And as you dread your grandsire's curse, Ne'er sully it with shame. And I, as long as life shall last, Within this bosom free, Will ask God's blessing on you-and A A NATIONAL TRIO. HOLT SCOTT-ANDERSON. HOLT. N oaken strength has this curt Saxon name, Befitting well thy puissant manliness of will, Thou patriot-statesman, whose high deeds shall thrill Far future as the passing time, when Fame A staunch soul's hardiment so helped to tame. By lordship saved the storm-struck towering realm, Righting beneath thy swayful true command. SCOTT. Winfield thy prophet-parents called thee, Scott; ANDERSON. Glad lightning, on his myriad-footed steed, Poured on the nation's troubled heart such seed The eagle soared sunward, again strong-eyed, Stout men looked each on each with freshened pride, And stretched to the utmost admiration's creed Towards mothers that could bear the like of thee; Who, 'mid mad shrieks of treason's thwarted brag, With soldier's grasp and true soul's loyalty, Outflung with kneeling prayer on Sumter's crag Freedom's broad shield, terrible on land and sea, The world's last hope-our war-worn, fulgent flag. THE FLAG OF FORT SUMTER. WHEN Major Anderson took possession of Fort Sumter, the whole company assembled and knelt around the flag-staff, while the chaplain offered a prayer previous to the raising of the flag. THE gray light of dawn o'er the rampart was stealing Where Sumter its stern rocky walls lifted high And spread its chill robe o'er the noble band kneeling, All vowing their flag to defend or to die. The low voice of prayer morning's stillness was breaking, As solemnly bowing, a blessing they craved; Then rose a glad shout, all the echoes awaking, As proudly unfolding their flag o'er them waved. Hurrah! for the banner thus boldly left flowing And flinging its bright stars and stripes to the sky; Hurrah! for the heroes, no flinching e'er knowing, Who'll guard it unstained or in death coldly lie. Dear flag of our country! shall foemen assail ye, And every bright drop in our hearts fail to burn? Shall rebels beneath thee e'er beat their reveille, And we not in triumph their insolence spurn? By the graves of our fathers, who died in defending Thy fame, to their deepest affections so dear, And whose voice from their grass-covered hillocks ascending, In eloquent pleadings for thee we now hear; By the future which stretches in vista before us, By the echoes which sound from a glorious past, In purity still shall thy folds yet wave o'er us, Or drenched in our life-blood enshroud us at last ABRAHAM LINCOLN THE MOHAMMED OF THE MODERN HEGIRA. AT midnight, in the Keystone State, Old Abe was dreaming of the hour When Southern rebels, soon or late, In dreams" Old Fuss and Feathers" bore In dreams his song of triumph heard, An hour passed on-Old Abe awoke And death to be his lot For lurking near the morning train, |