It was the negro cabin boy; And, gazing still, they saw at length, They shouted to him once again,— He heard them not, or would not hear, He sank! Thank God, he rose once more! They watched him long; he woke at last; With, "Captain, I have kept your sword!" R. W. R. DEATH, THE PEACE-MAKER. A WASTE of land, a sodden plain, With clouds that fled and faded fast A field upturned by trampling feet, With horse and rider blent in death, The dying and the dead lie low; The evening moon, nor midnight stars, They will not wake to tenderest call, Where waiting hearts shall throb and break, Two soldiers, lying as they fell Brave hearts had stirred each manly breast; Fate only made them foes, And lying, dying, side by side, A softened feeling rose. "Our time is short," one faint voice said; 66 'To-day we've done our best On different sides. What matters now? To-morrow we're at rest. Life lies behind. I might not care For only my own sake, But far away are other hearts That this day's work will break. "Among New-Hampshire's snowy hills There pray for me to-night A women, and a little girl With hair like golden light" And at the thought broke forth, at last, The cry of anguish wild That would no longer be repressed "O God! my wife and child!" "And," said the other dying man, "Across the Georgia plain There watch and wait for me loved ones I'll never see again. A little girl, with dark, bright eyes, Each day waits at the door; The father's step, the father's kiss, "To-day we sought each other's lives; For soon before God's mercy-seat Forgive each other while we may, And right or wrong, the morning sun The dying lips the pardon breathe, The stars from heaven shine; And the little girl with golden hair On Hampshire's hills and Georgia plain, Ellen H. Flagg. NO SLAVE BENEATH THE FLAG. No slave beneath that starry flag, No fettered hand shall wield the brand No tramp of servile armies Shall shame Columbia's shore, For he who fights for Freedom's rights No slaves beneath those glorious folds When every breath was dark with death, No serfs of earth's old empires Knelt 'neath its shadow then; And they who now beneath it bow, Forevermore are men! Go tell the ashes of the braves Go breathe it softly-slowly- Go tell Kentucky's bondsmen true, That floats o'er Tennessee! The story southward pour, Go tell the brave of every land, Its stripes are slavery scars; No slave beneath that grand old flag! With lightning rolled in every fold. And flashing victory! God's blessing breathe around it; And when all strife is done, May freedom's light, that knows no night, Make every star a sun! George Lansing Taylor. CIVIL WAR. "RIFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot That shines on his breast like an amulet!" "Ah captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead, There's music around when my barrel's in tune!" Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped, And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon. "Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch. From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood; A button, a loop, or that luminous patch That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!" "O! captain, I staggered, and sunk on my track, "But I snatched off the trinket-this locket of gold- "Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!-'tis she, My brother's young bride-and the fallen dragoon Was her husband-Hush! soldier, 'twas Heaven's decree, We must bury him there, by the light of the moon! "But, hark! the far bugles their warnings unite; There's a lurking and loping around us to-night; Once a Week. THE FOUR ERAS. THE lark has sung his carol in the sky; Now glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer, The babe, the sleeping image of his sire. A few short years-and then these sounds shall hail Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirloin; |