AT THE CAPTURE OF BRUNSWICK. GA.,
MARCH 2D, '62.
THE war-cloud crossed the battle plain,
And heroes bloody in the fight,
Pushed on among the mangled slain,
To strike for Liberty and Right!
Of all the banners waving there,
Was one more honored than the restThe Stars and Stripes, that kissed the air, "I'm Monarch of the West!"
Columbia's Eagle in the sky,
Peered down upon the smoky plain; And as the war shouts rose on high, He "victory" echoed back again! Then Heaven's archways loudly rung With melodies from those at rest, And angel-voices sweetly sung,
"Long reign the Monarch of the West.""
Then Peace came pleading on the field,
To stop the fearful scenes of woe;
And Mercy, she had gently kneeled,
To soothe the dying friend or foe;
And while our banner waved on high,
With "Victory" written on its crest-
A nation's prayers sped to the sky,
"God bless the Monarch of the West.""
Thus when a thousand years have passed,
And this fair land is gray with age,
Shall not these deeds of glory last,
As jewels on Time's mighty page?—
And all the earth resound with praise,
For those who bravely stood the test,
Thus perilled all, in darker days,
To save the "Monarch of the West!"
AFTER THE CAPTURE OF COLUMBUS, KY,
MARCH 3D, '62.
THE day had passed, and stillness reigned,
Where all was toil, and care, and strife;
Grim twilight drew her shadows o'er
The varied scenes of busy life.
One by one the stars peeped forth;
High in the heavens the moon arose,
Covering the earth with silv'ry light,
While wearied nature woo'd repose.
Sleep sought the couch of rich and poor,
Relieving sorrow's poignant smart ;
For a time at least, peace held full sway;
Contentment cheer'd each restless heart.
Through happy dream-land fancy stray'd,
Culling flowers of brightest hue,
For all seemed fair-but nature slept
To wake again with grief anew.
One by one the hours passed by
Twelve o'clock, and all seemed well;
On the watchman's ear most solemnly
Fell the strokes of the midnight bell;
When suddenly, as if by magic,
Loud shouting came from far and near;
People leap'd to the windows quick,
And trembling stood in dread and fear.
extra, extra,' extra,"
"Another glorious victory!" Cried the newsboy, madly running Thro' the silent, slumb'ring city. In eager haste the news was read,
Describing how they fought and died;
Another battle had been fought and won,
And thousands killed on either side.
No names were given. The bulletin
Said all had fought as fight the brave,
For country, home, and liberty;
Each gain'd a soldier's honored grave.
And many a prayer was said that night
For trusty friends, and lovers dear,
And callous hearts, in pity moved,
E'en shed the sympathetic tear.
Far away from home and kindred,
Ne'er to see the light of day;
Far away from those that loved them,
Cold and ghastly now they lay.
No useless coffins to enclose them,
Neither hearse nor funeral train,
Not e'en a stone to mark the spot,
Where nobly fighting they were slain.
THE EAGLE'S REPLY—AN ALLEGORY.
AT THE BATTLE OF PEA RIDGE, ARK.,
MARCH 7TH, '62.
I'VE bathed my plumes in the golden rays
Of the day-god's morning beam,
And slept on the clouds as they idly lay
Like fairies in a dream.
I've screamed aloud with the tempest too
Since God first gave us light,
I've ever been to the brave and true
A talisman for right,
I've sailed above in the ether blue,
When the world was calm below;
From mountain tops I've sipped the dew,
Or played with the glistening snow.
I've slowly sailed o'er the battle-field,
When the day of strife was o'er,
And saw on the dying soldier's shield,
The bird of their native shore.
But I've never placed my weary feet
'Neath the roof of a temple high,
Where traitor hearts each Sabbath meet,
And our banner does not fly.
I've never bent my back to hold
That sacred book of earth,
Where priests with sermons dark and cold,
Can never know its worth.
I claim no kin to the Alta's bird,
But hold it in disdain,
And ask the while if it ever heard
Columbia's melting strain.
And the Nation's flag shall ever wave
While I part the airs of heaven,
And I'll ever be to the loyal brave
Their emblem God has given.
THE LORD IS IN THE STRIFE.
CAPTURE OF FORT CLINCH, ST. MARY'S, FLA.
MARCH 7TH, '62.
MINE eyes have seen the glory of
The coming of the Lord,
He is trampling out the vintage,
Where the grapes of wrath are stored; And hath loosed the fearful lightning Of his terrible swift sword.
I have see Him in the watchfires
Of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded him an altar,
In the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence
By the dim and flaring lamps.
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