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POETRY AND INCIDENTS.

MITCHEL.

BY W. FRANCIS WILLIAMS,
"Hung be the heavens with black."

His mighty life was burned away
By Carolina's fiery sun;
The pestilence that walks by day

Smote him before his course seemed run.

The constellations of the sky,

The Pleiades, the Southern Cross, Looked sadly down to see him die, To see a nation weep his loss.

"Send him to us," the stars might cry;

"You do not feel his worth below; Your petty great men do not try

The measure of his mind to know.

"Send him to us-this is his place,

Not 'mid your puny jealousies;
You sacrificed him in your race

Of envies, strifes and policies.

"His eye could pierce our vast expanse, His ear could hear our morning songs, His mind, amid our mystic dance,

Could follow all our myriad throngs.

"Send him to us! no martyr's soul, No hero slain in righteous wars, No raptured saint could e'er control

A holier welcome from the stars."

Take him, ye stars! take him on high,
To your vast realms of boundless space;
But once he turned from you to try

His name on martial scrolls to trace.

That once was when his country's call
Said danger to her flag was nigh,
And then that banner's stars dimmed all
The radiant lights which gemmed the sky.
Take him, loved orbs! His country's life,
Freedom for all-for these he wars;
For these he welcomed bloody strife,
And followed in the wake of Mars.

VICTORY.

BY LIZZIE E. H. BATES.

All the day the stormy clouds
Have been drifting overhead
In the wind, like misty shrouds

For the brave and noble dead;
But the sun with genial glow

Breaks the sombre veil at last, Like to the exultant show

Victors make when battle's past.

VOL. VI.-POETRY 1

Listen! Hear the deepening roar Shaking earth, and air, and sky, From the distant river shoreHow its echoes thunder by! Does an earthquake stalk abroad O'er Missouri's fated soil, Making one vast grave her sod

While her rivers seethe and boil?

Listen! No! It is the boom

Of the cannon's fearful notes, While the wreaths of battle bloom

All around their bellowing throats! Listen! No! It cannot be !

Price is still in full retreat, And our troops in Tennessee Rebel arms shall ne'er defeat!

Listen! Still the ceaseless roar

Peals along the quivering air, From the city on the shore News of victory it must bear ! Listen! Hear the loud hurrahs

In the quiet village streets, While the distant thunder jarsEcho still with echo meets.

Listen! Loudly peal the bells!

Listen! Guns are thundering here!

Every thing of victory tells,

Hearts of millions yearn to hear.
Price is taken, now, at last!
Donelson has fallen low!
God be praised! the die is cast!
Vengeance falleth on the foe!

God be praised! His arm of wrath
Strikes for us this mighty blow-
Leads us on the battle-path-

Stanches, guides its crimson flow.
God be praised! for soon our land,
Groaning and convulsed so long,
As in olden time shall stand,
Union-Freedom blend their song!

Listen! Hear the sighing gale
Coming up from South to North,
While a lengthened answering wail
Comes from every quarter forth!
Is it widows' hopeless sighs
That create the wailing wind?
Is it orphan children's cries

For the prisoners Death doth bind?

That we conquer cannot bring

Loved and lost ones back to lifeThat Right conquers, Glory sings O'er the field of deadly strife;

That Right conquers still, shall be Balm for hearts with deepest wound, And this thought eternally Sanctifies the battle-ground! BUNKER HILL, ILL., Feb. 17, 1862.

"BUT GOD IS OVER ALL."

BY M. H. COBB.

Night closes in with threat'ning skies,
And hoarsely moans the gale;
Without, the trees like spectres rise,
Encased in wintry mail;

From glowing grates we turn, to think
On whom these rigors fall,

And who their deathly cup shall drink-
But God is over all!

How fare they in the distant camp-
The father, brother, son?
Oh! many brows with death are damp,
With many life is done!

O mothers, wives! distraught with fears,
Lest your beloved should fall,
Remember, in this rain of tears,
That God is over all!

No base ambitions quickened these;
They saw but Freedom's need;
No dreams of flow'ry paths of ease,
No bribe but valor's meed;
And some shall win the hero's grave,
The battle-smoke their pall;
But honor dwells where fall the brave,
And God is over all!

How nobler these than they who fought
And fell in ancient time!

For in this strife shall be outwrought
A purpose void of crime;
Base men have filled, and bid us drink,
A cup o'erbrimmed with gall,
And forge new fetters, link by link-
But God is over all!

Where thickest falls war's leaden rain,
And on its crimson sea,

They closely press, and fight again
The battles of the free;
And many are the deaths they dare,
From hurtling shell and ball,
Which make their awful music there-
But God is over all!

Remember, ye who watch the night
With dimining eyes and pain,
That he who gives his life for Right,
His death shall not be vain ;
Him shall men know as Freedom's son,
When they his deeds recall,
Who had unfaltering trust in One
Whose care is over all.

THE CAPTURE OF NEW-ORLEANS.

BY WILLIAM DENSMORE, U.S.N.

Come, all you Union-loving men, wherever you may be, I hope you'll pay attention now, and listen unto me, Concerning of a gallant ship, the Brooklyn is her name, Which name deserves to be engraved upon the list of fame.

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With battering-rams, and fire-rafts, and all the gunboat fleet,

The rebels they were well prepared the Union tars to meet;

With sand and floating batteries, upon the river-side, Bold Duncan in Fort Jackson brave Farragut defied.

On the twenty-fourth of April, before the break of day,

The Hartford, being flag-ship, then a red light did display;

The light was seen throughout the fleet, then up went cheer on cheer,

The Union fleet got under weigh, and for the Forts did

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The rebels well supplied their guns, and Duncan he did say:

"There is the Brooklyn close to us, so at her fire away,

And if you sink that ship to-night the others all will

run,

And then our Louisiana fleet will capture every one."

What is that dreadful noise we hear? Like thunder it does roar.

The Hartford has got up in range, and in the grape does pour;

The Pensacola on the right, the Richmond comes up too,

And with their nine-inch shot and shell they breach Fort Philip through.

The gunboats follow quickly up, and send in grape in turn,

While close on board the Brooklyn a fire-raft does burn;

The Hartford's now all in a blaze, for joy the rebels shout,

The Brooklyn drops and covers her-the fire it is put

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The Chalmette's batteries next we take-the river now is clear

We spike their guns, and give three cheers, and for the city steer;

From each mast-head throughout the fleet the Stars and Stripes do fly,

The city's ours, the fleet comes to, and off it we do lie.

So here's success to Farragut and all the Union fleet, Which by their bold, undaunted pluck the rebels did defeat;

A grateful country long will mourn the loss of those who fell

Defending of their country's flag from traitors' shot and shell.

And here's to brave McClellan, he'll break secession's coil,

And only one flag soon shall wave upon Columbia's soil;

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WHEN THE GREAT REBELLION'S OVER.
Climbed the baby on her knee,
With an airy, childish grace,
Prattled in her lovely face,
"When will papa come to me?"

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Papa?" soft the mother cried"Papa! ah! the naughty rover!

Sweet, my pet, he'll come to thee When the great rebellion's over!" "Mamma once had rosy cheeks,

Danced and sung a merry tune; Now she rocks me 'neath the moon, Sits and sighs, but scarcely speaks." Sad the smile the mother wore"Sweet mamma has lost her lover,

She will blush and sing no more Till the great rebellion's over!

"Till the hush of peace shall come, Like a quiet fall of snow,

And the merry troops shall go Marching back to hearts at home"'Papa-home?" the baby lisped, Balmy-breathed as summer clover "Yes, my darling, home at last, And the sad rebellion over!"

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THE MARCH OF THE REGIMENT.

BY "H. H. B."

Here they come !-'tis the Twelfth, you know-
The colonel is just at hand-

The ranks close up, to the measured flow
Of music cheery and grand.
Glitter on glitter, row by row,
The steady bayonets, on they go

For God and the right to stand-
Another thousand to front the foe!
And to die-if it must be even so-
For the dear old fatherland!

O trusty and true! O gay, warm heart!
O manly and earnest brow!
Here, in the hurrying street, we part-
To meet-ah! where and how?

O ready and staunch! who, at war's alarm,
On lonely hill-side and mountain-farm

Have left the axe and the plough! That every tear were a holy charm,

To guard, with honor, some head from harm,
And to quit some generous vow!

For, of valiant heart and of sturdy arm
Was never more need than now.

Never a nobler morn to the bold

For God and for country's sake!
Lo! a flag, so haughtily unrolled
On a hundred foughten fields of old,
Now flaunts in a pirate's wake!
The lion coys in each blazoned fold,

And leers on the blood-barred snake!

O base and vain! that, for grudge and gain,
Could a century's feud renew-

Could hoard your hate for the coward chance
When a nation reeled in a wilder dance

Of death, than the Switzer drew!

We have borne and borne-and may bear again
With wrong, but if wrong from you.

Welcome, the sulphury cloud in the sky!
Welcome, the crimson rain!

Act but the dream ye dared to form,
Strike a single spark !-and the storm
Of serried bayonets sweeping by,
Shall swell to a hurricane!

O blind and bitter! that could not know,
Even in fight, a caitiff-blow,
(Foully dealt on a hard-set foe,)
Ever is underwise-

Ever is ghosted with after fear-
Ye might lessen it-year by year,

Looking, with fevered eyes,

For sail or smoke from the Breton shore,
Lest a land, so rudely wronged of yore,
In flamy revenge should rise!

Office at outcry!-ah! wretched Flam!
Vile Farce of hammer and prate!
Trade! bids Darby-and blood! smirks Pam-
Little ween they, each courtly Sham,
Of the Terror lying in wait!
Little wot of the web he spins,
Their Tempter in purple, that darkly grins
'Neath his stony visor of state,

O'er Seas, how narrow!-for, whoso wins,
At yon base Auction of Outs and Ins,

The rule of his Dearest Hate

Her point once flashing athwart her Kin's, And the reckoning, ledgered for long, beginsThe galling Glories and envied Sins

Shall buzz in a mesh-like fate!

Ay, mate your meanest !-ye can but do
That permitted-when Heaven would view
How Wrong, self-branded, her rage must rue
In wreck and ashes!-(such scene as you,
If wise, shall witness afar)-

How Guilt, o'erblown, her crest heaves high,
And dares the injured, with taunt, to try
Ordeal of Fire in war-

Blindfold and brazen, on God doth call-
Then grasps, in horror, the glaring ball,
Or treads on the candent bar!

Yet a little!-and men shall mark
This our Moloch, who sate so stark,
(These hundred winters through godless dark
Grinning o'er death and shame)-
Marking for murder each unbowed head,
Throned on his Ghizeh of bones, and fed
Still with hearts of the holy dead-
Naught but a Spectre foul and dread,
Naught but a hideous Name!

At last!-(ungloom, stern coffined frown!
Rest thee, Gray-Steel!-aye, dead Renown!
In flame and thunder by field and town
The Giant-Horror is going down,

Down to the Home whence it came!)
Deaf to the Doom that waits the Beast,
Still would ye share the Harlot's Feast,

And drink of her blood-grimed Cup!
Pause!-the Accursed, on yon frenzied shore,
Buyeth your merchandise never more!
Mark, 'mid the Fiery Dew that drips,
Redder, faster, through black Eclipse,

How Sodom, to-night, shall sup!
(Thus the Kings, in Apocalypse,
The traders of souls, and crews of ships,
Standing afar, with pallid lips-

While Babylon's Smoke goes up!)

Yet, dree your weird!—though an hour may blight,
In treason, a century's fame-
Trust Greed and Spite!-sith Reason and Right
Lie cold, with Honor and Shame-

And learn anon-as on that dread night
When, the dead around and the deck aflame,
From John Paul's lip the fierce word came-
"We have only begun to fight!"

Ay, 'tis at hand!-foul lips, be dumb!
Our Armageddon is yet to come!
But cheery bugle and angry drum,
With volleyed rattle and roar,
And cannon thunder-throb, shall be drowned,
That day, in a grander, stormier sound—
The Land, from mountain to shore,
Hurling shackle and scourge and stake
Back to their Lender of pit and lake-
('Twas Tophet leased them of yore)—
Hell, in her murkiest hold, shall quake,

As they ring on the damned floor!
O mighty Heart! thou wast long to wake-
'Tis thine, to-morrow, to win or break
In a deadlier close once more-
If but for the dear and glorious sake
Of those who have gone before.

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