Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

When serving for a bayonet shield;
His gun had in the river sank,
When it had helped him to its bank;
A miniature all stained with gore
Upon his manly breast he bore,

But whether of mother, or loving wife,
Sister, or a betrothed in life,

We ne'er shall know-the crimson stain
Left woman only-thoughts remain,
That even now with silent tear
Some maiden mourns her volunteer.

A lock of hair on his person found,
With some withered flowers clinging 'round,
And lines from a brother now no more,
Were all the contents of his pocket's store.
The hair, if we judge from its glossy flow,
Crowned the brow of a maiden pure as snow;
The flowers contained one blooming spot,
'Twas the emblem of love, "forget-me-not."
The brother's lines-their history tell-
Both died for the land beloved so well!
If ever valor stamped repose,

If ever wounds from duty rose
If ever death a glory cast,

To lead the future-name the past,
'Twas that which heralded the bier
Of our departed Volunteer.

The family of the stranger friend
That led him home, and saw his end,
Were there-and soldiers lined the grave,
Who three loud warlike vollies gave,
Then left him quietly abed

In the gorged city of the dead.

G. C. HOWARD.

TOUCH THE ELBOW.

CAPTURE OF MILFORD, MO.,

DECEMBER 18TH, '61.

Where battle-music greets our ear
Our guns are sighted at the foe,
Then nerve the hand and banish fear,
And, comrades, touch the elbow !

Home and country, patriots fire,
Kindle our souls with fervid glow,
And Southern traitors shall retire
When Northmen touch the elbow!

A cannon shot may plow our rank,
And through it strike its deadly blow;
Close up the space the ball made blank,
And, comrades, touch the elbow!

Though many brave men bite the sod,
And crimson heart's blood freely flow,
Shout, as their spirits soar to God,

On, comrades, touch the elbow!

Now, show the steel of which you're made,
The General signals march: Halloo!
Double the quickstep, First Brigade—
Charge, comrades, touch the elbow !

Touch the elbow now, my boys,
Comrades, touch the elbow;
Double the quickstep, First Brigade-
Charge, comrades, touch the elbow !

BRIG. GEN. MARTINDALE, U. S. V.

THE SOLDIER'S SOLILOQUY.

CAPTURE OF CAMP SHAWNEE MOUND, MO.,
DECEMBER 18TH, '61.

THE heath this night must be my bed,
The bracken curtain for my head,
My lullaby the warder's tread,

Far, far from love and thee, Mary.

To-morrow eve more stilly laid,
My couch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid;
It will not waken me, Mary.

I may not, dare not, fancy now!
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow,
I dare not think upon thy vow,

And all it promised me, Mary.
No fond regrets must Norman know;
When bursts Clan Alpine on the foe,
His heart must be like bended bow,
His foot like arrow free, Mary.

A time will come with feeling fraught;
For if I fall in battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying thought,

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary.
And if returned from conquered foes,
How blithely will the evening close,
How sweet the linnet sing repose

To my young bride and me, Mary,

A. C. SHERMAN.

I'LL COME BACK AGAIN.

BEFORE THE SECOND BATTLE AT HUDSON, MO.,
DECEMBER 20TH, '61.

FAREWELL, my dear Katty, my own darling Katty,
The time it has come and I must depart;

But to know that you will think of me, darling,
'Mid peril and danger will cheer my sad heart.
For your bright smile of kindness will ever be near me,
To soften my sorrow and relieve every pain;
And if fortune but spares me, my own darling Katty,
When the war is all over I'll come back again.

Farewell, my dear Katty, my own darling Katty,
The sun it is up, and I must away;

The boys now are marching and handkerchiefs waving,
So, farewell, dear Katty, I'll no longer delay.
You'll think of me sometimes, and pray for me, too,

When you hear an account of the wounded and slain; And if God only spares me, my own darling Katty, When the war is all over, I'll come back again.

Farewell, my dear Katty, my own darling Katty, One kiss now at parting, and then I'll be gone; The drums are a-beating, the music is playing,

While friends with kind words are cheering us on. We are fighting for honor and glory, my darling The rebels for plunder, and booty, and gain; So, when we have whipp'd them back into submission, And restored the old Union, I'll come back again.

FRANCIS B. MURTHA.

WHEN THE DIN OF WAR IS ENDED.

BATTLE OF DRANESVILLE, VA.,

DECEMBER 20тH, '61.

Rolling drums and thundering cannon,
Cheerful hearts with smiling faces,
Fire and sword, and fearful terrors,
Pleasant dreams of heavenly places-
Traitors, demons, perfect devils,
Loyal patriotic souls,

Broken hearts and ruined prospects,
Fortunes caught in gilded bowls-
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble,

Pleasure, calmness, and delight,
Lights and shadows how they double,
No alternative but fight.

Hear the dying groans of brothers;
And again the songs of mirth;
Hear the shrieks of mangled soldiers,
And the gladsome songs of earth-
Blooming fields and waving blossoms,
Gardens filled with blessings rare,
Man destroys what God bequeathed him,
And rejects the good and fair-
When the din of war is ended,

And the sound of battle's strife,
When our hope to live contented,
And be happy hence through life-
Hasten on, oh, God, that coming;

Let thy righteous ways of peace, Spread their flowery paths before us, And command that war shall cease.

H. A. M.

« AnteriorContinuar »