A VOICE FROM SPAIN.

ODE TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

Translated from the Spanish of Carolina Coronado de Perry, by Martha Perry Lowe.

LINCOLN, I salute thee! conqueror thou

art,

Chosen of the people's heart. Traversing the mighty billows o'er

Of the wondrous, awful sea,

From America the free,

Thou hast reached unto this far-off Spanish shore.

Glorious exemplar of the Christian calling, I have heard thy accents falling, Heard thee raise thy voice against the tyrants'

cause.

So the genius of the great,

Sovereign people of the State,

May preserve the volume of its sacred laws.

Wondrous book-the admiration of the ages!
In those solitudes, the pages

From the lofty soul of Washington were born—

Pages whose sublime commands,

Seizing with their reckless hands, Bastard sons of liberty have rudely torn.

I behold thee calm, amid the tumult gazing,
Quailing not before the blazing

Of the traitors' fire within thy land begun.
They would in dishonor drag

At their feet the blushing flag,

Fluttering there before the fillibuster's gun.

My own ancestors, like thine of early story,
Saw of old thy country's glory.

Valiant men they were who sailed away from here,

Leaving traces all around,

Like thy names in history found; Handing memories down to every coming year.

And I feel my longing spirit in me burning With an infinite and tender yearning, When I look upon the conquests of the braveDeeming they have served the end,

Only further to extend

The abhorred territory of the slave.

Ah! what will become of that great nation

yonder,

If the maddening clouds that wander, Threatening all the heaven, should gather in their sight?

Darkening in the azure sky,

With their shadows rising highWhat if they extinguish all the vivid light?

With a fixed and earnest eye that noble country seeing,

Whence my children drew their being I do tremble for those stars upon the blue; For my very life is blent

With the brightness they have lent, And if they are waning, I am waning too.

But I listen to the Northern armies cheering,
Their huzzas and plaudits hearing,

Which they raise on high to herald thy increase;
And their ardor I do share,

Lifting up my humble prayer

For their liberty, their glory, and their peace.

And to thee, Señor, the hope of all the nation,
My good cheer and salutation

I would send amid the mighty billows' roar—

Send across the solemn sea,

To America the free,

Wafted by the breezes of the Spanish shore.

SONG OF THE SOUTHERN WOMEN.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN! we call thee to hark

To the song we are singing, we Joans of Arc; While our brothers are bleeding we fear not to bleed,

We'll face the Red Horror should there be need By our brothers we'll stand on the terrible field, By our brothers we'll stand, and we'll ask for no shield;

By our brothers we'll stand as a torch in the dark, To shine on thy treachery, we Joans of Arc.

Behold our free plumes of the wild eagle dark, Behold them, and take our white brows for thy

mark;

We fear not thy cannon, we heed not thy drum, The deeper thy thunder the stronger we come.

Is woman a coward? No, no, she is brave!
Oh! nothing but love ever made her a slave;
In home's happy circle she's poetry's lark,
But threaten that home and she's Joan of Arc.

O Abraham Lincoln ! we call thee to hark,
Thou Comet of Satan! thou Boast of the Dark!
Take off thy red shadow from Washington's land—
Back! back! for thy footstep is slavery's brand.
Future-eyed prophecy cries to thee, DOWN!
For she sees on thy forehead the hope of a Crown;
The fire that sleeps in our Southern eyes dark,
Would lighten in battle-we're Joans of Arc.

JULIA MILDRED.

APOCALYPSE.

"All Hail to the Stars and Stripes !"

LUTHER C. LADD.*

STRAIGHT to his heart the bullet crushed, Down from his breast the red blood gushed, And o'er his face a glory rushed.

* Killed at Baltimore, Md., April 19, 1861.