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“But, General,” cried the veteran, a flush upon his

brow, “The very men who fought with us, they say, are

traitors now; They've torn the fag of Lundy's Lane-our old red,

while, and blue; And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop

is true. “ I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good

old gun

their part;

To get the range of traitors' hearts, and pick them,

one by one. Your Minié rifles, and such arms, it a'n't worth

while to try; I couldn't get the hang o' them, but I'll keep my

powder dry!" God bless you, comrade !" said the Chief; “God

bless your loyal heart ! But younger men are in the field, and claim to have They'll plant our sacred banner in each rebellious

town, And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull

it down !” “But, General”—still persisting, the weeping veter

an cried, " I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my

guide; And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that,

at least, can I, So give the young ones place to fight, but me a

place to die ! “ If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in

command Put me upon the rampart, with the flag-staff in my

hand :

No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the

shells may fly; I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them

till I die!

"I'm ready, General, so you let a post to me be

given, Where Washington can see me, as he looks from

highest heaven, And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be, General

Wayne : “There stands old Billy Johnson, that fought at

Lundy's Lane ! “And when the fight is hottest, before the traitors

fly, When shell and ball are screeching and bursting in

the sky, If any shot should hit me, and lay me on my face, My soul would go to Washington's and not to Arnold's place!"



I KNOW the sun shines, and the lilacs are blowing,

And summer sends kisses by beautiful May; Oh! to see all the treasures the spring is bestowing,

And think-my boy Willie enlisted to-day. It seems but a day since at twilight, low humming,

I rocked him to sleep with his cheek upon mine, While Robby, the four-year-old, watched for the

coming Of father, adown the street's indistinct line.

It is many a year since my Harry departed,

To come back no more in the twilight or dawn; And Robby grew weary of watching, and started

Alone on the journey his father had gone. It is many a year—and this afternoon, sitting

At Robby's old window, I heard the band play, And suddenly ceased dreaming over my knitting,

To recollect Willie is twenty to-day. And that, standing beside him this soft May-day

morning, The sun making gold of his wreathed cigar

smoke, I saw in his sweet eyes and lips a faint warning, And choked down the tears when he eagerly

spoke : “Dear mother, you know how these Northmen are

crowing, They would trample the rights of the South in

the dust ; The boys are all fire; and they wish I were going—" He stopped, but his eyes said, “Oh, say if I

must!" I smiled on the boy, though my heart it seemed

breaking, My eyes filled with tears, so I turned them

away, And answered him, “Willie, 'tis well you are

wakingGo, act as your father would bid you, to-day!" I sit in the window, and see the flags flying,

And drearily list to the roll of the drum,
And smother the pain in my heart that is lying,

And bid all the fears in my bosom be dumb.
I shall sit in the window when summer is lying

Out over the fields, and the honey-bee's hum

Lulls the rose at the porch from her tremulous sigh

ing, And watch for the face of my darling to come. And if he should fall-his young life he has given

For freedom's sweet sake; and for me, I will pray Once more with my Harry and Robby in heaven To meet the dear boy that enlisted to-day.


BETHEL. [It was in the ill-fated attack of the Union forces on Big Bethel, near Newport News, Virginia, June 10, 1861, that the lamented Major Theodore Winthrop lost his life.] WE mustered at midnight, in darkness we

formed, And the whisper went round of a fort to be

stormed ; But no drum-beat had called us, no trumpet we

heard, And no voice of command, but our colonel's low word

Column ! Forward !"

And out, through the mist and the murk of the

morn, From the beaches of Hampton our barges were

borne; And we heard not a sound, save the sweep of the

oar, Till the word of our colonel came up from the shore

Column! Forward !!"

With hearts bounding bravely, and eyes all alight, As ye dance to soft music, so trod we that night;

Through the aisles of the greenwood, with vines

overarched, Tossing dew-drops, like gems, from our feet, as we marched

Column ! Forward !

As ye dance with the damsels, to viol and flute,
So we skipped from the shadows, and mocked their

pursuit; But the soft zephyrs chased us, with scents of the

morn, As we passed by the hay-fields and green waving

Column! Forward !"


For the leaves were all laden with fragrance of June, And the flowers and the foliage with sweets were in

tune; And the air was so calm, and the forest so dumb, That we heard our own heart-beats, like taps of a drum

Column! Forward !"

Till the lull of the lowlands was stirred by a breeze, And the buskins of morn brushed the tops of the

trees, And the glintings of glory that slid from her track By the sheen of our rifles were gayly Aung back

Column! Forward !

And the woodlands grew purple with sunshiny mist, And the blue-crested hill-tops with rose-light were

kissed, And the earth gave her prayers to the sun in per

fumes, Till we marched as through gardens, and trampled on blooms

Column! Forward !!"

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