Civil War.

"RIFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot

Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot

That shines on his breast like an amulet!"

"Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead,

There's music around when my barrel 's in tune!" Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped,

And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.

แ Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood; A button, a loop, or that luminous patch

That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!"

"Oh captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track,

When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette, For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.

"But I snatched off the trinket,-this locket of gold;
An inch from the centre my lead broke its way,
Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,
Of a beautiful lady in bridal array."

"Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!—'t is she,

My brother's young bride,—and the fallen dragoon Was her husband-Hush! soldier, 't was Heaven's decree, We must bury him there, by the light of the moon!

"But, hark! the far bugles their warnings unite;

War is a virtue, weakness a sin;

There's a lurking and loping around us to-night;—

Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!"

ANONYMOUS.

The Picket Euard.

"ALL quiet along the Potomac," they say,
"Except now and then a stray picket

Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'T is nothing-a private or two, now and then,
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost-only one of the men,
Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle."

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Their tents in the rays of the clear autunın moon, Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping; While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, Keep guard-for the army is sleeping.

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack-his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,

As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep—
For their mother-may Heaven defend her!

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,
That night, when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to his lips-when low-murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken.
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,

And gathers his gun closer up to its place
As if to keep down the heart-swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree-
The footstep is lagging and weary;

Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shades of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?

It looked like a rifle-"Ah! Mary, good-bye!"
And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

No sound save the rush of the river;

While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead

The picket 's off duty forever.

ETHEL LYNN BEERS.

The Countersign.

ALAS! the weary hours pass slow,
The night is very dark and still,

And in the marshes far below

I hear the bearded whippoorwill.

I scarce can see a yard ahead;

My ears are strained to catch each sound;

I hear the leaves about me shed,

And the spring's bubbling through the ground.

Along the beaten path I pace,

Where white rags mark my sentry's track;

In formless shrubs I seem to trace

The foeman's form, with bending back;

I think I see him crouching low-
I stop and list-I stoop and peer,
Until the neighboring hillocks grow
To groups of soldiers far and near.

With ready piece I wait and watch,
Until my eyes, familiar grown,

Detect each harmless earthen notch,

And turn guerillas into stone;
And then amid the lonely gloom,
Beneath the tall old chestnut trees,
My silent marches I resume,

And think of other times than these.

"Halt! who goes there?" my challenge cry,
It rings along the watchful line;
"Relief!" I hear a voice reply-

Advance, and give the countersign!" With bayonet at the charge I wait

The corporal gives the mystic spell; With arms aport I charge my mate, Then onward pass, and all is well.

But in the tent that night awake,
I ask, if in the fray I fall,
Can I the mystic answer make,
When the angelic sentries call?
And pray that Heaven may so ordain,
Where'er I go, what fate be mine,
Whether in pleasure or in pain,

I still may have the countersign.

ANONYMOUS

Sherman's March to the Sea.

OUR camp-fires shone bright on the mountain
That frowned on the river below,

As we stood by our guns in the morning,
And eagerly watched for the foe;
When a rider came out of the darkness
That hung over mountain and tree,
And shouted, "Boys, up and be ready!
For Sherman will march to the sea!"

Then cheer upon cheer for bold Sherman
Went up from each valley and glen,
And the bugles re-echoed the music

That came from the lips of the men;
For we knew that the stars in our banner

More bright in their splendor would be, And that blessings from Northland would greet us, When Sherman marched down to the sea.

Then forward, boys! forward to battle!
We marched on our wearisome way,
We stormed the wild hills of Resaca-
God bless those who fell on that day!
Then Kenesaw, dark in its glory,

Frowned down on the flag of the free;
But the East and the West bore our standard
And Sherman marched on to the sea.

Still onward we pressed, till our banners
Swept out from Atlanta's grim walls,
And the blood of the patriot dampened
The soil where the traitor-flag falls;
We paused not to weep for the fallen,
Who slept by each river and tree,
Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel,
As Sherman marched down to the sea.

Oh, proud was our army that morning,
That stood where the pine darkly towers,
When Sherman said, "Boys, you are weary,
But to-day fair Savannah is ours!"
Then sang we the song of our chieftain,

That echoed o'er river and lea,

And the stars in our banner shone brighter

When Sherman marched down to the sea.

SAMUEL H. M. BYERS.