Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?
It looked like a rifle-" Ha! MARY, good-by!"
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.

"THE LAST BROADSIDE."

BY ELIZABETH T. PORTER BEACH.

The following lines were written upon hearing of the heroism of the crew of the "Frigate Cumberland," in the engagement at "Hampton Roads," who bravely fired a last "Broadside" while their ship was sinking, in compliance with the order of their Commanding Officer, the gallant hero, Lieutenant Morris.

"Shall we give them a Broadside as she goes ?"

SHALL we give them a Broadside, my boys, as she goes?
Shall we send yet another to TELL,

In iron-tongued words, to Columbia's foes,
How bravely her sons say Farewell?

Ay! what though we sink 'neath the turbulent wave, 'Tis with DUTY and RIGHT at the helm;

And over the form should the fierce waters rave,

No tide can the spirit o'erwhelm !

For swift o'er the billows of Charon's dark stream
We'll pass to the Immortal shore,

Where the "waters of life" in brilliancy beam,
pure float in peace evermore!

And the

Shall we give them a Broadside once more, my brave men? "Ay! Ay!" rose the full, earnest cry;

"A Broadside! A Broadside! we'll give them again! Then for God and the Right nobly die."

"Haste! Haste!"-for mid all that battling din
Comes a gurgling sound fraught with fear,
As swift flowing waters pour rushingly in ;
Up! Up! till her portholes they near.

No blenching!-no faltering!-still fearless all seem;
Each man firm to duty doth bide;

A flash! and a "Broadside !" a shout! a careen!
And the Cumberland sinks 'neath the tide!

The "Star Spangled Banner" still floating above!
As a beacon upon the dark wave;

Our Ensign of Glory, proud streaming in love,
O'er the tomb of the "Loyal and Brave!"

Bold hearts! mighty spirits! "tried gold" of our land!
A halo of glory your meed!

All honored, the noble-souled Cumberland band!
So true in Columbia's need!

ROLL CALL.

BY N. G. SHEPHERD.

"CORPORAL GREEN!" the orderly cries;
"Here!" was the answer, loud and clear,
From the lips of a soldier who stood near,
And "Here!" was the word the next replied.

"Cyrus Drew!"-then a silence fell,—
This time no answer followed the call:
Only his rear-man had seen him fall,
Killed or wounded he could not tell.

There they stood in the failing light,
These men of battle, with grave, dark looks,
As plain to be read as open books;

While slowly gathered the shade of night.

The fern on the hill-sides were splashed with blood, And down in the corn, where the poppies grew, Wore redder stains than the poppies knew;

And crimson-dyed is the river's flood.

For the foe had crossed from the other side
That day, in the face of a murderous fire
That swept them down in its terrible ire;
And their life-blood went to color the tide.

"Herbert Cline!"-At the call there came Two stalwart soldiers into the line,

Bearing between them this Herbert Cline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name.

"Ezra Kerr !"—and a voice answered "Here!" "Hiram Kerr!" but no inan replied:

They were brothers, these two; the sad wind sighed, And a shudder crept through the corn-field near.

"Ephraim Deane !"—then a soldier spoke:

"Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said, "When our ensign was shot; I left him dead, Just after the enemy wavered and broke.

I paused a moment and gave him to drink; He murmured his mother's name, I think; And Death came with it and closed his eyes.'

'Twas a victory-yes: but it cost us dear;
For that company's roll, when called at night,
Of a hundred men who went into the fight,
Numbered but twenty that answered "Here!"

THE CAVALRY CHARGE.

BY EDMUND C. STEDMAN.

OUR good steeds snuff the evening air,
Our pulses with their purpose tingle
The foeman's fires are twinkling there;
He leaps to hear our sabres jingle!

HALT!

Each carbine sent its whizzing ball:
Now, cling! clang! forward all,
Into the fight!

Dash on beneath the smoking dome :
Through level lightnings gallop nearer!
One look to Heaven! No thoughts of home:
The guidons that we bear are dearer.
CHARGE!

Cling clang! forward all!

Heaven help those whose horses fall:
Cut left and right!

They flee before our fierce attack!

They fall! they spread in broken surges.
Now, comrades, bear our wounded back,
And leave the foeman to his dirges.
WHEEL!

The bugles sound the swift recall:
Cling! clang! backward all!
Home, and good-night!

THE WIDOWED SWORD.

ANONYMOUS.

THEY have sent me the sword that my brave boy wore

On the field of his young renown,

On the last red field, where his faith was sealed,
And the sun of his days went down.

Away with the tears

That are blinding me so;

There is joy in his years,

Though his young head be low;

And I'll gaze with a solemn delight, evermore,
On the sword that my brave boy wore.

"Twas for Freedom and Home that I gave him away, Like the sons of his race of old;

And though, aged and gray, I am childless this day, He is dearer a thousandfold.

There's a glory above him

To hallow his name;
A land that will love him

Who died for its fame;