Sad the smile the mother wore:"Sweet, mamma has lost her lover, She will blush and sing no more Till the great Rebellion's over!

"Till the hush of peace shall come, Like a quiet fall of snow,

And the merry troops shall go Marching back to hearts at home.""Papa-home?" the baby lisped, Balmy breathed as summer clover; "Yes, my darling, home at last, When the sad Rebellion's over!"

Entered at the open door,

While the mother soothed her child,
One who neither spoke nor smiled,
Standing on the sunny floor.

Wistful eyes met mournful eyes,
Hope took flight, like airy plover.
Ah! poor heart, thou'lt wait in vain

Till the great Rebellion's over!

Heart, poor heart! too weak to save: Vain your tears, your longings vain,— Summer winds and summer rain

Beat already on his grave!

From the flag upon his breast,
(Truer breast it ne'er shall cover !)
From its mouldering colors, wet
With his blood, shall spring beget
Lily, rose, and violet,

And wreath of purple clover,

With the flag upon his breast,

They have hid away your lover ;-
Weep not, wail not! let him rest,
Having bravely stood the test,
He shall rank among the blest,
When the great Rebellion's over!

BRING THE HERO HOME.

IN MEMORY OF GENERAL E. D. BAKER.

He fell in the front of battle,
Where the brave would wish to die,
Rather than bow to the traitor,
Or humble our banner and fly.
Giving for all that was given
Powder and lead and shell;
Front to front with their bravest,
Undaunted, unconquered, he fell.

To right and left and before him,
A myriad host in power,
Earth torn with thundering iron,
Air rent with a leaden shower;
A river unbridged behind him,
Rolling its angry tide,—
O'erpowered, betrayed, and deserted,
A hero the patriot died.

Died like the world's first martyr

By the rebel hand of Cain,

A victim on Blunder's red altar,
Through others' incompetence slain.
A sacrifice offered by Folly
That tampered with precious life,
By plunging his gallant legion
In cruel and purposeless strife.

He would not flee from the foeman,
Nor shame the heroes he led;
Rather than life by surrender,
Death with his own brave dead.
Facing the rifle and cannon,
Sulphur and sabre and frown,
True to his country and honor,

Our gallant "Gray Eagle" went down.

Gather the dust of the mighty,
Sleeping so quietly there,

Wash out the blotches of crimson
Clotting his silvery hair.

Woe to the traitors whose bullets
Have channelled a path for the stain,-
That eloquent tongue stilled forever,
And shattered that wonderful brain.

Silenced and hushed and frozen,
Tongue and lip and word,
Brave as the spirit of Freedom,

And true as his flashing sword;
Stilled the heart that quailed not,
Before them in forum or field,
That alone to Death would surrender,
And only to Destiny yield.

Take from the field where he battled, Up from the field where he bled, His dust; let no soil of the traitor Give grave to our glorious dead.

For Liberty dwelt in his spirit;

And freemen should fashion his grave

Beneath free humanity's banner,

And not the cursed flag of the slave.

So hither, his relics bring hither,
And let him pass gently to rest,

Like Mars when his night march is ended,—
Within his loved land of the West;
Where Poesy, chanting in sorrow,
Shall number the glories he won,
And Eloquence, silent and weeping,
Grieves for her favorite son.

Where comes the voice of the West wind,
From the unmanacled sea,
Free as his chain-spurning spirit,
Let his last dwelling-place be.
Heaven's bright sentinels guarding,
Types of his soul's clear flame,
His requiem chanted by Ocean,
Undying and grand as his fame.

In the early part of the rebellion, a Mr. RANDALL, of Southern proclivities, gave forth the following song, which, having some literary merits, and being set to music, was in the mouth of all secessiondom, and in the invasion of the State by General Lee's "liberating army" it was a sort of rallying song, but greatly to their disgust, it failed to touch the hearts of their friends, and this Southern ballad has scarce been heard of since:

MY MARYLAND.

BY J. B. RANDALL.

THE despot's heel is on thy shore,

Maryland!

His torch is at thy temple door,

Maryland!

Avenge the patriotic gore
That wept o'er gallant Baltimore
And be the battle-queen of yore,

Maryland! My Maryland!

Hark to a wandering son's appeal,

Maryland!

My mother State, to thee I kneel,

Maryland!

For life and death, for woe and weal,

Thy peerless chivalry reveal,

And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland! My Maryland!

Thou wilt not cower in the dust,

Maryland!

Thy beaming sword shall never rust,

Maryland!

Remember Carroll's sacred trustRemember Howard's warlike thrustAnd all thy slumberers with the just, Maryland! My Maryland!

Come! 'tis the red dawn of the day,

Maryland!

Come with thy panoplied array,

Maryland!

With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,

With Watson's blood at Monterey,

With fearless Lowe and dashing May,

Maryland! My Maryland!

Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,

Maryland!

Maryland!

Come for thy dalliance does thee wrong,