FREDERICKSBURGH.

Each man grasping his rifle-piece tight,
Scarcely pausing to draw his breath.

Sudden flashed on them a sheet of flame
From hidden fence and from ambuscade;
A moment more (they say this is fame) -
A thousand dead men on the grass were laid.

Fifteen thousand in wounded and killed,

At least, is "our loss," the newspapers say. This loss to our army must surely be filled Against another great battle-day.

"Our loss!" Whose loss? Let demagogues say That the Cabinet, President, all are in wrong: What do the orphans and widows pray?

What is the burden of their sad song?

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'Tis their loss! But the tears in their weeping eyes Hide Cabinet, President, Generals, — all ;

And they only can see a cold form that lies
On the hillside slope, by that fatal wall.

They cannot discriminate men or means,
They only demand that this blundering cease.
In their frenzied grief they would end such scenes,
Though that end be -even with traitors - peace.

Is thy face from thy people turned, O God?
Is thy arm for the Nation no longer strong?
We cry from our homes the dead cry from the sod
How long, O our righteous God! how long?

NEW YORK, December 17, 1862.

"MY MARYLAND." *

Ан me! I've had enough of thee,
Maryland, my Maryland!

Dear land, thou art too dear for me,
Maryland, my Maryland!

I'll take the nearest ford and go,
I'll leave thee, darling, to the foe;
But do not let him kick me so,
Maryland, my Maryland!

You've dashed my hopes, ungrateful State,
Maryland, my Maryland !

Go! bless your stars I came too late,
Maryland, you understand!

I meant to dress you well in black,
And scar you with the battle's track,
And I had scourges for your back,
Maryland, my contraband!

Oh, where are Longstreet, Hill, and Lee?
Maryland, my Maryland!

And "Stonewall" Jackson, where is he?
Maryland, my Maryland!

Four coat-tails streaming in the breeze,
And that is all a body sees;

Better than dangling from the trees,
Maryland, my Maryland!

Gray geese are flying southward, ho!

Maryland, O Maryland!

This parody of the most spirited and most popular of the Rebel Songs celebrates the failure of the insurgent forces to take and hold Maryland, which was General Lee's object in his northward march, and which was defeated by the battles of South Mountain and Antietam.

BOSTON HYMN.

It's getting cold up there, you know,
Maryland, O Maryland !

I should have thought it rather warm, -
South Mountain yonder took by storm,
Antietam yielded in alarm,

Maryland, O Maryland!

Blood-red my hand, and dead my heart,
Native land, my native land!
Columbia from her grave will start,
Murder'd land, my murder'd land!

Thy flag is like a sword of fire,
I'll fly, I'll fly its vengeful ire;
Beneath its stroke its foes expire,
Native land, my native land!

Harpers' Weekly.

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*Read at the Emancipation Meeting at Boston, January 1,

1863.

Where tyrants great and tyrants small Might harry the weak and poor ?

My angel, - his name is Freedom,
Choose him to be your king;

He shall cut pathways east and west,
And fend you with his wing.

Lo! I uncover the land

Which I hid of old time in the West, As the sculptor uncovers his statue, When he has wrought his best.

I show Columbia, of the rocks
Which dip their foot in the seas,
And soar to the air-borne flocks
Of clouds, and the boreal fleece.

I will divide my goods;
Call in the wretch and slave:
None shall rule but the humble,
And none but toil shall have.

I will have never a noble,
No lineage counted great :

Fishers and choppers and ploughmen
Shall constitute a State.

Go, cut down trees in the forest,
And trim the straightest boughs;
Cut down trees in the forest,
And build me a wooden house.

Call the people together,
The young men and the sires,
The digger in the harvest-field,
Hireling and him that hires.

BOSTON HYMN.

And here in a pine State-House

They shall choose men to rule
In every needful faculty, -

In church and state and school.

Lo, now! if these poor men
Can govern the land and sea,
And make just laws below the sun,
As planets faithful be.

And

ye shall succor men;

"T is nobleness to serve;

Help them who cannot help again;
Beware from right to swerve.

I break your bonds and masterships,
And I unchain the slave:

Free be his heart and hand henceforth,
As wind and wandering wave.

O North! give him beauty for rags,
And honor, O South! for his shame ;

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