She had gone through the gates to the better land, With that terrible list in her pale, cold hand,

With her white lips parted, as at last she said, 'Company C, William Warren dead.'

SARAH T. BOLTON.

THE SWORD AND THE PLOW.

SKIRMISH AT HARRISONVILLE, VA.,
JULY 25TH, '61.

The Sword came down to the red-brown field,
Where the Plow to the furrow heaved and keeled?
And it looked so proud in its jingling gear,

Said the Plow to the Sword-"What brings you here?"

Long years ago, ere I was born,

They doubled my grandsire up one morn,

To forge a shire for you, and now

They want him back," said the Sword to the Plow.

The red-brown field glowed a deeper red,

As the gleam of war o'er the landscape sped;
The sabres flashed, the cannons roared,

And, side by side, fought the Plow and the Sword.

ANONYMOUS.

FORWARD.

BATTLE AND OCCUPATION OF FORSYTH, MO.,
JULY 26TH, '61.

WHAT, again! Does their insolence dare so much?
Again for our soil do they force us to fight,
Polluting our homes with its poisonous touch?
Does treason essay so audacious a flight?
To the front! to the front with our glorious flag!
Our banners by thousands should gladden the air,
The foe in our faces is flaunting his rag

And he comes not to sue, nor pity, nor spare.

Our friends from the borders are flying in fear,
Their wives and their little ones faint in the path;
For the foe is behind them-his horsemen are near-
The smoke of our homesteads foreshadows his wrath.
Too long have we waited, too long have delayed;

Too long has indifference palsied our hand.
The swift steps of traitors will never be stayed,
Till the last of the brood is swept out of the land.

United once more, and in earnest at last,

Let us drive them at once from the soil of the free, Nor slacken our speed when the danger is past, But follow them on to the shores of the sea. None prate now of peace, when the foeman is near: The wrangling and clamour of faction are hushed When treason triumphantly threatens us here, What peace can we have until treason is crushed?

Oh, then, a new oath let us solemnly swear,

To pause not, to halt not, nor rest on the way, Till our flag, thro' the whole land, shall glow in the air. And treason is buried forever and aye.

Let us move as one man, with the might of the free,
Though partisans falter and cowards deride,

Till the traitors submit from the gulf to the sea,
To Union and Freedom-our glory and pride,

EDWARD WILLET.

AM I FORGOTTEN?

AFTER THE BATTLE OF DUG SPRINGS, MO.,
AUGUST 2D, '61.

'MID the clangor of arms and the clash of the battle,
By Fate, dearest one, is thy fortune now cast;
The hiss of the shell and the musketry's rattle
Are borne to thine ears on War's terrible blast:
But as with firm step, unappalled by the danger,

Led on by the flag of the brave and the free,
Thou treadest the fields where pale death is no stranger,
O, tell me, my love, think'st thou ever of me?

And tell me, when night's dusky pennons are waving Concealing the free-brooding over the foesWhen the moon the red fields with her silver is laying

And wrapt in thy mantle thou seekest repose,

Doest thou thro' the dim aisles of the Past ever wander And think of the one that's e'er thinking of thee? Dost thy spirit in dreams over other days ponder,

And are thy dreams sweeter for being of me?

MONROE G. CARLTON.

THE PICKET FOUND MISSING.

SURRENDER OF FORT FILLMORE, TEXAS.
AUGUST 2D, '61.

THE news of the battle was sent thro' the land,
Ev'ry sentence was read and re-read again;
And our hearts were relieved of a terrible fear,
We found not his name 'mong the wounded or slain.

Day after day we watched for a letter,

And coupled his name with bright glory and fame, But days, weeks, and months passed swiftly away'Twas strange, very strange, yet no letter came.

We heard the report of the soldiers returning,

And knew by the cheers that the heroes were near; With hearts buoyed up with hope and sweet pleasure, We rushed to the meeting of him that was dear.

Thro' each column we searched, ev'ry visage scanned,
Hoping, still doubting, o'ercome with despair;
Friends mingled with friends in joyous delight-
All seemed so happy-but he was not there.

The brain 'gan to whirl, and our eyes grew dim-
A terrible dread took the place of our glee;
And our hearts, too, beat wildly in anguish and pain,
Not wounded or slain, then where could he be?

They said he was ordered on duty one night,

The same watch he kept so often before;

And when the grand round challeng'd the pickets, alas!
He was found missing, and ne'er was seen more.

Ah! he was the pride and hope of our household—
A star of bright honor was set on his brow;
His smile was like sunshine, so pleasant and sweet-
Oh! where will we find the "missing one" now?

FRANCIS B. MURTHA.

THE RELIEF.

AT MANASSAS JUNCTION, VA.,
August 3d, '61.

"TIS Night! The Camp's in sleep profound,
The guardsman tramps his watchful round;
While sentries march with shoulder'd guns,
From post to post the watch cry runs :

"Stand! Who comes there? Pass not the line!"
"A Friend!" "Advance with countersign!"
"The Union Flag!" "Pass, Friend! Good Night!"
"The Union Flag!" "Pass, Friend! Good night!"

'Tis morn! the sunbeam lopes its light
On glistening gun and bayonet bright;
The wearied sentry treads his rounds,
Till soon the welcome drum resounds!

"Stand! Who comes there? Pass not line!"
"Grand Rounds!" "Advance, with Countersign!"
"The Union Flag!" "Relief! All right!"
"The Union Flag !" "Relief! All right!"

F. A. SPANGLE.