My small weak hand would waver
The shortest sword to bear;

But he stands steady in the ranks,
And holds his musket there.
My faint heart would falter

The battle-ground to see;

But his is strong in freedom's might,

He fights for her and me.

I am watching and waiting,

As mothers watch and wait, Whose sons are in the army now, And it is growing late. My life's past its morning,

It's near sunset in the sky

Oh! I long once more to clasp him In my arms before I die.

Yet farther off the army goes-
He will return no more,
Till our glorious flag is free again
To float o'er sca and shore.
Where'er it waved in days gone by,
Its folds again shall rest,
From the depths of the lowest valleys,
To the highest mountain crest.

And he, my boy, my darling,

The pride of my old heart!
Where'er his place may be, I know
He will fulfil his part.
Not until the war is over

Shall we meet in fond embrace.
Time, press swiftly on the hours,
Till I see his pleasant face!

Above the hero write,

The young, half-sainted: His country asked his life, His life he gave.

THE TRUE FLAG OF PEACE.

The battle is ended, the cannon is still,
The flag we defended waves out on the hill;
Around us are lying the children of God-
The dead and the dying-their pillows the sod;
But the flag on the hill, to us that remain,
Its glory shall thrill to fight for again;
Then up from your trenches with sabre and gun,
The fire that quenches the rays of the sun
Streams out from the Blue of the flag on the hill,
And tempers the hue of the battle-red rill.

The smoke of the battle is yet in the sky,
The musketry rattle meets not with reply;
Pale faces, and ghastly, upturned to the day—
Mark ye, how fastly the life ebbs away.
Our Father! in pity, look out from above,
Look down from yon City of Mercy and Love,
And deal with us kindly, pour oil on the flood,
Nor let us walk blindly in by-ways of blood;
Our country, our duty, our banner unfurled,
The emblem of beauty, the pride of the world.
The battle is ended, but not the good fight;
The flag we defended is yet in our sight;
There are traitors behind us and traitors before us,
But the flag of mankind is with us and o'er us;,
None other we know, none other shall lead us.
Strike, freemen, the blow, that nations may heed us!
'Tis the flag of our heart, in steel let us wear it,
And hold it apart from hands that would tear it;
There's love in its hue, and its stars shall increase-
The Red, White, and Blue is the true flag of peace.
B. S. W.

they swarm

Out from the forest aisles, lofty and large.

Our Colonel turns pale, drops his beckoning arms, But hark, boys, the order: "Fix bayonetscharge!"

THE EAGLE OF THE EIGHTH WISCONSIN.

Poised in the azure depths of air,
In his home so near the sun,

Like one, just brought in being there,

And whose flight had not begun—

And he knew not whether his home to seek

In that dazzling world of light,

Or glide far down to some snowy peak

Of bleak Nevadian height—

An eagle's slowly moving wing

Lingered between the sun

And a boy, whose right arm clasped a maid,
While his left one held his gun;

And the proud bird's shadow nerved his heart,
Though he knew not whence the power;
But he felt there came the strength to part,
And the courage for the hour.

The roll of the stirring drum came clear,
The bugle's blast came shrill,
The eagles shone on his dark blue coat,
And the eagle shadowed him still;
And proudly his bayonet flashed that day
On the scenes of his early joys,
As he grasped his gun and marched away
With the Eighth Wisconsin boys.
And proudly the regiment trod the street,
As it swept from town to town,
And still on its waving standard sheet
A shadow unnoticed came down;
Now its ranks are filled, and it moves along
On the swift and crowded train-
Now pauses amid the hurrying throng,
Or speeds o'er the sounding plain.

No longer the eagle in eyrie rests,

But his straining flight doth keep,

As he follows the train o'er the sounding plain,
Or the keel through the foaming deep--
Till when, 'mid the wilds of the rude frontier,
The Eighth are guarding the line,
They observe his wheeling circuits near
The top of a distant pine.

"Come, now for a shot at him. Who's afraid
To bring down the eagle ?" said one.

But the boy on whose right had leaned the maid
While his left arm held his gun,
Cried: "Hold! would'st thou fight in a holy war,
And its creed hast thou not heard,

And would'st take the life we are fighting for,
For the sake of a poor dead bird?"
The eagle's circuits, in slow descent,
Came nearer, day by day,

Till one morn he sat on the ridge of the tent,
Where a wounded soldier lay-

No more, whose right arm clasped a maid,
No more, whose left a gun,

And no more the eagle's shadow played
Between him and the sun.

He folded his heavy wings, and slept
On the ridge of the sick boy's tent,
Or with flashing eye his vigils kept
On all that came and went.

Do you wonder that soon as the soldier stirred
Forth for the air and the sun,

On his shoulder perched the fierce, grim bird,
Ere its strength could bear his gun?

And when, once more, he proudly marched
To a soldier's pains and joys,
The eagle sat on his shoulder perched,
'Mid the Eighth Wisconsin boys;
And now where the wave of battle flows,
And its deathly flashes gleam,

And on their ranks the foemen close,

Till their blood and their banners stream

In mass confused and mingled flow,
And shell or shrapnel sings

Its terrible whistling song of woe,
The eagle flaps his wings,*
And the flash of his fierce, majestic eye
Outshines the bayonet's gleam;
And over the soldiers' battle-cry,

And the hiss of the shells that scream,

And the roar of the fierce artillery,
Rises the eagle's cry,

As if the Genius of the Free
Inspired his voice and eye.
The brave Wisconsins hear that cry

And answer with shout and cheer,
"Tis the voice of the Genius of Liberty,"
And they fight on without fear.

Thus from the banks of far Osage,
To Chickamauga's shore-
'Mid Donelson's relentless rage,

And Vicksburgh's thundering roar-
On many a conquered battle-field,
Unshadowed by defeat-

As State by State the foemen yield,
From field and fort retreat-

The Eighth Wisconsin marches on, By danger undeterred,

A correspondent of the Iroqua (Wis.) Times gives the following, among other particulars, relative to the eagle of the Eighth Wisconsin regiment, which the soldiers have named "Old Abe:"

"When the regiment is engaged in battle, Old Abe manifests the fiercest delight. At such a time he will always be found in his appropriate place, at the head of company D. To be seen in all his glory, he should be seen when the regiment is envel oped in the smoke of battle. Then the eagle, with spread pinions, jumps up and down on his perch, uttering such wild, fearful screams as an eagle alone can utter. The fiercer, wilder, and louder the storm of battle, the fiercer, wilder, and louder the scream of the eagle. Twice Old Abe has been hit by secession bullets; one shot carried away a third part of his tail-feathers. He is a universal favorite, and has been carried with the

regiment through seven States. Thousands flock to see him,

i and he is fast becoming famous,"

And one of them bears on his right a gun,
On his left the noble bird.

And his dream by night is a vision sweet,
Of a far Wisconsin glade,

Where he meets with his first and last retreat,
Outflanked, right and left, by a maid.

THE BLUE COAT.

THE BLUE COAT OF THE SOLDIER.

You asked me, little one, why I bowed,
Though never I passed the man before?
Because my heart was full and proud
When I saw the old blue coat he wore.

The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat,
The old blue coat the soldier wore.

I knew not, I, what weapon he chose,
What chief he followed, what badge he wore;
Enough that in the front of foes

His country's blue great-coat he wore.
The blue great-coat, etc.

Perhaps he was born in a forest hut,

Perhaps he had danced on a palace-floor;
To want or wealth my eyes were shut,
I only marked the coat he wore.

The blue great-coat, etc.

It mattered not much if he drew his line
From Shem or Ham, in the days of yore;
For surely he was a brother of mine,
Who for my sake the war-coat wore.
The blue great-coat, etc.

He might have no skill to read or write,
Or he might be rich in learned lore;
But I knew he could make his mark in fight,
And nobler gown no scholar wore

Than the blue great-coat, etc.

It may be he could plunder and prowl,
And perhaps in his mood he scoffed and swore;
But I would not guess a spot so foul

On the honored coat he bravely wore.
The blue great-coat, etc.

He had worn it long, and borne it far;
And perhaps on the red Virginian shore,
From midnight chill till the morning-star,
That worn great-coat the sentry wore.
The blue great-coat, etc.

When hardy Butler reined his steed
Through the streets of proud, proud Baltimore,
Perhaps behind him, at his need,

Marched he who yonder blue coat wore.
The blue great-coat, etc.

Perhaps it was seen in Burnside's ranks,
When Rappahannock ran dark with gore;
Perhaps on the mountain-side with Banks,
In the burning sun no more he wore
The blue great-coat, etc.
Perhaps in the swamps was a bed for his form,
From the seven days' battling and marching sore,

Or with Kearny and Pope 'mid the steelly storm,
As the night closed in, that coat he wore.
The blue great-coat, etc.

Or when right over, as Jackson dashed,
That collar or cape some bullet tore;

Or when far ahead Antietam flashed,

He flung to the ground the coat that he wore.
The blue great-coat, etc.

Or stood at Gettysburgh, where the graves
Rang deep to Howard's cannon roar;
Or saw with Grant the unchained waves
Where conquering hosts the blue coat wore.
The blue great-coat, etc.

That garb of honor tells enough,

Though I its story guess no more;

The heart it covers is made of such stuff,
That coat is mail which that soldier wore.
The blue great-coat, etc.

He may hang it up when the peace shall come,
And the moths may find it behind the door;
But his children will point, when they hear a drum,
To the proud old coat their father wore.
The blue great-coat, etc.

And so, my child, will you and I,

For whose fair home their blood they pour,
Still bow the head, as one goes by
Who wears the coat that soldier wore.

The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat,
The old blue coat the soldier wore.

REBEL PRISONERS IN OHIO.-The following account of the treatment of rebel prisoners in the Ohio Penitentiary was given in the Richmond Examiner of March seventeenth, 1864:

The experiences of this war have afforded many examples of Yankee cruelty which have produced an impression more or less distinct upon the enlightened portions of the world. But the statement which we proceed to give, takes precedence of all that has ever yet been narrated of the atrocities of the enemy; and it is so remarkable, both on account of its matter and the credit that must naturally attach to its authorship, that we doubt whether the so-called civilized world of this generation has produced anywhere any well-authenticated story of equal horror.

The statement we give to our readers is that we have just taken from the lips of Captain Calvin C. Morgan, a brother of the famous General Morgan, who arrived in Richmond under the recent flag of truce, which covered the return of several hundred of our prisoners. Captain Morgan was among those of his brother's expedition who, in last July, were incarcerated in the Penitentiary of Ohio. On entering this infamous abode, Captain Morgan and his companions were stripped in a reception-room and their naked bodies examined there. They were again stripped in the interior of the prison, and washed in tubs by negro convicts; their hair cut close to the scalp, the brutal warden, who was standing by, exhorting the negro barber to "cut off every dd lock of their rebel hair." After these ceremonies, the officers were locked up in cells, the dimensions of which were thirty-eight inches in width, six and a half feet in length, and about the same in height. In these narrow abodes our brave soldiers were left to pine, branded as felons, goaded by "convict-drivers," and insulted