AFTER THE BATTLE OF MARIATOWN, MO.
SEPTEMBER 17TH, '61.
By the moon's pale light, to a gazing throng
Let me tell one tale, let me sing one song;
'Tis a tale devoid of an aim or plan,
'Tis a simple song of a one-armed man.
Till this very hour I could ne'er believe
What a tell-tale thing is an empty sleeve,
What a weird, queer thing is an empty sleeve.
It tells in a silent tone, to all,
Of a country's need, and a country's call,
Of a kiss and a tear for a child and wife,
And a hurried march for a nation's life;
Till this very hour who could e'er believe
What a tell-tale thing is an empty sleeve,
What a weird, queer thing is an empty sleeve?
It tells of a battle-field of gore
Of the sabre's clash-of the cannon's roar-
Of the deadly charge-of the bugle's note-
Of the gurgling sound in a foeman's throat-
Of the whizzing grape-of the fiery shell-
Of a scene that mimics the scenes of hell.
Till this very hour would you e'er believe
What a weird, queer thing is an empty sleeve?
Though it points to myriad wounds and scars,
Yet it tells that a flag, with the stripes and stars,
In God's own chosen time will take
Each place of the rag with the rattlesnake;
And it points to a time when that flag shall wave
O'er land where there breathes no cowering slave,
To the top of the skies let us all then heave
One proud huzza for the empty sleeve-
For the one-armed man with the empty sleeve!
SKIRMISH NEAR COLUMBUS, KY.
SEPTEMBER 18TH, '61.
"Think of me, dearest," the young soldier said,
As he clasped a fair maid to his resolute heart,
"It is but for a time, a very short time,
I'll come back again, never more to depart;
And I'll think of you, darling, when far, far away,
I march to the time of the drum and the fife,
Your smiles like bright sunbeams will brighten my path
Where ever I go, sweet pearl of my life.
"The war-cry is raised from the East to the West,
Our country's in danger and needs every arm,
Though terrors surround me, I'll still struggle on,
Your prayers my dear girl will shield me from harm.
Oh! how happy the dawning of that sunny morn,
That will welcome me back to friends and to thee,
With America's name still unblemished and pure,
'The home of the brave and the land of the free."
FRANCIS B. MURTHA.
MOTHER, I'VE COME HOME TO DIE.
AFTER THE CAPITULATION OF LEXINGTON, MO.,
SEPTEMBER 20тH, '61.
DEAR mother, I remember well
The parting kiss you gave to me, When merry rang the village bell, My heart was full of joy and glee; I did not dream that one short year Would crush the hopes that soar'd so high! Oh, mother dear, draw near to me,
Dear mother, I've come home to die.
Hark! mother, 'tis the village bell,
I can no longer with thee stay;
My country calls to arms, to arms,
The foe advance in fierce array!
The vision's past-I feel that now
For country I can only sigh;
Oh, mother dear, draw near to me,
Dear mother, I've come home to die.
Dear mother, sister, brother, all,
One parting kiss, to all good-bye;
Weep not, but clasp your hand in mine,
And let me like a soldier die !
I've met the foe upon the field
Where kindred fiercely did defy;
I fought for right. God bless the flag!
Dear mother, I've come home to die.
STORMING OF THE TOWN OF ROMNEY, VA.
SEPTEMBER 24TH, '61.
TOGETHER! together! Oh, why should we part?
Together in hand, together in heart!
Shoulder to shoulder, as ever before,
Oh, still let us strive for the Union of yore!
Oh, well may we bleed, as our forefathers bled,
For Liberty dies when the Union is dead.
Then, still let us cling to the Union of old;
It is better than all of our lives and our gold.
Northerner, Southerner, still you are one,
Spite of the foul deeds that traitors have done-
Spite of your bloodshed and spite of your hate!
Living or dying you are joined in your fate.
As one you have risen: as one you must fall;
And one flag or no flag must float over all,
For better or worse we've plighted our troth,
And the ruins of Union must bury us both.
Then bloody and long though the contest may be,
Our freemen must fight for the cause of the Free,
Though rivers of blood may yet deluge the land,
Our heart must not fail us, nor slacken our hand.
No counting the cost! for the Union is worth
All the lives of the South and lives of the North;
For what is of value to you and to me,
If the stars shall be torn from the flag of the Free?
Together! together! Join hands once again!
Though years be before us of toil and of pain.
Together! together! we conquer or fall;
For one flag or no flag must float over all!
SKIRMISH NEAR CHAPMANSVILLE, VA.,
SEPTEMBER 25TH, '61.
By the blue Potomac waters',
By the Rappahannock's line,
By the sunny Southern rivers,
'Neath the holly and the pine.
Falling in the shock of battle,
Wounded, in their blood they lie-
Pining with the dark malaria-
So our wounded patriots die.
In the city, in the village,
In the hamlet far away,
Sits the mothers, watching waiting
For their soldier boys to-day.
They are coming-daily coming,
One by one, and score by score,
In their leaden casings folded,
Underneath the flag they bore.
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