On! on! like the rushing of storms through the hills, As they pause by the River. Then the wan face of Maryland, haggard and worn, And Potomac flowed calm, scarcely heaving her breast, Passed! passed! the glad thousands march safe through the tide. (Hark, Despot! and hear the wild knell of your pride, Ringing weird-like and wild, pealing up from the side Of the calm-flowing River.) 'Neath a blow swift and mighty the Tyrant shall fall : THE OLD RIFLEMAN. BY FRANK TICKNOR, M. D. Now, bring me out my buckskin suit! We'll see if seventy-six can shoot THE OLD RIFLEMAN. Old Bess! we've kept our barrels bright! Our triggers quick and true! As far, if not as fine a sight, As long ago we drew! And pick me out a trusty flint! Give boys your brass percussion-caps! We've seen the red-coat Briton bleed! But, Bessie! bless your dear old heart! If Doodle must be meddling, why, And if he does n't like the way He'll, maybe, change his mind and stay Where Lincoln lives. The man, you know, 313 We'll hunt for Lincoln, Bess! old tool, And take him half and half; We'll aim to hit him, if a fool, And miss him, if a calf! We'll teach these shot-gun boys the tricks "SOUTHRONS." You can never win them back Though they perish on the track Though their corses strew the earth They have risen to a man, Of your curses and your ban Every hand is on its knife, You have no such blood as theirs Paid with gold for murderous hire, - But for every drop you shed You shall have a mound of dead, In our regions! But the battle to the strong When the Judge of Right and Wrong And the God of David still Guides the pebble with His will, There are giants yet to kill, Wrongs unshriven ! - 315 THE GUERILLAS.* AWAKE and to horse, my brothers! *These stirring verses, which we copy from a Southern exchange, are from the patriotic pen of a lady of Kentucky, who has achieved a national reputation as a poetess and authoress. ville Courier. Louis "Who cometh?" "A friend." "O God! I sicken to tell; "What tidings?" For the earth seems earth no longer, "From the far-off conquered cities And the shrieks and moans of the houseless "I've seen from the smoking village Our mothers and daughters fly ; I've seen where the little children Sank down in the furrows to die. "On the banks of the battle-stained river "Where my home was glad, are ashes, And horrors and shame had been there, For I found on the fallen lintel 66 This tress of my wife's torn hair. They are turning the slaves upon us; And, with more than the fiend's worst art, Have uncovered the fire of the savage That slept in his untaught heart! * "The ties to our hearths that bound him "With halter and torch and Bible, And hymns to the sound of the drum, * It need hardly be said that this charge is unfounded. |