But, unheeding wound and blow, He has snatched it midst the strife, "To my father take my sword," That I ne'er forgot the name "And tell her whose favor gave It was thus that Jasper fell, To the rescue, spirits bold! To the rescue, gallant men! Let the marble page unfold Robert M. Charlton. Shenandoah, the Valley, Va. BY THE SHENANDOAH. Y home is drear and still to-night, MY Where Shenandoah, murmuring, flows; The Blue Ridge towers in the pale moonlight, And balmily the south-wind blows; But my fire burns dim, while athwart the wall, Black as the pines, the shadows fall; And the only friend within my door Is the sleeping hound on the moonlit floor. Roll back, O weary years! and bring Again the gay and cloudless morn When every bird was on the wing, And my blithe summer boys were born! My Courtney fair, my Philip bold, With his laughing eyes and his locks of gold, No nested bird in the valley wide Sang as my heart, that eventide. Our laurels blush when May-winds call; Our pines shoot high through mellow showers; So rosy-flushed, so slender-tall, My boys grew up from childhood's hours. Glad in the breeze, the sun, the rain, They climbed the heights or they roamed the plain; And found where the fox lay hid at noon, And the shy fawn drank by the rising moon. Fleet Storm, look up! you ne'er may hear, Their whistle stealing o'er the hill! And fly to the shade where the wild deer rest, What drew our hunters from the hills? When Shenandoah roars below. One, to the field where the old flag shines, My tears, - their fond arms round me thrown, And the house was hushed on the hillside lone. But oh! to feel my boys were foes Was sharper than their sabres' steel! I saw their deadly squadrons wheel; And, deep in the wail which the night-winds bore, So time went on. The skies were blue; When down the vale a rider flew : "Ho! neighbors, Gettysburg is won! Horse and foot, at the cannon's mouth We hurled them back to the hungry South; - My boys were there! I nearer prest, - * My home is drear and still to-night But my fire burns dim, while athwart the wall, Yet still in dreams my boys I own; I cannot part their lives and say, 66 This was the traitor, this the true "; God only knows why one should stray, And one go pure death's portals through. They have passed from their mother's clasp and care; But my heart ascends in the yearning prayer That His larger love will the two enfold, My Courtney fair and my Philip bold! Edna Dean Proctor. A NOVEMBER NOCTURNE. HE autumn air sweeps faint and chill Falls, tingling clear, A strange, mysterious, woodland thrill. From outmost twig, from scarlet crown, As loath to go, The loosened leaves come wavering down. And not a hectic trembler there, But in its fall Flings something sob-like on the air. No drift or dream of passing bell, |