THE VOICES OF THE HOUR.

BY S. P. D.

Hark! the rally-call of Freedom! Hark! the people's answer given,

As their thunder-toned responses echo up the vaulted heaven:

We will rally, we will gather, we will muster in our might,

For our banner must be stainless, and our God will shield the right!

Ay, though bloody may be the conquest to which we march along,

And though groans may make a dissonance in our grand victor-song,

We will rally, we will gather, we will muster in our might,

And our banner shall be stainless, for our God will shield the right!

Every hour hath prophet's utterance, and each gale from o'er the seas

Brings the crash of falling empires, and of tottering dynasties;

From Italia's classic ruins, to the ice-realm of the Czar,

Sounds the tramp of marshalled cohorts, as they muster to the war;

And from despots' shattered altars Freedom's incensecloud is curled,

While the people's unchained voices send their Vivas round the world.

What though our sky is shrouded with the midnight robe of shame,

And the light but faintly flickers from our Freedom's altar-flame;

Darkest night precedes the dawning, and new light shall yet break through,

And a new day grandly open, bathed with heaven's unquestioned blue;

And though stars are fleeing wildly from Night's cloudy tournament,

The

Of

Morning's bow of promise we shall see above us

bent;

promise as it glimmers from the labor-burthened hours,

When snow, to bare and bleeding feet, was warm as summer's flowers;

When days of struggle, and of toil, and nights of dark unrest,

Made the purchase of the bounties, by us, ingrates, now possessed.

Then up, and rally proudly to the foremost of the fray,

And let every patriot be a host, to stand and strike to-day;

While the rally-call of Freedom, and the people's answer given,

Still, in thunder-toned responses, echo up the vaulted heaven,

We will rally, we will gather, we will muster in our might,

And

bear on our stainless banner, for our God shall shield the right!

-Boston Transcript, June 3.

BAY STATE SONG.

"They had sent word to us from Philadelphia that we could not pass through that city, (Baltimore,) but the Colonel made up his mind that we could; and so we did. You may depend upon it, that wherever we are ordered, we shall do our duty, and not make a blot on the records of Massachusetts."-LETTER FROM A PRIVATE OF THE SIXTH REGIMENT.

"The cause of Baltimore is the cause of the whole South."-A. H. STEPHENS.

TUNE-"There is rest for the weary," (with spirit.)

I.

'Tis the Old Bay State a-coming,

With the Pine Tree waving high,
Foremost where the fight is thickest,
Freedom still her battle-cry.
From the rocky shore of Plymouth,
From the plains of Lexington,
From beneath the shaft of Bunker,
Every hero sends a son,

CHORUS-To the fray comes the Bay State!
Clear the way for the Bay State !
Trust you may in the Bay State !
She will do, or die.

II.

From our dear old Berkshire mountains, From Cape Cod's sea-beaten sand, With one cry we rush to battleFreedom, and our Native Land! From the quiet graves of Concord, Still as in our fathers' day, Where her country's need is greatest, Massachusetts leads the way. CHORUS-To the fray, &c.

III.

Onward dash the Pine-Tree banner,
Where a threatened Senate calls,
Ere a foe in Freedom's city

Desecrate her sacred halls.
Where a son would strike a mother
With a traitor's stealthy blow,
Forward, every loyal brother!

Fly to crush the dastard foe. CHORUS-To the fray, &c.

IV.

Onward, then, our stainless banner,
Let it kiss the stripe and star,
Till in weal and woe united

They forever wedded are.
We will plant them by the river,
By the gulf and by the strand,
Till they float, to float forever,
O'er a free, united land.
CHORUS-TO the fray, &c.

V.

We have left the plough and anvil,
Left the ledger and the loom;
Our shares to swords are beaten,
And our pen's the pen of doom.
But we'll plough a deeper furrow,
And we'll deal a heavier blow,
And upon the Nation's Ledger

We will strike the balance now. CHORUS-To the fray, &c.

VI.

Lay the rails and build the engines,
O'er the stream the bridges throw;
These are little Yankee notions

Yankees carry as they go.
To the friends we leave behind us,
Oft we pledge a hearty health,
And one prayer to God we offer-
Save the good old Commonwealth
CHORUS-To the fray, &c.

VII.

See an Adams and an Otis

Look from heaven to speed us on! Hear a Warren and a Prescott

Bid us keep the fields they won!

See again Virginia's Patriot

Rise to bid Disunion stand!

See the shade of Monticello

Strike again at Treason's hand! CHORUS-To the fray, &c.

VIII.

Forward, then, the Pine-Tree banner!
Still as in our fathers' day,
Where her country's need is greatest,
Massachusetts leads the way!
By our brothers' blood still crying
From the streets of Baltimore,
Let the foe who struck behind them,
Be struck down for evermore.

CHORUS-To the fray, &c.

IX.

Now, the Stars and Stripes forever! Be he cursed, each traitor son,

Who assails the starry banner
And the flag of Washington!
For Mount Vernon's sacred ashes
Will not rest within their bed,
With a traitor band around it,

And a traitor flag o'erhead!
CHORUS-To the fray comes the Bay State !
Clear the way for the Bay State !
Trust you may in the Bay State !
She will do, or die.

-N. Y. Tribune, June 9.

COLONEL ELLSWORTH.

BY CAPT. SAM. WHITING.

[Dedicated to the New York Fire Zouaves.]
Columbia bends in sadness now,

Above her gallant soldier's grave;
Laurel and cypress deck the brow

Of the dead Zouave-so young, so brave.
Cut down in manhood's brightest bloom-
Of his dear friends the hope and pride-
He sleeps within an honored tomb,

Who for his country bravely died.

Not yet in vain such heroes fall;

Their memory lives in every breast,
While streams of glory gild their pall,
And beautify their place of rest.
Oh! gallant Zouave, 'twas thy proud deed
To tear the rebel banner down;
Thy country gives thee fitting meed-
A soldier's grave, a hero's crown.
Brave Fire Zouaves! your leader's name
Is left you for a battle-cry;
Let Ellsworth's pure and spotless fame
Lead you to conquer or to die,
Strike bravely when the rebel rag

Shall meet your eyes on Southern plain!
Strike! till Columbia's starry flag

O'er this whole land shall wave again.

When you shall meet the traitor band
Which seeks our Union to o'erthrow,
Strike boldly for our glorious land,

And call on God to nerve the blow!
Keep your dead Colonel e'er in view,
Wherever in this war you roam,
And let this shout your zeal renew:
"Remember Ellsworth! Zouaves, strike home !"
HEMPSTEAD, June 5, 1861.
-Idem.

List how the drums are beating,
Their echoing tones repeating,

Come, rally! ho! come, rally, our hearths and homes to save;

The blood our good sires left us,

Though all else were bereft us,

Is heritage sufficient to keep from coward's grave.

Come, flock around our standard;
Come, crowd into the vanguard,

The beacons blazing brightly upon the hillsides show
There's need of arms united,

With hearts for daring plighted,

To grapple in the death-grip which hellward hurls a foe.

On our unguarded borders

Throng hordes of fell marauders;

And our old flag base miscreants insultingly would seize.

Still Stars and Stripes are streaming,

Thank God, in glory gleaming,

And patriot thrills are stirring as it flutters in the

breeze.

Our country now would prove us,

While floats our flag above us,

For every foeman you seize and gag,
For every youth from life betrayed,
For the death-doing shame of every maid,
For each blue eye whose light you quench,
For every babe whose neck you wrench,

As the reddening sea you rove,
I'll pay you in cash by the bloody score;
I'll pay you as Rover paid never before,
For that I bid it shall be done;
In the land of slaves I am Number One!
I am Jefferson Number One!"

At the welcome sound of the Robber's cheer,
Like jackals they creep from their cave;
As the wild-cat springs at the lightsome deer,
As the viper crawls the babe to smear
With venom, and strike to its tiny grave,
They come they come! the Corsairs brave!

Hear them scream with joy, to think
How the cups will flow, and the canakins clink;
How they'll turn men's blood to the wine they drink,
And how their pockets will chink, will chink!
And the first thief cries, "It shall be done
And I'll be Pirate Number One!

I will be Number One!"

He has filched and rigged a snake-like bark;
He has armed it with stolen guns.
Forth from the bay it swims like a shark,
Wrapped in the shrouds of its kindred dark.

All things good and strong it shuns.
How slily it steers! How slowly it steals! Hark!
What whisper they in their dreary lark ?
"Stay! Are we right? Aye! Our letters of marque
Are signed and sealed. All's rightly done
They are signed by Jefferson Number One;
They are numbered Number One!"

Ho! Ho! Cheerily ho!

No longer sly! No longer slow,
The snaky bark takes wing.

No longer it creeps like a slimy rat,
But it flies like a loathsome, lickerish bat,
It flies like a venomous vampire, that

Sets his teeth and sharpens his sting,
Ere he plunge his beak in the life-blood's spring.
Ho! Ho! Cheerily ho!"

The Pirates cry, "Merrily, so
To our weltering feast of blood we go.
How we long for its gurgling flow!
That we dare, that shall be done;
Hurrah for the victim Number One!

Hurrah for Number One!"

"What ho! What ho! A sail on the lee ! Mind you your helm, my helmsman stout; About with the ship, sail her fast and free.

About with the ship! About! about! Up to the maintop, you lubberly lout! Don't step as if you were cramped with gout, Nor handle the ropes so dainty and soft; Set every stitch alow and aloft !

Nearer, now! nearer! the chase appears! Bloody boys, ready! the runaway nears! See her there plain on the larboard bow, Sharp must she be to weather us now. Look to your cutlasses! Look to the gun! We'll give her a taste of Number One!

We'll give her Number One!

Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy! We'll have her this tack;
She'll save us a lingering chase!

Ship ahoy! Yankee Dogs! Be a trifle less slack;
Down your Black-a-moor Stripes and Stars!
We'll up, instead, the Confederate Bars!
Down, down with the rag!-Ha! what is that crack?
What meaneth the lubber? He answereth back.
We've a fight instead of a race!

Curse the impudent Yankees! For quarter and grace
They may sue and be damned. They shall have none.
Short be their shrift from Number One!
Short shrift from Number One!"

Ah! Sooth said the Pirate! The answer came
From the brig like an outburst of hell!

It came in a sheet of glancing flame!

In an iron sleet of deadly aim!

And with sheet and sleet, shot the burning shame To his craven breast, to learn too late

From the Yankee's arm, and the voice of Fate, The truth which now he learns too well: That plot it long, and moil in the dark, And cover it over with letters of marque, Murder is still a dangerous game! Begin it, and two can play at the same. At this dark game, the rovers' luck Was little to score, and less their pluck. For the felon blows to strike they meant, When on their errand of greed they went, The Buccaneer flag instead they struck. Those dogs of the Perry who would not run, Have spoiled the Pirate's slaughtering fun; The tale of their prizes they have featly begun. It heads to-day with Number One!

It heads with Number One!

In the North there frowns a darksome pile-
So darksome, men call it the Tombs.
Who are guarded there, ah! seldom they smile!
But spectred thoughts of fruitless wile,
And ghosts of schemes of deadly guile,

Are their comrades drear in those doleful rooms,
Where Darkness and Sin spread kindred glooms.
There's water instead of wine to drink!
And chains instead of canakins clink!

And there, with those comrades drear, they think
Of a past that sears and a fate that dooms!
In a fitful sleep they fain would hide
From the phantoms that fill the world outside.
But again that answering cannon booms;
Again their souls are fevered with fear.
By victim vanquished again, they hear
His dread summons ring in their throbbing ear.
They start in their dream as called by Fate!
They start and shrink! They hear the gate
Of the cell on its rusty hinges grate!
Through the portal whispers the voice they hate.
"Tis the voice of the headsman; he calls, "I wait
For the first of the pirates! The gibbet is done.
Come forth to your reckoning, Number One!
Come forth, doomed Number One!"
-N. Y. Tribune, July 14.

WRITTEN FOR THE SECOND REGIMENT CONNECTICUT VOLUNTEERS, BY REQUEST AIR-"Garibaldi's Hymn."

All forward! All forward!

All forward to battle! the trumpets are crying,
Forward! All forward! our old flag is flying.
When Liberty calls us we linger no longer;

Rebels, come on! though a thousand to one!
Liberty! Liberty! deathless and glorious,
Under thy banner thy sons are victorious,
Free souls are valiant, and strong arms are stronger-
God shall go with us and battle be won.

Hurrah for the banner!

Hurrah for the banner! Hurrah for our banner, the flag of the free!

All forward! All forward! All forward for Freedom! In terrible splendor She comes to the loyal who die to defend her: Her stars and her stripes o'er the wild wave of battle Shall float in the heavens to welcome us on.