Thus in the battle, I upheld And thought how sweet it were to die, Toward my trobbing heart, I cried with joy, midst shriek and groan, A. P. AUPER. RALLYING ROUND THEIR STANDARD. MASSACRE AT FORT RIPLEY, MINNESOTA, "TIs heard, 'tis heard, that dreadful sound- While lightnings from the columns flash. Grand woods ring out with trumpet blast, Their murd'rous fire that horror lends. Hostile bands in desperate fray, The booming cannon lowly lay, Batteries send in bounding notes, Their messengers of speedy death; The toesin sound with clearness floats, The slain they strew the dewy heath. The dying cries of suffering life, And onward fly the leaden hail. Warm, crimson tides flow fast from breasts With which the will of power abounds. The soldier falls! aye falls in blood, Of comrades shattered, dying, dead; 'Tis on that field where strong he stood, He claims a warrior's hard death bed! How desolate once happy bowers, Where naught was known but home delights; Both cot aud mansion 'neath the sway Quick rallying 'round their standard high, Oh, dearly bought, unholy prize, At cost of human creature's doom; Ye rulers, shun the sacrifice, And save the many hearts from gloom! WILLIAM J. M'CLURE. DIRGE OF THE RAPPAHANNOCK. AFTER THE BATTLE ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK, VA., AUGUST 21ST, '62. Он, there are thoughts that have no form, That lingers in the frozen North, Till changing skies give their dark whirlwinds birth. Such, Rappahannock, is thy tale, That rushes like thy tide to ocean's deepWould that some ocean-bosom might prevail To hold the burden which each bound doth leap Not Israel's seat whose shadowy vale of death No sun shall ever pierce with ray of cheerful light. Ye spirits, marshal up your ranks again, Ye knew the horrors of that day of gloom, Gather your serried hosts and let the plain Where hangs the drapery of a nation's tomb, Echo the tramp that march'd you to your doom! No more the thought is idle as a dream, Yet Rappahannock's flowing stream must know The mutter'd curse that hath the raven-scream, « On all her banks let deadly nightshade grow," Nor poet's line e'er change that bitter curse of woe. With timid fear the child shall lave his feet, To drive all joyous life from freedom's grave, Ah! 'tis a tale which shall curdle in the veins And pulpit men, whose mission was of love, Yet clamor'd for this fray with vulture beak, In memory led these gloomy banks shall rove Where waken'd conscience her vengeance wreak, And tell stern truths the heart alone can speak. It hath been writ that war was once in heaven, Whose starry heights gleam'd with infernal fires, That dragon-blood hath well its fruitage given, And hell's deep hate the human fiend inspires, That mingles in the heart where pity's voice expires. Walk o'er these grounds, ye sordid men of gain, On Rappahannock's ripen'd fields of grain The chivalry of peace changes in war, To midnight prowl the fierce hyenas make, It fell in death, but stripped and naked, take ANONYMOUS. MY CAPTAIN BEND LOW. AT THE BATTLE OF CENTERVILLE, VA., AUGUST 28TH, '62. My noble commander, thank God you have come; My soul has not wandered one moment from theirs. By the light that I saw on her radiant brow She watches, and waits there, and prays for me now. Some day when you leave this dark place, and go free |