POETRY AND INCIDENTS. MITCHEL. BY W. FRANCIS WILLIAMS. His mighty life was burned away 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; 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, His name on martial scrolls to trace. That once was when his country's call VICTORY. BY LIZZIE E. H. BATES. All the day the stormy clouds For the brave and noble dead; 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. God be praised! His arm of wrath Stanches, guides its crimson flow. Listen! Hear the sighing gale For the prisoners Death doth bind? That we conquer cannot bring Loved and lost ones back to life That 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." Night closes in with threat'ning skies, From glowing grates we turn, to think And who their deathly cup shall drink- How fare they in the distant camp- O mothers, wives! distraught with fears, No base ambitions quickened these; But honor dwells where fall the brave, How nobler these than they who fought For in this strife shall be outwrought Where thickest falls war's leaden rain, They closely press, and fight again Remember, ye who watch the night With dimming eyes and pain, Him shall men know as Freedom's son, 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. As we went round the point of land that brought the Forts in sight, From rifled guns, with shot and shell, they soon commenced the fight; The Hartford she stood boldly, up- the Brooklyn, where was she? But look right under Jackson's guns, its Black Jack there you'll see! The rebel shot flew thick and hot, the Brooklyn she was there; Tom Craven, he is on the poop-she's in his special care; Bold Lowry says, "We'll beat our foes and then we'll give three cheers ;" Our first broadside like thunder roared, which banished all our fears. Courage! undaunted Brooklyn's crew, your hour is nigh at hand, Brave Lowry on the quarter-deck says by you he will stand, And if by chance the Brooklyn sinks between those Forts to-night, Our Flag shall be the last thing seen when she goes out of sight. 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; 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?" Papa ?" soft the mother cried- Sweet, my pet, he'll come to thee Danced and sung a merry tune; She will blush and sing no more "Till the hush of peace shall come, And the merry troops shall go |