Oh, then, a new oath let us solemnly swear,

To pause not, to halt not, nor rest on the way,
Till our flag, thro' the whole land, shall glow in the air,
And treason is buried forever and aye.

Let us move as one man, with the might of the free,
Though partisans falter and cowards deride,
Till the traitors submit from the gulf to the sea,
To Union and Freedom-our glory and pride,

EDWARD WILLET.

AM I FORGOTTEN?

AFTER THE BATTLE OF DUG SPRING, MO.

AUGUST 2D '61.

'MID the clangor of arms and the clash of the battle,
By Faté, dearest one, is thy fortune now cast;
The hiss of the shell and the musketry's rattle
Are borne to thine ears on Wars terrible blast:
But as with firm step, unappalled by the danger,
Led on by the flag of the brave and the free,
Thou treadest the fields where pale death is no stranger,
O, tell me, my love, think'st thou ever of me?

And tell me, when night's dusky pennon's are waving
Concealing the free-brooding over the foes-
When the moon the red fields with her silver is laying

And wrapt in thy mantle thou seekest repose,

Doest thou thro' the dim aisles of the Past ever wander And think of the one that's e'er thinking of thee? Dost thy spirit in dreams over other days ponder,

And are thy dreams sweeter for being of me?

MONROE G. CARLTON.

THE PICKET FOUND MISSING..

SURRENDER OF FORT FILLMORE, TEXAS.
AUGUST 2D, '61.

THE news of the battle was sent thro' the land,
Ev'ry sentence was read and re-read again;
And our hearts were relieved of a terrible fear,
We found not his name 'mong the wounded or slain.

Day after day we watched for a letter,

And coupled his name with bright glory and fame, But days, weeks, and months passed swiftly away'Twas strange, very strange, yet no letter came.

We heard the report of the soldiers returning,

And knew by the cheers that the heroes were near;
With hearts buoyed up with hope and sweet pleasure,
We rushed to the meeting of him that was dear.
Thro' each column we searched, ev'ry visage scanned,
Hoping, still doubting, o'ercome with despair;
Friends mingled with friends in joyous delight—
All seemed so happy-but he was not there.

The brain 'gan to whirl, and our eyes grew dim-
A terrible dread took the place of our glee ;
And our hearts, too, beat wildly in anguish and pain,
Not wounded or slain, then where could he be?

They said he was ordered on duty one night,
The same watch he kept so often before;
And when the grand round challeng'd the pickets, alas!
He was found missing, and ne'er was seen more.

Ah! he was the pride and hope of our household-
A star of bright honor was set on his brow;
His smile was like sunshine, so pleasant and sweet-
Oh! where will we find the "missing one" now.

FRANCIS B. MURTHA.

THE RELIEF.

AT MANASSAS JUNCTION, va.

AUGUST 3D, '61.

'Tis Night! The Camp's in sleep profound,
The guardsman tramps his watchful round;
While sentries march with shoulder'd guns,
From post to post the watch cry runs :

"Stand! Who comes there? Pass not the line!" "A Friend!" "Advance with countersign!"

"The Union Flag!" "Pass, Friend! Good Night! "The Union Flag!" Pass, Friend! Good night!"

'Tis morn! the sunbeam lopes its light On glistening gun and bayonet bright; The wearied sentry treads his rounds,

Till soon the welcome drum resounds!

"Stand? Who comes there? Pass not line !"

RETURNING SOLDIERS.

RETURN OF THE THREE MONTH'S VOLUNTEERS.
AUG. 5TH, '61,

WARM Welcome home, ye noble northern bands;
We bid you welcome with our hearts and hands,
Always our dear, but now our dearest ones,
Our closest kindred, fathers, brothers, sons.
Warm welcome, soldiers, howsoe'er you come,
Whether you keep step to the stirring drum,
Or maimed and feeble, faltering and slow,
Sad victims of the contest, and the foe,
Or borne on litters with expiring breath,
Or stretched in all the majesty of death.
We bid you welcome, oh, ye gallant braves,
To happy lives or honorable graves.

The dear survivor shall have love and fame,
The loyal dead a consecrated name—
Nor only now; for after years shall tell
The story of your deeds and triumphs well.
The generations that are yet to be,

With flowing eyes, your country's flag shall see,
Emblem of joy, pride, glory, and success,
Without stripe erased, one star the less,
As all its dazzling hues and dots expand
From sea to sea, o'er one united land,
Shall cannonize your memories late and long,
Subjects of eloquence and themes of song,
Martyrs and patriots, whose death sublime
Have made our Union holy for all time!

PARK BENJAMIN·

THE SOLDIER'S WIDOW.

SKIRMISH AT POINT OF ROCKS, VA.,
Aug. 5th, '61.

Wo! FOR my vine clad home!

That it should ever be so dark to me,

With its bright threshold and its whispering wee. That it should ever come,

Fearing the lonely echo of a tread,

Beneath the roof-tree of my glorious dead!

Lead on! my orphan boy!

Thy home is not so desolate to thee,

And the low shiver in the linden tree,

May bring to thee a joy,

But oh! how dark the bright home before thee, To her who with a joyous spirit bore thee!

Lead on! for thou art now

My sole remaining helper God hath spoken,
And the strong heart I leaned upon is broken;
And I have seen his brow,

The forehead of my upright one, and just,
Trod by the hoof of battle to the dust.

He will not meet thee where

We blessed thee at the eventide, my son,

And when the shadows of the night steal on,

He will not call to prayer.

The lips that melted, giving thee to God,

Are in the icy keeping of the sod!