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'Twas a comrade with whom he had often caroused, That now entered to bid him farewell. "Ah, Tom! is it you come to bid me adieu? 'Tis kind my lad! give me your hand! Nay-nay-don't get wild, man, and make me a child! I'll be soon in a happier land!"

With hand clasped in silence, Tom mournfully said, "Have you any request, Joe, to make?— Remember by me 'twill be fully obeyed;

Can I anything do for your sake?"

"When it's over, to morrow!" he said, filled with sorrow,

"Send this token to her whom I've sworn All my fond love to share!"-'twas a lock of his hair, And a prayer-book, all faded and worn.

"Here's this watch for my mother; and when you write home,"

And he dashed a bright tear from his eye"Say I died with my heart in old Devonshire, Tom, Like a man, and a soldier!-Good-bye!" Then the sergeant on guard, at the grating appeared, And poor Tom had to leave the cold cell,

By the moon's waning light, with a husky "Goodnight!

God be with you, dear comrade!-farewell!"
Gray dawned the morn in a dull cloudy sky,
When the blast of a bugle resounded;
And Joe ever fearless, went forward to die,
By the hearts of true heroes surrounded.

"Shoulder arms!" was the cry as the prisoner passed "To the right about-march!" was the word: [by: And their pale faces proved how their comrade was loved,

And by all his brave fellows adored.

Right onward they marched to the dread field of doom:
Sternly silent, they covered the ground;

Then they formed into line amid sadness and gloom,
While the prisoner looked calmly around.
Then soft on the air rose the accents of prayer,
And faint tolled the solemn death-knell,
As he stood on the sand, and with uplifted hand,
Waved the long and the lasting farewell.
"Make ready!" exclaimed an imperious voice:

-"Present!"- -struck a chill on each mind:
Ere the last word was spoke, Joe had cause to rejoice,
For "Hold!-hold!" cried a voice from behind.
Then wild was the joy of them all, man and boy,
As a horseman cried, "Mercy!-Forbear!"
With a thrilling "Hurrah!- -a free pardon!

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Ah! what a sound will rise-how wild and drearyWhen the death angel touches those swift keys! What loud lament and dismal Miserere

Will mingle with their awful symphonies.

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises,

With such accursed instruments as these,
Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices,
And jarrest the celestial harmonies?

Were half the power that fills the world with terror,
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and

courts,

Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals nor forts;

The warrior's name would be a name abhorred;
And every nation that should lift again
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead
Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain.
Down the dark future, through long generations,
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease.
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,

I hear once more the voice of Christ say "Peace!"
Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals
The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies,
But, beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of love arise.

-H. W. Longfellow.

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Now all is calm and fresh and still;

Alone the chirp of flitting bird, And talk of children on the hill,

The timid good may stand aloof,

And bell of wandering kine, are heard.

No solemn host goes trailing by

The black-mouthed gun, and staggering wain; Men start not at the battle cry,

O, be it never heard again!

Soon rested those who fought; but thou
Who minglest in the harder strife
For truths which men receive not now,
Thy warfare only ends with life.
A friendless warfare! lingering long

Through weary day and weary year;
A wild and many weaponed throng
Hang on thy front and flank and rear.

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,
And blanch not at thy chosen lot;

The sage may frown-yet faint thou not.

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,

The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; For with thy side shall dwell, at last,

The victory of endurance born. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise againThe eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies among his worshipers.

Yes, though thou lie upon the dust, When they who helped thee flee in fear, Die full of hope and manly trust,

Like those who fell in battle here! Another hand thy sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave, Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. -William Cullen Bryant.

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"Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scotts, wham Bruce has often led,
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to glorious victory!

"Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power-
Edward! chains and slavery!

"Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?

Traitor! coward! turn and flee !

"Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa',

Caledonia! on wi' me!

"By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall be-shall be free!
"Lay the proud usurper low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Forward! let us do, or die !"

-Robert Burns.

66

Battle of Lookout Mountain.

IVE me but two brigades," said Hooker,
frowning at fortified Lookout,

"And I'll engage to sweep yon mountain clear of that
mocking rebel rout!"

At early morning came an order that set the general's face aglow;

"Now," said he to his staff, "draw out my soldiers,
Grant says that I may go!"

Hither and thither dashed eager colonel to join his
regiment,
[tent to tent;
While a low rumor of the daring purpose ran on from
For the long roll was sounded in the valley, and the
keen trumpet's bray,

And the wild laughter of the swarthy veterans, who
cried, "We fight to-day!"

The solid tramp of infantry, the rumble of the great jolting gun,

The sharp, clear order, and the fierce steeds neighing, "Why's not the fight begun?"—

All these plain harbingers of sudden conflict broke on the startled ear;

And last, arose a sound that made your blood leapthe ringing battle cheer.

The lower works were carried at one onset, like a vast roaring sea

Of lead and fire, our soldiers from the trenches swept out the enemy;

And we could see the gray coats swarming up from the mountain's leafy base,

To join their comrades in the higher fastness-for life or death the race!

Then our long line went winding round the mountain, in a huge serpent track,

And the slant sun upon it flash'd and glimmer'd, as on a dragon's back.

Higher and higher the column's head push'd onward, ere the rear moved a man;

And soon the skirmish lines their straggling volleys and single shots began.

Then the bald head of Lookout flamed and bellow'd, and all its batteries woke,

And down the mountain pour'd the bombshells, puffing into our eyes their smoke:

And balls and grape shot rained upon our column, that bore the angry shower

As if it were no more than that soft dropping which scarcely stirs the flower.

Oh, glorious courage that inspires the hero, and runs through all his men!

The heart that failed beside the Rappahannock, it was itself again!

The star that circumstance and jealous faction shrouded in envious night,

Here shone with all the splendor of its nature, and with a freer flight!

Hark! hark! there go the well known crashing volleys, the long-continued roar,

That swells and falls, but never ceases wholly, until
the fight is o'er.

Up toward the crystal gates of heaven ascending, the
mortal tempests beat,
[God's very feet!

As if they sought to try their cause together before

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