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Ay! trampled on blossoms, and seared the sweet

breath Of the greenwood with low-brooding vapors of

death ; O'er the flowers and the corn we were borne like a

blast, And away to the forefront of battle we passed,

Column! Forward!"

For the cannon's hoarse thunder roared out from

the glades, And the sun was like lightning on banners and

blades, When the long line of chanting Zouaves, like a

flood, From the green of the woodlands rolled, crimson as blood

Column! Forward !"

While the sound of their song, like the surge of the

seas, With the “ Star-Spangled Banner "swelled over the

leas; And the sword of Duryea, like a torch, led the

way, Bearing down on the batteries of Bethel that day

Column! Forward !"

Through green-tasselled cornfields our columns

were thrown, And like corn by the red scythe of fire we were

mown; While the cannon's fierce ploughings new-fur

rowed the plain, That our blood might be planted for Liberty's grain

Column! Forward !"

Oh! the fields of fair June have no lack of sweet

flowers, But their rarest and best breathe no fragrance like

ours ; And the sunshine of June, sprinkling gold on the

corn, Hath no harvest that ripeneth like Bethel's red


« Column ! Forward!"

When our heroes, like bridegrooms, with lips and

with breath Drank the first kiss of Danger and clasped her in

death ; And the heart of brave Winthrop grew mute with

his lyre, When the plumes of his genius lay moulting in fire

Column! Forward /"

Where he fell shall be sunshine as bright as his

name, And the grass where he slept shall be green as his


For the gold of the pen and the steel of the sword Write his deeds in his blood-on the land he adored

Column! Forward !!"

And the soul of our comrade shall sweeten the

air, And the flowers and the grass-blades his memory

upbear; While the breath of his genius, like music in leaves, With the corn-tassels whispers, and sings in the sheavesColuinn! Forward !"


[First Battle of Bull Run, July 21, 1861.]
THEY have met at last—as storm-clouds

Meet in heaven;
And the Northmen back and bleeding

Have been driven:
And their thunders have been stilled,
And their leaders crushed or killed,
And their ranks, with terror thrilled,

Rent and riven!
Like the leaves of Vallambrosa

They are lying;
In the moonlight, in the midnight,

Dead and dying:
Like those leaves before the gale,
Swept their legions, wild and pale ;
While the host that made them quail

Stood, defying.
When aloft in morning sunlight

Flags were flaunted,
And “swift vengeance on the Rebel"

Proudly vaunted :
Little did they think that night
Should close upon their shameful flight,
And rebels, victors in the fight,

Stand undaunted.
But peace to those who perished

In our passes !
Light be the earth above them;

Green the grasses !
Long shall Northmen rue the day
When they met our stern array,
And shrunk from battle's wild affray

At Manassas !



(General Nathaniel Lyon was killed in the battle of Wilson's Creek, Missouri, while in command of the Union forces, August 10, 1861. His last words were: my brave boys! I will lead you !]

" Come on,

SING, bird, on green Missouri's plain,

The saddest song of sorrow;
Drop tears, O clouds, in gentlest rain

Ye from the winds can borrow;
Breathe out, ye winds, your softest sigh,

Weep, flowers, in dewy splendor,
For him who knew well how to die,

But never to surrender.
Up rose serene the August sun

Upon that day of glory;
Up curled from musket and from gun

The war-cloud, gray and hoary:
It gathered like a funeral pall,

Now broken, and now blended,
Where rang the bugle's angry call,

And rank with rank contended.
Four thousand men, as brave and true

As e'er went forth in daring,
Upon the foe that morning threw

The strength of their despairing.
They feared not death-men bless the field

That patriot soldiers die on;
Fair Freedom's cause was sword and shield,

And at their head was Lyon.
Their leader's troubled soul looked forth

From eyes of troubled brightness;
Sad soul ! the burden of the North

Had pressed out all its lightness.
He gazed upon the unequal fight,

His ranks all rent and gory,

And felt the shadows close like night

Round his career of glory. "General, come lead us !" loud the cry

From a brave band was ringing“Lead us, and we will stop, or die,

That battery's awful singing!"
He spurred to where his heroes stood -

Twice wounded, no one knowing-
The fire of battle in his blood

And on his forehead glowing.
Oh! cursed for aye that traitor's hand,

And cursed that aim so deadly,
Which smote the bravest of the land,

And dyed his bosom redly !
Serene he lay, while past him pressed

The battle's furious billow,
As calmly as a babe may rest

Upon its mother's pillow.
So Lyon died ; and well may flowers

His place of burial cover,
For never had this land of ours

A more devoted lover.
Living, his country was his bride;

His life he gave her, dying;
Life, fortune, love, he nought denied

To her, and to her sighing.
Rest, patriot, in thy hillside grave,

Beside her form who bore thee!
Long may the land thou diedst to save

Her bannered stars wave o'er thee ! Upon her history's brightest page,

And on fame's glowing portal, She'll write thy grand, heroic age, And grave thy name immortal.


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