The mounted guns, all threatening and grim, And in and out among their muzzles skim, In the horizon waits one patient star, While the full moon, above the hill-tops far, * Elizabeth Akers Allen. BY THE POTOMAC. HE soft new grass is creeping o'er the graves THE By the Potomac; and the crisp ground-flower Lifts its blue cup to catch the passing shower; The pine-cone ripens, and the long moss waves Its tangled gonfalons above our braves. Hark, what a burst of music from yon bower!— The Southern nightingale that, hour by hour, In its melodious summer madness raves. Ah, with what delicate touches of her hand, With what sweet voices, Nature seeks to screen The awful Crime of this distracted land, Sets her birds singing, while she spreads her green Mantle of velvet where the Murdered lie, As if to hide the horror from God's eye. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. NIGHT SCENE. IS midnight! through the dusky pines The night-wind faintly sighs, the dew Just twinkles on the leaf, as shines The broad deep river noiseless flows, Far down the winding silent bay Comes gleaning o'er the mirrored deep; Through many a wild and stormy night, But thus, when heaven and earth are still, Is hushed, no echo from the hill, And winds are sleeping in the sky, But see! yon eastern blood-red streaks Her glance is on the deep, so dim Yon white sail with the sea-mist blending; Lone lovely night! in hours like this, Came floating through the shadowy sky; Gay dreams of youth! - they could not stay, But fled like yon lone sail away! Rappahannock, the River, Va. MUSIC IN CAMP. TWO armies covered hill and plain Where Rappahannock's waters The summer clouds lay pitched like tents And each dread gun of the elements The breeze so softly blew, it made And the smoke of the random cannonade And now where circling hills looked down, O'er listless camp and silent town When on the fervid air there came A Federal band, which eve and morn Had just struck up with flute and horn, Down flocked the soldiers to the banks, One wooded shore was blue with "Yanks," Then all was still; and then the band, The conscious stream, with burnished glow, Again a pause, and then again The trumpet pealed sonorous, And "Yankee Doodle" was the strain The laughing ripple shoreward flew Loud shrieked the swarming "boys in blue" And yet once more the bugle sang Above the stormy riot. No shout upon the evening rang: There reigned a holy quiet. |