The wife who girds her husband's sword, The bolts of death around him rattle, Was poured upon the field of battle! The mother who conceals her grief, While to her breast her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief, Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, With no one but her secret God To know the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod Received on freedom's field of honor! THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. BOY BRITTAN. [Battle of Fort Henry, Tenn., February 6, 1862.] I. BOY BRITTAN—only a lad- -a fair-haired boy-six teen, In his uniform, Into the storm-into the roaring jaws of grim Fort Henry Boldly bears the Federal flotilla— Into the battle storm! II. Boy Brittan is master's mate aboard of the Essex- Ready to do and dare. Aye, aye, sir! always ready In his country's uniform. Boom! Boom! and now the flag-boat sweeps, and now the Essex, Into the battle storm! III. Boom! Boom! till river and fort and field are overclouded By battle's breath; then from the fort a gleam And a crashing gun, and the Essex is wrapt and shrouded In a scalding cloud of steam! IV. But victory! victory! Unto God all praise be ever rendered, They strike! Hurrah! the fort has just surrendered! Shout! Shout! my boy, my warrior boy! And wave your cap and clap your hands for joy! Cheer answer cheer and bear the cheer aboutHurrah! Hurrah! for the fiery fort is ours; And "Victory!" "Victory!" "Victory!" Is the shout. Shout-for the fiery fort, and the field, and the day are ours The day is ours-thanks to the brave endeavor Of heroes, boy, like thee! The day is ours—the day is ours! Glory and deathless love to all who shared with thee, And bravely endured and dared with thee— The day is ours--the day is ours Forever! Glory and Love for one and all; but-but-for thee Home! Home! a happy "Welcome-welcome home" for thee! And kisses of love for thee And a mother's happy, happy tears, and a virgin's bridal wreath of flowers For thee! V. Victory! Victory! But suddenly wrecked and wrapt in seething steam, the Essex Slowly drifted out of the battle's storm; Slowly, slowly down-laden with the dead and the dying; And there, at the captain's feet, among the dead and the dying, The shot-marred form of a beautiful boy is lyingThere in his uniform! VI. Laurels and tears for thee, boy, Laurels and tears for thee! Laurels of light, moist with the precious dew Of the inmost heart of the nation's loving heart, And blest by the balmy breath of the beautiful and the true; Moist-moist with the luminous breath of the singing spheres And the nation's sta'ry tears! And tremble-touched by the pulse-like gush and start Of the universal music of the heart, Laurels and tears for thee, boy, Laurels and tears for thee Laurels of light and tears of love forevermore- VII. And laurels of light, and tears of truth, And the flowers of love and immortal youth, And the breath and bliss of Liberty; And the welcoming light of heavenly eyes, For all of the brave who rest with thee; VIII. O the victory-the victory God ever keeps the brightest crown for such as thou He gives it now to thee! O young and brave, and early and thrice blest Thrice, thrice, thrice blest! Thy country turns once more to kiss thy youthful brow, And takes thee-gently-gently to her breast; And whispers lovingly, "God bless thee-bless thee now My darling, thou shalt rest!" FORCE THE WILLSON, LITTLE GIFFEN OF TENNESSEE. OUT of the focal and foremost fire, "Take him and welcome!" the surgeon said; And we laid him down on a wholesome bed- Weary war with the bated breath, And didn't! nay, more! in death's despite "Johnston's pressed at the front, they say!" A tear, his first, as he bade good-by, Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye; 'I'll write, if spared." There was news of a fight, But none of Giffen. He did not write! I sometimes fancy that were I king Of the princely knights of the Golden Ring, |