And how, of all her trebled host
Of widening empires, none could boast
Whose strength or love was uppermost,

Because they grew so equal there
Beneath the flag, which, debonnaire,
Waved joyous in the golden air;

Wherefore the martyr, gazing clear
Beyond the gloomy atmosphere
Which shuts us in with doubt and fear;

He, marking how her high increase
Ran greatening in perpetual lease
Through balmy years of odorous peace,

Greeted, in one transcendent cry
Of intense, passionate ecstacy,
The sight that thrilled him utterly;

Saluting, with most proud disdain
Of murder and of mortal pain,
The vision which shall be again.

So, lifted with prophetic pride,

Raised conquering hands to heaven, and cried, "All hail the Stars and Stripes!" and died.

CLARENCE BUTLER.

UNDER THE WASHINGTON ELM,

CAMBRIDGE, APRIL 27, 1861.

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

I.

EIGHTY years have passed, and more,

Since under the brave old tree,

Our fathers gathered in arms and swore
They would follow the sign their banners bore,
And fight till the land was free.

II.

Half of their work was done,
Half is left to do-

Cambridge, and Concord, and Lexington,
When the battle is fought and won,
What shall be told of you?

III.

Hark! 'tis the South wind moans

Who are the martyrs down?

Ah! the marrow was true in your children's bones,
That sprinkled with blood the cursed stones
Of the murder-haunted town!

IV.

What if the storm-clouds blow?

What if the green leaves fall?
Better the crashing tempest's throe,

Than the army of worms that gnawed below;
Trample them one and all!

V.

Then, when the battle is won,
And the land from traitors free,
Our children shall tell of the strife begun
When Liberty's second April sun
Was bright on our brave old tree!

COLONEL ELLSWORTH.

BY R. H. STODDARD.

IT fell upon us like a crushing woe,

Sudden and terrible.

"Can it be?" we said,

"That he from whom we hoped so much, is dead, Most foully murdered ere he met the foe?

Why not?
State

The men that would disrupt the

By such base plots as theirs-frauds, thefts, and lies

What code of honor do they recognize?

They thirst for blood to satisfy their hate,
Our blood: so be it; but for every blow
Woe shall befall them; not in their wild way,
But stern and pitiless, we will repay,

Until, like swollen streams, their blood shall flow: And should we pause, the thought of ELLSWORTH slain,

Will steel our aching hearts to strike again!
May 24, 1861.

AN

SCOTT AND THE VETERAN.

BY BAYARD TAYLOR.

I.

N old and crippled veteran to the War Department came,

He sought the Chief who led him, on many a field of fame

The Chief who shouted "Forward!" where'er his banner rose,

And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes.

II.

"Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried,

“The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your side?

Have you forgotten Johnson, that fought at Lundy's Lane?

'Tis true I'm old and pensioned, but I want to fight again."

III.

"Have I forgotten?" said the Chief; "my brave old soldier, No!

And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so:

But you have done your share, my friend; you're crippled, old, and gray,

And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day."