Then saw she the charge and cavalry's dash,
And bowie and sword, and sharp bayonet clash;
The cannon's bright glare and deafening roar
That told of its track in warm crimson gore!
Their rider and horse, o'ertaken by Death
Sank down on the sod vain by gasping for breath!
Ranks melting away not heeding the gun
Which was masked that day at bloody Bull Run!

But see ye her now, as haggard and pale
She starts to her feet with low moaning wail.
And wild staring eyes that piercing the gloom
Has conjured the scene to her own little room!
In the struggle of death, 'midst carnage and strife,
With his eye glazing o'er in fast ebbing life,
Lay that idolized form still clutching his gun,
As he writhed in his gore on the banks of Bull Run!

With a startling shriek she sank to the floor,
For the vision had riven the heart to the core,
And the sad, weary spirit wended its way
To a better reward than a "shilling per day.
Prophetical Death, that singles out some,
Had spoken to her the news that would come;
Of victims by scores as shouted each son—
"Onward to Richmond! by way of Bull Run.”

G. A. K.

TO THE KENTUCKY FARMERS.

BEFORE THE BATTLE OF SOMERSET, KY.,
MARCH 30TH, '63.

LEAVE your plowshares in the furrows,
Tillers of the fruitful soil;

Leave the grass unmown, ungathered,

Waste the products of your toil;
Think no longer of the reaping
Of the full and golden grain,
Only think about the harvest
Waiting on the battle-plain.

Throw aside your hoes and sickles,

Swing your keen edge scythes no more,
Draw the swords from out the scabbards

Which your patriot grandsires wore.
Shoulder arms and march united,
Singing joyous as you go,
To repel the Southern army,
To destroy the invading foe.

Be your country's bold defenders
"Till her dreadful day be past,
With your bodies for a rampart
Guard her, shield her to the last.
Your's is soil by Freedom hallowed,
Not a land for lords and slaves;
Let them find no dwelling-places,
Only death and bloody graves.

PARK BENJAMIN.

THE RETREAT.

REBEL RETREAT FROM KENTUCKY.

SAD Scene of woe!

MARCH 31ST, '63.

Disaster and defeat

Brood o'er the plain and hasten the retreat.
Outnumbered and surprised the patriot ranks,
In dire confusion seek the river's banks.

O'erwhelmed, they turn, but still disdained to yield,
As with reluctant steps they quit the field.
Each thundering roar from out yon gròve of pines
Sweeps like a tempest thro' their shattered lines;
Now 'neath the shock, the stricken column reels,
O'er dead and dying roll the crushing wheels
Now the foe outflanks,

Of fierce pursuers.

And hurls an avalanche upon their ranks.
Again they rally! By the river's side
They strive to stem the furious battle tide,
But all in vain. The havoc thickens round,
With carnage strewing the contested ground.
Behold, alas! their gallant leader fall,
His bosom reddened by the fatal ball!
Mark where, in crimson heaps, the wounded lie-
See how in agony they writhe and die.
Welcome, ye dusky shades of eve, that now
Creep o'r the scene from yonder mountain's brow,
Spread thy concealing clouds, O piteous night,
And shut the dreadful vision from my sight.

J. L. DUJARRIC.

OH, FAIR VIRGINIA!

GRAND REVIEW OF THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC,
APRIL 2D., '63

OH, fair Virginia, erring though thou art,
Thou still wilt clasp them closely to thy heart.
Watch o'er their slumbers. To thy stricken breast
Let the lost heroes lovingly be pressed.
Though traitors have lured thee from thy home,
And taught thy feet in wayward paths to roam,
Dimmed thy fair name, despoiled thee of thy charms.
And snatched thee ruthless from our sheltering arms
Still in thy bosom lives some fond regret,

Some flickering flame all unextinguished yet,

Some tender thought thou cans't not from thee cast,
Which in thy misery links thee to the past.
Thou too hast lost thy children, and dost mourn
Thy noble sons in battle from thee torn.
Then drop with us thy sympathising tears,
E'en as thou would'st have done in former years.
Take to thy breast and proudly cherish there
The holy trust committed to thy care-
Give them within thy heart of hearts a place,
And clasp them kindly in thy fond embrace.

W. H. CLARK.

THE INVESTMENT.

INVESTMENT OF WASHINGTON, N. C.,
APRIL 4TH, '63.

BUT, hark! the battle strife again is raging,
Fiercer than before,

And louder thunders in my startled ear
The loud artillery's roar.

Again our squadrons sweep the bloody plain-
Again, with fierce desire,

From out our cannon's deadly mouths

Leap forth their tongues of fire!

Onward comes apace a brave and fearless line,
With bayonets glancing low;

And battle-flags, of purest white and blue,
Are rushing toward the foe.

Full well we know each flaunting banner there :
It is the First Brigade—

The never repulsed dauntless hero host-
The famous First Brigade.

“Hurrah! hurrah!" they shout, and rushing on, Like a loose-cast Alpine snow,

They beat the terror-stricken cravens back
With one terrific blow.

“Hurrah! hurrah!" again our soldiers cried— “Hurrah!” the hills replied;

A faint low whispering word my comrade spoke

"Hurrah!" he said, and died.