His comrades sadly at their morning meal
Discuss his merits, nor forget his faults;
Tell of his valor, of his hasty zeal,
His bravery amid the foe's assaults;
The sun the western clouds at eve hath kissed-
The guard is stationed-yet he still is missed.
Days, weeks, aye months, roll on and pass away;
In camp his very.name hath been forgot;
Yet still his parents watch, and weep, and pray,
Within the chamber of that little cot;
Each night, each morning pours its fervent blessing,
In holy prayer for him who still is missing.
One eye, save God's, knows of his resting place,
Maddened by thirst he sought a river's brink-
Thinking anon his footsteps to retrace—
And stooped from out the cooling stream to drink; A coward foeman dogged him to the spot : 'Stooping, he fell beneath the trait'rous shot
Here is his grave:-his feet beyond the bank; The treach'rous bullet mark upon his brow; His cheek pressed to the verdure dark and rank;
A smile e'en resting on his features now ;Here, low in death, the cold moist earth caressing, Lies all that once was him, who now is "MISSING!"
BEFORE THE BATTLE OF NEW BRIDGE, VA.,
JUNE 5TH, '62.
FAREWELL, mother, I must leave thee,
I must leave my childhood's home,
'Tis the love of freedom calls me
From my dearest friends to roam;
And I must leave my aged sire-
Sisters, brothers-leave them all-
I must go ('tis my heart's desire)
Answer to my country's call.
Hark! I hear the drums loud beating;
Now the air is rent with cheers,
"Tis a patriotic greeting
To the gallant volunteers;
I must go, my country's calling;
Hear the cannon loudly roar;
I must pass through scenes appalling,
As our fathers did of yore.
I must draw the glitt'ring sabre
On the gory battle-field,
And, perhaps, against a neighbor,
But to traitors ne'er will yield;
Traitor! would I ne'er had heard it-
That the word was never known;
Oh! that I could now discard it
Hurl it down from mem'ries throne!
Traitors of the Revolution,
But in history display'd-
Traitors to the Constitution,
In our very streets parade;
They have caused this wild commotion,
They have struck our colors bright-
Freedom's sons, on land and ocean,
Now are rising in their might.
Rich and poor, their homes of quiet-
Quitting for the field of blood,
Bound to quell rebellious riot,
Putting all their trust in God,
All seem ready-all are willing-
Working on with ardent zeal,
Soon will musketry and shelling
Make our foes before us kneel!
Since the Union is in danger,
And the Stars and Stripes disgraced;
Henceforth I'll become a Ranger,
Till our banner is replaced-
Till it waves o'er fields of cotton-
Southern forts, and cities, too,
Be it, mother, not forgotten,
I will prove a soldier true.
Go, my son, go on to battle,
For thou hast a manly soul,
Fear not sword nor musket's rattle-
Traitors never should control.
Strike our ensign! they will rue it,
And against our country plot,
Seest a man attempt to do it,
Shoot him-"shoot him on the spot."
THE CAMP O'ERSPREAD THE PLAIN.
BATTLE OF HARRISONBURG, VA.,
JUNE 6TH, '62.
'Twas night; the camp o'erspread the plain,
Where blazing cannons' deafening roar
Had yesternoon swept o'er the main,
From mount to mount, from shore to shore.
No tent showed forth a burning light,
To tell the tale of sleepless minds,
No sound disturbed the silent night
Throughout the camp's well guarded lines.
Save blustering winds as swift they fled,
O'er field and hill and lonely dell
The sturdy guards hard measured tread
And changing cry of "All is well."
Within a tent, apart from all,
A soldier lay in tranquil sleep;
Deaf to all sounds, he hears no call,
But in bright dreams his vigils keep.
While smiles light up his manly brow,
His thoughts to other regions roam,
Where reign in bliss the olive bow,
Where stands his happy lovely home;
In dreams he knows the war is o'er,
And peace commands where Mars did roam, Throws down his sword to fight no more
And onward starts to seek his home.
As on he treads day after day,
Familiar spots of old so dear,
Where years gone by behold his play,
He sighs and wipes away a tear.
But, oh! what joy! Among the trees
He sees the curling smoke on high,
That, wafted by the morning breeze,
Tells him full well his home is nigh.
At last he nears the house, the gate—
His wife and child stand by the door,
They run to meet-but horrid fate!
He never met those dear ones more.
He woke to hear the tread of troops,
The deafening din of human strife,
The cries of chiefs to flying groups,
The deadly fight for limb and life,
To hear the shrieks of maimed around,
The thunder of the cannon's roar,
To see dead comrades strew the ground,
He woke to see and live no more.
WILLIAM J. C. MEIGHAN, S. M.
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