore but civil-suited clothes;
On foot or mounted-some bestrode
Steeds severed from their harnessed load;
Wild mobs of white-topped wagons, cars,
Of wounded, red with bleeding scars;
The whole grim panoply of war
Surged on me with a deafening roar!
All shades of fear, disfiguring man,
Glared through their faces' brazen tan.
Not one a moment paused, or stood
To see what enemy pursued.

With shricks of fear, and yells of pain,
With every muscle on the strain,
Onward the struggling masses bore.
Oh! had the foemen lain before,
They'd trampled them to dust and gore,
And swept their lines and batteries
As autumn sweeps the windy trees!
Here one cast forth his wounded friend,
And with his sword or musket-end
Urged on the horses; there one trod
Upon the likeness of his God
As if 'twere dust; a coward here
Grew valiant with his very fear,
And struck his weaker comrade prone,
And struggled to the front alone.
All had one purpose, one sole aim,
That mocked the decency of shame,
To fly, by any means to fly;

They cared not how, they asked not why
I found a voice. My burning blood
Flamed up. Upon a mound I stood;
I could no more restrain my voice
Than could the prophet of God's choice.

"Back, animated dirt!" I cried,
"Back, on your wretched lives, and hide
Your shame beneath your native clay!
Or if the foe affrights you, slay
Your own base selves; and, dying, leave
Your children's tearful cheeks to grieve,
Not quail and blush, when you shall come,
Alive, to their degraded home!
Your wives will look askance with scorn;
Your boys, and infants yet unborn,
Will curse you to God's holy face!
Heaven holds no pardon in its grace
For cowards. Oh! are such as ye
The guardians of our liberty?
Back, if one trace of manhood still
May nerve your arm and brace your will!
You stain your country in the eyes
Of Europe, and her monarchies !
The despots laugh, the peoples groan;
Man's cause is lost and overthrown!

I curse you, by the sacred blood

That freely poured its purple flood

Down Bunker's heights, on Monmouth's plain, From Georgia to the rocks of Maine!

I curse you, by the patriot band

Whose bones are crumbling in the land!

By those who saved what these had won!-
In the high name of Washington!"
Then I remember little more.

As the tide's rising waves, that pour
Over some low and rounded rock,
The coming mass, with one great shock,
Flowed o'er the shelter of my mound,
And raised me helpless from the ground.
As the huge shouldering billows bear,
Half in the sea and half in air,
A swimmer on their foaming crest,
So the foul throng beneath me pressed,
Swept me along, with curse and blow,
And flung me-where, I ne'er shall know.
When I awoke, a steady rain
Made rivulets across the plain;
And it was dark-oh! very dark.
I was so stunned as scarce to mark
The ghostly figures of the trees,
Or hear the sobbing of the breeze
That flung the wet leaves to and fro.
Upon me lay a dismal woe,
A boundless, superhuman grief,
That drew no promise of relief
From any hope. Then I arose
As one who struggles up from blows
By unseen hands; and as I stood
Alone, I thought that God was good,
To hide, in clouds and driving rain,
Our low world from the angel train
Whose souls filled heroes when the carth
Was worthy of their noble birth.
By that dull instinct of the mind
Which leads aright the helpless blind,
I struggled onward, till the dawn
Across the eastern clouds had drawn
A narrow line of watery gray;
And full before my vision lay
The great dome's gaunt and naked bones
Beneath whose crown the nation thrones
Her queenly person. On I stole,
With hanging head and abject soul,
Across the high embattled ridge,
And o'er the arches of the bridge.