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Here one reads that another is wooing his lady,

And he clenches his fists with ferocious scowls; Pat there, has his sheet, telling how little Teddy And the other pigs grow, bless their dear little souls. But there stands one with an anxious face,

Is there none for me? almost breathless he speaks, No, that was the last; and he turns away,

Ashamed of the tears on his sunburnt cheeks.

Would you deem a man less noble and brave,
That the tears could stand upon his cheek?
The One who descended our souls to save,
Did not disdain for sinners to weep.

The soldiers afar from their homes and their friends,
Our prayers and our sympathies daily need.
O, do what you can to make them amends,

For the life which, for our country, they lead.

O, write to them often! our brave soldier boys!

Wives, mothers, and sisters, and sweethearts dear! Write cheering and hopeful, of love, and the joys That await them again when peace shall reign here. A letter from home hath a magic spell,

To make them forget, for a time, all care,

In the thought that loved ones at home wish them well, And remember them often in thought and in prayer.

ANONYMOUS.

LISTEN.

AFTER THE BATTLE OF GREEN BRIAR. VA. OCTOBER 3D, '61.

LISTEN! did ye not hear that sound

Echoing from afar.

Faintly o'er the distant hills

Like some funeral car?

Did ye not hear that mournful cry

That agonizing prayer,

Which from many a burdened heart
Ascends in deep despair?

Listen! that same sad, mournful cry,
That same bewailing prayer,

Extends its cries from shore to shore,

With anguish rends the air!

For on yon blood-stained field
Full many a brother lies,

With upturned face and pleading look
The noble hero dies!

Listen! from yon battalions height
Each distant grassy plain

Where lie the gasping multitude

Of vanquished heroes slain!

That prayer doth rise in louder strains

With accents still more deep!

It is a plea for Heaven to aid
The dear old flag to keep.

Listen! along the garden walks
Of yonder cottage low,

A maiden treads the vine clad bower
With lingering steps, and slow,

A paper in her hand she holds

Which tells of victories won, and lost,
Of hard-earned fame, and manly toil,
Which blood and treasure both have cost.

Listen! she's reading the list of those
Who fell in the deadly strife,

Of those who in their country's cause
Delivered up their life.

But lo! her brother's name she spies

Ere half the list is read;

Her brother's name-Great God! is there,

Down with the ghastly dead!

Listen! a cry of deep despair,

A mournful cry of pain

She utters, while in tears she shrieks:

"My brother too, is slain !"

And then she glances once again

Upon the precious name,

Alas! there can be no mistake,

Her brother too, is slain!

Listen! how many, many groans

Are borne upon the air,

From hearts that's tasted of the cup

Of bitterest despair!

Great God! how long must we behold

Such bloody times as these?

تم

How long ere Truth shall reign o'er all,

And Freedom kiss the breeze?

J. R. PENHOLLOW.

MOTHER IS THE BATTLE OVER?

BATTLE OF BUFFALO HILL, KY.,

OCTOBER 3D, '61.

"MOTHER, is the battle over?

Thousands have been slain, they say,
Is my father coming ?-tell me,
Have our soldiers gained the day?
Is he well, or is he wounded-
Mother, do you think he's slain?
If you know, I pray you, tell me,
Will my father come again?"

"Mother, dear, you're always sighing
Since you last the paper read,
Tell me why you now are crying,
Why that cap is on your head?
Ah!-I see you cannot tell me,
Father's one among the slain,
"Though he loved us very dearly,
He will ne'er come home again."

"Yes, my boy, your noble father

Is one numbered with the slain ;
We no more on earth shall see him,
But in Heaven we'll meet again,
He died for the Union's glory,
Our day may not be far between,
But I hope, at the last moment,
That we all shall meet again."

SAWYER.

"ONLY A PRIVATE KILLED.”

REBEL ATTACK ON SANTA ROSA ISLAND, FLA.
OCTOBER 9TH, '61.

“WE'VE had a fight," a captain said,
“Much rebel blood we've spilled;
We've put the saucy foe to flight,
Our loss but a private killed !"
"Ah, yes," said a sergeant on the spot,
As he drew a long deep breath,
"Poor fellow, he was badly shot,
Then bayoneted to death!"

When again was hushed the martial din,

And back the foe had fled,

They brought the private's body in;

I went to see the dead.

For I could not think the rebel foe,

Though under curse and ban,
So vaunting of their chivalry,
Could kill a wounded man.

A minie ball had broke his thigh,
A frightful, crushing wound,
And then with savage bayonets,

They pinned him to the ground.
One stab was through the abdomen,
Another through the head;

The last was through the pulseless breast,
Done after he was dead.

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