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The wife who girds her husband's sword,
'Mid little ones who weep or wonder, And bravely speaks the cheering word,
What though her heart be rent asunder, Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear
The bolts of death around him rattle, Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er
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,
To know the pain that weighs upon her,
THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.
(Battle of Fort Henry, Tenn., February 6, 1862.]
I. BOY BRITTAN-only a lad—a fair-haired boy-six
In his uniform,
Into the battle storm!
II. Boy Brittan is master's mate aboard of the EssexThere he stands, buoyant and eager-eyed,
By the brave captain's side;
Ready to do and dare. Aye, aye, sir! always
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 over
clouded By battle's breath; then from the fort a gleam And a crashing gun, and the Essex is wrapt and
In a scalding cloud of steam !
Unto God all praise and glory be!
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 about Hurrah ! 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 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 theeThe day is ours--the day is ours
Glory and Love for one and all; but — but --- for
theeHome! Home! a happy “Welcome-welcome home” for thee !
And kisses of love for thee-
bridal wreath of flowers-
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 !
Laurels and tears for thee!
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,
And all deep sympathy
Laurels and tears for thee
And the mantle of immortality;
And the everlasting victory!
And the loving kiss of Liberty ;
And the over-calm of God's canopy;
For all of the brave who rest with thee;
And now sleep side by side with thee;
Dear warrior-boy-like thee.
Belongs to thee!
He gives it now to thee!
Thrice, thrice, thrice blest !
brow, And takes thee-gently-gently to her breast; And whispers lovingly, “God bless thee-bless thee My darling, thou shalt rest !"
LITTLE GIFFEN OF TENNESSEE.
Out of the focal and foremost fire,
eye Spoke of the spirit that would not die, And didn't ! nay, more! in death's despite The crippled skeleton learned to write! “ Dear mother at first, of course: and then, “Dear captain "—inquiring about “the men.' Captain's answer—“Of eighty and five, Giffen and I are left alive!”. " Johnston's pressed at the front, they say !" Little Giffen was up and away. 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