And fathers, mothers, sisters, all
Sigh, and weep, and mourn
For brothers, lovers, kindred dear,
Friends that will ne'er return.
Our country calls for great rejoicing,
We've gained a victory,
But who can stay those sighs and tears,
This grief and misery?
THE AMERICAN TRAITOR'S CURSE.
DEATH OF THE REBEL COLONEL, JOHN WASHINGTON.,
SEPTEMBER 12TH, '61.
GOD of the Just, the True, the Free!
Let now a curse descend from Thee:-
A curse pure, glorious and grand
As ever breathed for Freedom's land.
God of the Free! O, hurl Thy curse
On traitors through the Universe-
The wretches who have dared to strike
Our Union's Altar and the Laws
That great Columbia's patriots made
For Liberty's and Virtue's cause!
May famine waste their dastard frames!
May History blast their hated names !
May all their memories be hurled
In horror through the shuddering world,
And let their praises only swell
Around the snake-wreathed walls of Hell!
FRANCIS CADDELL
DESTRUCTION OF THE U. S. DOCK, PENSACOLA, FLA.,
SEPT. 12TH, '61.
WHEN the dawn of creation was breaking,
To usher in bright balmy day,
The Goddess of Light, at her waking,
Was shrouded with curtains of spray,
That rose as the incense of morning,
From valleys resplendent with dew,
To deck the broad ocean of distance
In tints of the Red, White and Blue.
And far in the blue dome of Heaven,
Where stars with a soft, holy ray,
That have shown in an unbroken union
While ages have moldered away:
And Freedom, when journeying hither,
The earth with its blessings to strew,
Has gathered these trophies of glory,
gems for the Red, White and Blue.
When man braved the wrath of Jehovah
The flood-gates of Heaven arose
To deluge the earth in His anger,
And drive from existence His foes;
Still justice was tempered with mercy-
On cloud-crested banners He drew
His promise to all generations,
In symbols of Red, White and Blue.
And thus is our Banner of Freedom,
But tints of the glories above
Of Him who has made us a nation,
And bound us with garlands of love-
Which none on the earth shall dissever,
But each on our altars renew
The oath of unshaken devotion,
And trust in the Red, White and Blue.
REBEL ATTACK AT CHEAT MOUNTAIN, VA.,
SEPTEMBER 12TH, '61.
Ir is midnight, and a silence
Hangs about the tented camp,
Only broken in its stillness.
By the watchful sentry's tramp,
By the sighing of the breezes
Through the branches of the pines,
Or the watchword, softly whispered,
As we pass along the lines.
Soldiers sleeping, sweetly dreaming,
Of their homes far, far away,
Where the loved ones, kind and gentle,
Weary wait and watchful pray—
Resting now for that to-morrow
Which may call them to the frayGath'ring strength by nature's aidingStrength their brother men to slay.
Day is dawning, dimly, grayly,
In the border of the sky,
And the bugle soon will banish
Sleep from ev'ry soldier's eye.
Hark! a roaring like the tempest
When it breaks among the trees—
Like the simoon when it sweepeth
O'er the breast of India's seas!
Up and arm ye! Sound the bugle!
Not the tempest which ye hear:
'Tis the thunder of the war steeds-
'Tis the sound of foemen near!
Like the whirlwind on they're rushing!
Like them come, but come to die-
Finding foemen ever ready
For the fray, but not to fly!
Form battalions, calm and steady;
Let each aim be sure and true-
Let each "bullet find its billet"-
They are many, we are few!
There they darken-fire! Now hearken
To the shriek and to the groan—
Fix your bay'nets-charge ye boldly!
Nobly done-the battle's won!
THE BROTHERS' LAST MEETING.
AT THE ATTACK ON BOONVILLE, MO.,
SEPTEMBER 13TH, '61.
THEY bore him away from his first red field,
That warrior young and brave,
While the clear starlight of a Southern night
Fell still on his open grave.
In his cloak they wrapped his slumb'ring form,
Those comrades stern and grim;
Their steps were slow and their voices low!
And their eyes with tears were dim.
No mother's kiss on his brow is pressed;
No sister is weeping by;
No solemn prayer, on the evening air,
Goes up to the star-gemmed sky.
But tearless and white, in the ghastly light,
One form beside him stood:
His heart stood still, for his gleaming sword
Was bathed in a brother's blood.
Through the long, long day had the battle raged,
And when twilight's veil was drawn,
Like a peaceful dream, over hill and stream,
Still War's red tide surged on.
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