Over all shone Eric's helmets,
In the van, like warrior-stars;
Dazzling, flashing, his sacred armor
On the battle's sounding cars;
Helm and haukbert were enchanted
In that old and wond'rous time-
For he made his simple smithy

Glorious with the gallant rhyme.

Let us learn from that grand armor
By the earnest Northman made,
What the loyal soul must fashion
When the battle is arrayed-
When the Constitution's threatened,
When the traitor-shadow falls,

When the trump of Truth is sounding
Many a charge on Treason's walls.

"Tis the patriot's mighty armor:

Forge it, nurse the gallant thought-
Thought to which a Stark and Warren
All their mighty armor wrought;
Sword and cannon then enchanted
By the patriotic flame,

Shall triumphant, bear us over
Every dastard traitor's frame!

WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE.

I DREAMED MY BOY WAS HOME AGAIN.

SECOND FIGHT AT VIENNA, VA.,

NOVEMBER 26тн, '61.

LONELY, weary, broken hearted,
As I laid me down to sleep,
Thinking of the day we parted,

When you told me not to weep,
Soon I dreamed that peaceful Angels
Hovered o'er the battle-plain,
Singing songs of joy and gladness,
For my boy was home again.

Tears were changed to loud rejoicing,
Night was turned to endless day,
Lovely birds were sweetly singing,
Flowers bloomed in light array;
Old and young seemed light and cheerful,
Peace seemed everywhere to reign,
My poor heart forgot its sorrow;
For my boy was home again!

But the dream is past: and with it
All my happiness is gone;

Cheerful thoughts of joy have vanished,
I must still in sorrow mourn.
Soon may peace, with all its blessings,
Our unhappy land reclaim;

Then my tears will cease their flowing,
And my boy be home again!

CHARLES CARROLL SAWYER.

WITH "VICTOR" ON HIS CREST.

AT THE BATTLE OF BLACK WALNUT CREEK, MO.,

NOVEMBER 27TH, '61.

AY! Leave the Stripes and Stars Above him, with the precious cap and sash; The mute mementos of the battle crash, And of a hero's scars.

Rest, gallant soldier, rest!
Ennobled e'en in dying; Christ's true knight
Is now a king, in royal glory bright,
With "Victor" on his crest.

And yet-God giveth sleep;
No earthly victor's laurels ever shed,
A glory like the halo round his head,
Ye loved him-should you weep?

Say ye, "His life is lost;

Our home's sweet comfort, and our crown of hope?"
Nay, friends! His life has now a grander scope,
A living holocaust.

To God, and Truth, and Right,

It aye hath been; and if the gleaming coal
On God's own altar hath unborne the soul
In fiery chariot bright.

'Mid battle roar and strife;

If to the fearless soldier, God's release

Came swiftly with the seal of perfect peace`
Upon his earthly life.

Ay, though it sorely crush

The hearts that clung to him, poor hearts that ache,
With yearning sense of loss-oh, for his sake
Each wail of anguish hush!

And yet, ye well may weep,

As those who mourned the holy martyr erst,
On whose glad eyes Heaven's waiting glories burst,
Before "he fell asleep."

A hero-heart is still,

And eyes are sealed; and loving lips are mute,
Which bore on earth the Spirit's golden fruit,
But peace! It was God's will.

And for our precious land—

The land he loved, and died for in her need.
The blood of heroes is the country's seed,
As he stood, let us stand.

The Lord of hosts doth reign.

He crowned our soldiers," dying at their guns."
Oh be the nation worthy of such sons-

The noble-hearted slain.

And so we sadly lay,

Yet not so sadly, though with tearful eyes,
A little nameless flower where he lies,

And gently steal away.

M. E. LEE.

LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.

AT THE FIGHT AT SALEM, MO.,

DECEMBER 3D, '61.

WHAT, was it a dream? am I all alone,

In the dreary night and the drizzling rain? Hist!-ah, it was only the river's moan; They have left me behind with the mangled slain.

Yes, now I remember it all too well!

We met, from the battling ranks apart; Together our weapons flashed and fell,

And mine was sheathed in his quivering heart.

In the cypress gloom where the deed was done,
It was all too dark to see his face;

But I heard his death-groans, one by one,
And he holds me still in a cold embrace.

He spoke but once, and I could not hear
The words he said for the cannon's roar;
But my heart grew cold with a deadly fear-
O God! I had heard that voice before!

Had heard it before, at our mother's knee,
When we lisped the words of our evening prayer!
My brother! would I had died for thee—
This burden is more than my soul can bear!