BURIAL HYMN FOR THE UNION SOLDIERS.
AFTER THE BATTLE OF PIKETON, KY.,
CYPRESS shall not o'er thee wave;
Laurel only for thy grave;
Muffled drums shall never sound;
But the trumpet thrill around;
Crape shall not our Banner shroud,
It shall rustle bright and proud;
Even all the tears that fall,
Only gem thy glorious pall!
For such death as thine is great,
Roses filled the hands of Fate;
Honor proudly towered by,
Lightning leaping from her eye;
Glory smiled upon thy form,
Falling in the Battle-Storm;
Sacred heroes of the Past
Swelled thy name upon the blast!
Soldier of the Union, rest!
Lo! a Nation guards thy breast!
With a larger, grand desire,
Freedom sweeps her mighty lyre:
Lo! the Immortal in her bloom
Writes upon thy sacred tomb,
Honor, Glory, UNION, wave
Wreaths eternal o'er thy grave!"
WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE.
SKIRMISH IN THE KANAWHA VALLEY, VA.,
NOVEMBER 10тн, '61.
NOBLE Republic! happiest of lands,
Foremost of nations Columbia stands;
Freedom's proud banner floats in the skies,
Where shouts of Liberty daily arise.
"United we stand, divided we fall,"
Union forever-freedom to all.
Throughout the world our motto shall be,
Viva l'America, land of the free.
Should ever traitors rise in the land,
Curs'd be his homestead, wither'd his hand;
Shame be his mem'ry, scorn be his lot,
Exile his heritage, his name a blot;
"United we stand, divided we fall,"
Granting a home and freedom to all.
Throughout the world our motto shall be,
Viva l'America, land of the free
To all her heroes, Justice and Fame,
To all her foes, a traitor's foul name;
Our "Stars and Stripes" still proudly shall wave
Emblem of Liberty, flag of the brave.
'United we stand, divided we fall,"
Gladly we'll die at our country's call.
Throughout the world our motto shall be,
Viva l'America, land of the free.
OH! SENTRY! TELL ME OF THE NIGHT.
AT THE DESTRUCTION OF WARRINGTON, FLA.,
"Он, sentry, tell me of the night,
How dawns the slow approaching day?
Will darkness e'er give place to light?
Will this drear gloom ne'er pass away?
Can you discern a single star
Amid the low ring clouds on high?
Is there no hope of coming day?
Oh! tell me sentry, ere I die!"
"Have courage, comrade! courage, man-
For though the night is dark and drear,
Tho' light'ning's flash and thunder's roll
Proclaim the howling storm is near.
Still 'neath the frowning clouds I see,
A faint streak in the north'ren sky;
While far and near on every hand,
I hear the picket's watchful cry."
"Yes, sentry, 'tis the cry that woke
The northern legions from their sleep,
Then ev'ry heart cried- Wake!—to arms,'
While mothers bow'd their heads to weep—
To think their children North and South,
Were thus arrayed in mortal fray;
But oh my wounds-they bleed afresh,
Oh! tell me, sentry, of the day."
"Have courage, comrade: day is nigh,
Tho' its approach is slow indeed,
And your unsightly bleeding wounds
A mother's tender care must need:
But, see!-amid the threat'ning clouds,
While earth with heaven's thunder jars,
I now behold amid the light,
A Constellation of bright Stars!"
"I thank you, sentry, for those words, For eased would be my dying pain, Could I but see the light of day
Or those bright Stars shine once again.
But then, alas! I see no light,
Except the rebel foe's watch-fire,
These bleeding wounds obscure my sight,
Tell me of day-e'er I expire!"
"Have courage, comrade, look again;
The light, which there your dim'd eyes greet,
Proceeds man, from the burning stores
Of our base foe in wild retreat!
The Constellation of bright Stars,
Which 'mid the clouds are shining thro',
Are those upon the Union Flag,
As our brave boys the foe pursue!"
"Joy then is mine!-the day is ours!
The sun or vict ́ry soon wil shine,
Again upon our country loved,
And rescued by God's hand divine!
Oh! raise me, sentry, to my feet,
Let me behold the foe's dismay,
There-gently-so:-I see them now-
And our bright Stars' Hurray!-Hurray!"
With that last cry of heart-felt joy
The wounded soldier gave up life
To wake no more at reveille—
To mingle never more in strife!
For him, shame not to drop a tear,
Nor value light the fame he won,
For men who thus their country serve
Are quite as great as WASHINGTON !
J. HENRY HAYWARD.
BEFORE THE BATTLE AT LANCASTER, MO.,
NOVEMBER 24тн, '61.
THERE was deep and wond'rous meaning
In the Northern legend old,
That when Eric forged his armor,
From his lips an anthem rolled—
Rolled above the sounding anvil
Diapasons high and brave,
Telling of the victor's laurel,
Telling of the hero's grave.
There he stood, the swart and earnest,
Turning in his brawny hands
Many a helmet on his anvil,
For the knights of many lands;
And the high, heroic music,
Mingling with the hammer's peal,
Gave to Eric's armor virtue
Never known before to steel.
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