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For the peace which shall follow the squadrons' tramp,

Where the brazen trumpets bray,
And, drunk with the fury of storm and strife,

The blood-red chargers neigh.

For the peace which shall wash out the leprous stain

Of our slavery, foul and grim, And shall sunder the fetters which creak and clank

On the down-trodden dark man's limb.

I will curse him as traitor, and false of heart,

Who would shrink from the conflict now,
And will stamp it, with blistering, burning brand,

On his hideous, Cain-like brow.

Out! out of the way! with your spurious peace,

Which would make us rebellion's slaves !
We will rescue our land from the traitorous grasp,

Or cover it over with graves.

Out! out of the way! with your knavish schemes,

You trembling and trading pack!
Crouch away in the dark, like a sneaking hound

That its master has beaten back.

You would barter the fruit of our fathers' blood,

And sell out the Stripes and Stars,
To purchase a place with rebellion's votes,
Or escape

from rebellion's scars.

By the widow's wail, by the mother's tears,

By the orphans who cry for bread,
By our sons who fell, we will never yield

Till rebellion's soul is dead.

The Prescience of the Poet.

(EXTRACT FROM MR. Murdocu's LECTURES.) The following lines are from a poem by Thomas Buchanan Read, Esq., entitled “The New Pastoral,” published about ten years ago. They derive their present interest mainly from the fact that they are singularly prophetic of events which now form the murky clouds enshrouding the whole nation in one common gloom, and of the rainbow arch of hope which will hereafter break forth and dispel the darkness in the ordered time of Him who hath said, “I make peace and create evil.”

Mr. Read seems to have been impressed with the idea of awakening the enthusiasm of the people in favor of their country, by elevating them above mere party strifes, and filling them with the inspiration of a great cause.

In one of the passages, you will observe, he anticipates the time when, through the machinations of the artful and designing demagogue, this fair land may be divided and desolated by civil war, and, with surprising prescience, signalizes, and almost names, the man who, from the ranks of toil and private life, may arise to redeem the nation. Whether in this peculiar passage he had the present Chief Magistrate in view, it is not for me to say; but certainly the reader cannot fail to distinguish something like a portrait of that President who, born among the people and in his early life devoted to hard toil, may, with the blessing of divine Providence, prove to be the accepted chieftain of the deliverance of the Republic, and the perpetuation of the Union.

This extract was first read in the Hall of Representatives at Washington, on the occasion of a benefit for the sick and wounded soldiers. A large and distinguished audience was present; the extract was part of my introduction; and, as I uttered the prophecy concerning the man of the West, Mr. Lincoln entered the chamber and seated himself in a chair on the right of the Speaker's stand, near the entrance. He was not observed for some moments, but gradually his presence was acknowledged by loud applause, which finally became general, as the application of his position and services to the poet's language became apparent and general. I was not aware of his presence, till, pausing in respect to the applause, I inadvertently turned, and saw the President in the chair near to the door. He came late, and, not wishing to disturb the speaker, he had entered alone, and quietly seated himself in the vacant chair.

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Oh, to roam, like the rivers, through empires of woods,
Where the king of the eagles in majesty broods,
Or to ride the wild horse o'er the boundless domain,
And to drag the wild buffalo down to the plain,
There to chase the fleet stag, and to track the huge bear,
And to face the lithe panther at bay in his lair,
Are a joy which alone cheers the pioneer's breast,
For the only true hunting-ground lies in the West !

Leave the tears to the maiden, the fears to the child,
While the future stands beckoning afar in the wild ;
For there Freedom, more fair, walks the primeval land;
Where the wild deer all court the caress of her hand,

There the deep forests fall, and the old shadows fly,
And the palace and temple leap into the sky.
Oh, the East holds no place where the onward can rest,
And alone there is room in the land of the West !

Let contemplation view the future scene.
Afar the woods before the vision fly,
Swift as the shadow o’er the meadow-grass
Chased by the sunshine, and a realm of farms
O’erspreads the country wide, where many a spire
Springs in the valleys, and on distant hills, –
The watch-towers of the land. Here quiet herds
Shall crop the ample pasture, and on slopes
Dozę through the summer noon. While every beast
Which prowls, a terror to the frontier fold,
Shall only live in some remember'd tale,
Told by tradition in the lighted hall,
When the red grate usurps the wooded hearth.
Here shall the city spread its noisy streets,
And groaning steamers chafe along the wharves ;
While hourly o'er the plain, with streaming plume,
Like a swift herald bringing news of peace,
The rattling train shall fly; and from the East,
E'en from the Atlantic to the new-found shores
Where far Pacific rolls, in storm or rest,
Washing his sands of gold—the arrowy track
Shall stretch its iron bond through all the land.
Then these interior plains shall be as they
Which hear the ocean roar; and Northern lakes
Shall bear their produce, and return them wealth ;
And Mississippi, father of the floods,
Perform their errands to the Mexic Gulf,
And send them back the tropic bales and fruits.
Then shall the generations musing here
Dream of the troublous days before their time,
And antiquaries point the very spot
Where rose the first rude cabin, and the space

Where stood the forest chapel with its graves,
And where the earliest marriage rites were said.
Here, in the middle of the nation's arms,
Perchance the mightiest inland mart shall spring;
Here the great statesman from the ranks of toil
May rise, with judgment clear, as strong as wise,
And, with a well-directed patriot blow,
Reclinch the rivets in our union-bands,
Which tinkering knaves have striven to set ajar!
Here shall, perchance, the mighty bard be born,
With voice to sweep and thrill the nation's heart,
Like his own hand upon the corded harp.
His songs shall be as precious girths of gold,
Reaching through all the quarters of the land,
Inlaid so deep within the country's weal,
That they shall hold when heavier bands shall fail,
Eaten by rust, or broke by traitor blows.
Heaven speed his coming! He is needed now!
He wisely spake who said, “Let me but sing
The songs, and let who will enact the laws.
There are whose lips are touch'd with living fire;
In this great moment are they silent now?
Lift up your foreheads, O ye glorious few,

laurels in the gusty air !
And, like brave heralds on a windy hill,

clear voices as a bugle ring! The wild time needs you. There are trembling hearts To strengthen and assure; and there are tongues, Uttering they know not what, that should be drown'd, And babbling lips that should be fill’d with song, Lest they breathe treason unaware. Who dares, Like that bad angel which dismember'd heaven, Stand forth, and, with “disunion” on his lips, Earn endless infamy? None are so base, Or if he lives—the world on land and sea Hides many monsters—let his villain tongue, In its proclaiming, struck with palsy, cleave

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