The bleaching bones, the battle-blots;

And write on many a nameless grave a legend of forget

me-nots.

I see the assassin crouch and fire;

I see his victim fall — expire

I see the victor creeping nigher,

To strip the dead - he turns the head - the face! — the son beholds his sire!

I hear the dying sufferer cry,

With his crushed face turned to the sky;

I see him crawl in agony

To the foul pool, and bow his head into its bloody slime and die.

And in the low sun's bloodshot rays -
Portentous of the coming days -

I see the oceans blush and blaze,

And the emergent continent between them wrapt in crimson haze.

And I foreorder and ordain,

That ere the sixth red moon shall wane
Those brothers' swords shall cross again,

And the True shall smite down the False within the Virgin's waste domain.

And lo! the bloody dew shall fall,
And my great darkness, like a pall

Of deep compassion, cover all,

Till the dead nation rise, transformed by truth, to triumph over all.

Thus saith the Keeper of the Key
And the Great Seal of Destiny,

UNCLE SAM.

Whose eye is the blue canopy,

207

And casts the pall of his great darkness over all the land

and sea.

UNCLE SAM.

Louisville Journal.

AIR-"Tom Brown."

THE king will take the queen,

And the queen will take the jack ;
And down we march to Dixie's land,
With knapsacks at our back.
Chorus Here's to you, Uncle Sam,

And your flag shall be our chart;
Here's to you, with hand and heart;
And for you we'll win a battle or two,
And that before we part;

Here's to you, Uncle Sam! [Repeat.

The jack will take the ten,

And the ten will take the nine;
And over Richmond's rebel walls

The Stars and Stripes must shine.

Chorus - Here's to you, etc.

The nine will take the eight,

And the eight will take the seven;
And out of Old Virginia's soil
Secession shall be driven.

Chorus - Here's to you, etc.

The seven will take the six,

And the six will take the five;
King Davis and his wretched crew
From Dixie's land we 'll drive.

Chorus Here's to you, etc.

The five will take the four,

And the four will take the tray;
And all the ragged rebel rogues
We'll shortly sweep away.
Chorus - Here's to you, etc.

The tray will take the deuce,

But the deuce can't take the ace;
And so the Devil and Davis both

Must leave their power and place.
Chorus - Here's to you, etc.

WHEN JOHNNY COMES MARCHING HOME.*

WHEN Johnny comes marching home again,

Hurrah! hurrah!

We'll give him a hearty welcome then,

Hurrah! hurrah!

The men will cheer, the boys will shout,
The ladies, they will all turn out,

And we'll all feel gay,

When Johnny comes marching home.

CHORUS TO EACH VERSE.

The men will cheer, the boys will shout,
The ladies, they will all turn out,

And we'll all feel gay,

When Johnny comes marching home.

The old church-bell will peal with joy,
Hurrah! hurrah!

To welcome home our darling boy,

Hurrah! hurrah!

* A very popular street-song during the last two years of the war. It was sung to a kind of jig, in the minor key.

209

SONNET.

The village lads and lasses say,
With roses they will strew the way;
And we'll all feel gay,

When Johnny comes marching home.

Get ready for the jubilee,
Hurrah! hurrah!

We'll give the hero three times three,
Hurrah! hurrah!

The laurel-wreath is ready now
To place upon his loyal brow;
And we'll all feel gay,

When Johnny comes marching home.

Let love and friendship on that day,
Hurrah! hurrah!

Their choicest treasures then display,
Hurrah! hurrah!

And let each one perform some part,
To fill with joy the warrior's heart;
And we'll all feel gay,

When Johnny comes marching home.

Chorus

The men will cheer, the boys will shout,
The ladies, they will all turn out,

And we'll all feel gay,

When Johnny comes marching home.

SONNET.

BY GEORGE H. BOKER.

BLOOD, blood! the lines of every printed sheet
Through their dark arteries reek with running gore;
At hearth, at board, before the household door,
'Tis the sole subject with which neighbors meet.
Girls at the feast, and children in the street

Prattle of horrors flash their little store Of simple jests against the cannon's roar, As if mere slaughter kept existence sweet. Oh, Heaven! I quail at the familiar way This fool the world - disports his jingling cap; Murdering or dying, with one grin agap! Our very Love comes draggled from the fray, Smiling at victory, scowling at mishap, With gory Death companioned and at play.

SONNET.

BY GEORGE H. BOKER.

OH! craven, craven! while my brothers fall
Like grass before the mower, in the fight,
I, easy vassal to my own delight,

Am bound with flowers,

a far too willing thrall. Day after day along the streets I crawl,

Shamed in my manhood, reddening at the sight Of every soldier who upholds the Right, With no more motive than his country's call. I love thee more than honor; ay, above

That simple duty, conscience plain and clear To dullest minds, whose summons all men hear. Yet, as I blush and loiter, who should move In the grand marches, I cannot but fear That thou wilt scorn me for my very love.

THE BRAVE AT HOME.

BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

THE maid who binds her warrior's sash

With smile that well her pain dissembles,