THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE.

BATTLE OF CORNIFEX FERRY, VA.

AFAR upon

SEPTEMBER 10тн, '61.

the battle-plain,

The dewy eve descended,

Where our young Henry dying lay,

Amid the dead untended.

The pulse of life was ebbing fast,
His eyes were dim already,
His feeble voice was faint and low,
His gory hand unsteady!

"Oh God!" the dying soldier cried,

"If she were only here—”

When "Henry! Henry," through the gloom,

Rang in his dying ear.

Then fondly clasped within her arms,

She kissed his marble brow,

He only smiled-his spirit passed,

For death had claimed him now!

"Awake! awake! my own beloved!”
The frantic maiden cried;

Then sorrowing sunk upon his corpse,
And ere the morn she died!
Now calmly sleeping on that plain,
They've laid them side by side;
Secure from all the storms of life,

The soldier and his bride !

W. A. DEVON.

THE BIVOUAC.

SKIRMISH AT LEWINSVILLE, VA.,
SEPTEMBER 11TH, '61.

THE camp is all quiet-my comrades are sleeping-
They dream of their homes, and loved ones dear,
The slow rising moon, with its light gently creeping,
Shows eyelids now wet with the slow falling tear,

There lays a young soldier-in years but a boy—
His musket beside him-cold pillow of steel-
The weapon to him is a pride and a joy,

As he dreams to the traitor a death it will deal.

And he dreams, too, of hearts that anxiously fear
Each bulletin sad with its grim battle story,
May tell that he, whom they all love so dear,
Is in death lying low in his youth-yet in glory,

A stern visaged man is lying near by

Fitfully sleeping, and fitfully dreaming-
His country he loves-for that country he'll die—
His brow this reveals in the moonlight's gleaming.

Thus resting in groups, on this now peaceful spot,
Lie father and brother-the lover, the son,
To-morrow to waken 'midst rattling of shot,

The shrieks of the wounded, and war of the gun.

When the next risen sun shall have sunk in the West,
And the next evening stars shine o'er us on high,
Those sleeping here now, will take their last rest
'Neath the sod where they fight but to gallantly die!

ANONYMOUS.

WITH THE SLAIN.

BATTLE OF ELK WATER, VA.

SEPTEMBER 11тн, '61.

IN homes of affluence and wealth,
'Mid joy and gayety,

Where live the poor and lowly,
In haunts of misery.

In city, town and village,

On mountain hill and dale,
Where sunshine is, or nature blooms,

Is heard the low sad wail.

The young wife anxiously watches,

From morn 'till close of day,

Praying and weeping the whole night long,

For a husband far away.

In vain she sobs his dear loved name,

Tho' hope hath nearly fled,

But still she weeps, and hopes and sighs,
Nor dreams that he is dead,

The mother thinks of her only boy,
Her joy, her hope, and pride,

And pictures scenes of happiness,

Her darling by her side.

But far away from friends and home,
On the dreaded battle plain,
Regardless of all care and strife,
He numbers with the slain.

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.

FRANCIS B. MURTHA.

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.

THE BIRTH OF OUR BANNER.

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,
As 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.