THE DEAD DRUMMER-BOY.

'Midst tangled roots that lined the wild ravine,

Where the fierce,fight raged hottest through the day, And where the dead in scattered heaps were seen, Amid the darkling forest's shade and sheen, Speechless in death he lay.

The setting sun, which glanced athwart the place
In slanting lines, like amber-tinted rain,
Fell sidewise on the drummer's upturned face,
Where death had left his gory finger's trace
In one bright crimson stain.

The silken fringes of his once bright eye
Lay like a shadow on his check so fair;
His lips were parted by a long-drawn sigh,
That with his soul had mounted to the sky
On some wild martial air.

No more his hand the fierce tattoo shall beat,
The shrill reveille, or the long roll's call,
Or sound the charge, when in the smoke and heat
Of fiery onset, foe with foe shall meet,
And gallant men shall fall.

Yet may be in some happy home, that one,

A mother, reading from the list of dead,
Shall chance to view the name of her dear son,
And move her lips to say, "God's will be done!"
And bow in grief her head.

But more than this what tongue shall tell his story?
Perhaps his boyish longings were for fame;
He lived, he died; and so, memento mori-
Enough if on the page of War and Glory
Some hand has writ his name.

THE RED STAIN ON THE LEAVES.
BY G. W. BUNGAY.

The wood-bird's nest upon the bough
Deserted hangs, and heaped with leaves:
Once filled with life and joy, but now
Sad as a stricken heart that grieves.
Amid the light of such a scene,

Where silent vales and hills are clad
In gayest hues of gold and green,

Why should the human heart be sad?

Yet sombre thoughts flit through the mind,
And pass unspoken and unsung,
As leaves, touched by the autumn wind,
Fall from the twigs to which they clung.
Here, like the patriarch in his dream,
We see the ladder angels trod,
The mountains to our vision seem
To lean against the throne of God.

The vales of golden mist that rise
Over the woodlands to the sea,
Drop where the gallant soldier lies,
Whose furlough is eternity.
Upon the leaves now sear and red,
That once were flakes of fire to me,
I see the blood our armies shed,
That our dear country might be free.

WAR SONG.

BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER.

With sword on thigh, "to do or die,"
I march to meet the foe;
A pirate band have cursed the land,
Then deal the deadly blow.
To Richmond on, and write upon
Her walls the words of doom;
Secession's horde from Freedom's sword
Deserves a bloody tomb.

Sound, bugle, sound! a rally round
The Star-flag of the Free;
Nursed by a flood of generous blood
Was Freedom's sacred tree.
Accursed by God in dust be trod
Rebellion's hellish horde;

The fiends to tame hearts are aflame
With cannon-peal and sword.

'Tis hard to leave the babes that grieve For a fond, absent sire;

His cherished wife, charm of his life,
To brave the battle's fire;

But duty calls, and loudly falls

Our war-cry on the ear;

Our banners wave above the brave-
Then on! and know not fear.

THE VOLUNTEER'S WIFE TO HER HUSBAND
Don't stop a moment to think, John,
Your country calls-then go;
Don't think of me or the children, John,
I'll care for them, you know.
Leave the corn upon the stalks, John,
Potatoes on the hill,

And the pumpkins on the vines, John-
I'll gather them with a will.

But take your gun and go, John,

Take your gun and go,

For Ruth can drive the oxen, John,
And I can use the hoe.

I've heard my grandsire tell, John,
(He fought at Bunker Hill,)
How he counted all his life and wealth
His country's offering still.

Shall we shame the brave old blood, John,
That flowed on Monmouth plain?
No! take your gun and go, John,

If you ne'er return again.
Then take your gun and go, etc.

Our army's short of blankets, John,
Then take this heavy pair;
I spun and wove them when a girl,
And worked them with great care.
There's a rose in every corner, John,
And there's my name you see;
On the cold ground they'll warmer fool
That they were made by me.
Then take your guz and go, etc.

And if it be God's will, John.

You ne'er come back again,

I'll do my best for the children, John,
In sorrow, wani, and pain.

In winter nights I'll teach dem all
That I have learned at school,
To love the country, keep the laws,
Obey the Saviour's rule.
Then take your gun and go, etc.

And in the village church, John,
And at our humble board,

We'll pray that God will keep you, John,
And heavenly aid afford;

And all who love their country's cause
Will love and bless you too,

And nights and mornings they will pray
For freedom and for you.

Then take your gun and go, etc.

And now good by to you, John-
I cannot say farewell;

We'll hope and pray for the best, John;
God's goodness none can tell.

Be his great arm around you, John,
To guard you night and day;
Be our beloved country's shield,
Till the war has passed away.
Then take your gun and go, etc.

The contest decided with peace to the nation;
My hero retired 'mid the loud acclamation
Of men without number, and praise without measure;
My own heart exulted in transports of pleasure.

O my happiness! O my happiness! O my happiness!
How precarious!

Our Freedom, with order, by Faction rejected,
A new Constitution our country erected;

My hero was raised to preside over the Union,
And his tares intercepted our blissful communion:

O my happiness! O my happiness! O my happiness!
How precarious!

Declining the trust of his dignified station,
With joy to the seat of his dear estimation,
Surrounded with honors, he humbly retreated;
Sweet hopes, softly whispered, my bliss was completed,
O my happiness! O my happiness! O my happiness!
How precarious!

When the pangs of disease had fatally seized him,
My heart would have yielded its life to have eased him;
I prayed the Most High if for death He designed him,
That he would not permit me to loiter behind him.
O my Washington! O my Washington! O my Wash-
ington!

All was dubious.

LADY WASHINGTON'S LAMENTATION.
DECEMBER, 1799.*

When Columbia's brave sons called my hero to lead 'em,

To vanquish their foes and establish their freedom,
I rejoiced at his honor-my fears I dissembled ;

At the thought of his danger, my heart, how it trem bled:

0 my Washington! O my Washington! O my Washington!

All was hazardous.

*Copied from an original, January 9th, 1803, and presented by a lady of Richmond, Va., to Miss Susan McCain, (Mrs. S. M. Bell,) of Lunenburg County, Virginia.

THE REBELLION.

BY DAVID BARKER.

THERE'S a law of compensation,
And a law of retribution,
For each mortal and each nation,

And I've seen the plain solution.

If there's truth in the evangel,
Then the old recording angel,

By that law of compensation,
And that law of retribution,
(For I've seen the whole solution,)
Has a reckoning with this nation.

I have seen the primal entry
On the books beyond the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever,
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
At the bridge that passes over,
At the dark bridge with the cover.
On a midnight dank and dreary,
When my form was weak and weary
Then my spirit left its dwelling,
Left it in another's keeping;
In the kind care of another,
Of a loving angel brother,

Who had left his earth-friends weeping,
And had crossed the river swelling,
But had found a passage over-
Found a backward passage over,
Through the dark bridge with the cover,
And had made another entry
On the shore this side the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
At the bridge that passes over,
At the dark bridge with the cover.

As my spirit made its entry
On the shore beyond the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
At the bridge that passes over,
At the dark bridge with the cover,
There I met the writing angel
With his records all before him,
And a halo hanging o'er him,
With his books named in the evangel.

With an anxious, saddened feeling
Through my inner spirit stealing,
Turned I to the writing atzel,

With his books named in the evang 1,
Just to learn the situation

ceding nation.

Of our struggling
Just to learn this fro the entry
On the books beyond the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
At the bridge that passes over,
At the dark bridge with the cover.

With a tear the angel said it:
"There's your debt and there's your credit-
Just inspect each primal entry
On the books this side the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river."

Turned I quick aside the cover,
And I glanced the pages over,
And I found the primal entry
On the books beyond the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
Was before the old embargo,
When the Dutch ship with her cargo,
Ploughed her keel across our waters,
With her fettered sons and daughters,
'Twas a charge for "countless terrors,"
And the "middle passage horrors."

Then the next or second entry
On the books beyond the sentry,

Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
At the bridge that passes over,
At the dark bridge with the cover,
Was for wails of wives and mothers,
And for sisters, fathers, brothers,
When the auction-hammer thundered
That all kindred ties were sundered."
Then the next and final entry
On the books beyond the sentry,
Of the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside the river,
At the bridge that passes over,
At the dark bridge with the cover,
Was for "proceeds of the cargo,
Brought before the old embargo,"
And I found the angel had it,
With each mill of interest added-
But we pass now to the credit
As the writing angel had it.
Turred I then again the cover,
And I searched the pages over,
Bet I found no credit entry

Cn the books bet, the sentry,

"When the proceeds of the cargo,
Brought before the old embargo-
When the proceeds as you had it,
With each mill of interest added,
Shall be squandered in your slaughters,
'Mid your wails of wives and daughters,
You will get your honest credit!"

Then he closed the opening cover,
When again I crossed the river,
By the sentry standing ever
Gaunt and grim beside that river;
Then my spirit sought its dwelling,
Left within a brother's keeping,
Of an angel brother's keeping,
When that brother left my dwelling,
And recrossed the river swelling,
From this land with sorrow laden,
To his better home in Aideun.

EXETER, September, 1862.