I married Charlie, your husband's clerk, For my husband was honest, and brave, and kind, Your wealthy husband or grand coupe. Your husband every day, Madame, Drives down to business well-dressed and calm; Tells of a battery lost and won. It was hard to part while our love was new, ANONYMOUS THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. EVE OF THE BATTLE AT PLATTE CITY, MO. NOVEMBER 2D, '61. He lay in his tent, With his blanket around him, While visions of home Were thronging his brain, Till his eyelids grew heavy, And the goddess of slumber Her soft rosy chain. His couch was a hard one, His knapsack a pillow, And the cold wind was whistling Around him so drear, But he heeded them not, For again he was crossing The threshold where gathered How they start at the sound The wind whistle still, And the camp fires are burning, On the dark troubled sky. 'Gainst his own is now beating, And rapture lights up Each fond loving eye. Soft arms are around him, And eyes gently beaming With their soft loving light; The mother's soft voice, Her glad tearful greeting, Thrill his heart with emotions Of purest delight, How familiar is all In that dear home dwelling; How brightly the fire Now gather they all. Ah, the soldier boy now Forgotten that perils And hardships surround him, That the morrow perhaps The foe he may meet. Ah, soldier boy, soldier boy, How blissful, how real, Thy visions now seem; The sweet gentle face Aye, hark now, the sound The camp-fires shine out Stern hearts are around him; The clanking of arms. His blanket is 'round him His knapsack a pillow; And far from his home And his loved ones, so dear. WHEN HE IS AWAY. CAPTURE OF HOUSTON, MO, OCTOBER 4TH, '61. OUR dear, loving Charlie has gone from us now, His portrait hangs up, and so gay on the wall, There's bushwackers and rebels-a riótous crew, During each bloody fight I have quaked in my fear, For I know in his heart he would long to be there; And although they have sung him in fame's gallant lay, My heart still has languished, for he was away. We've Generals and Colonels, and Privates, and all, But now this dark war-oh, when shall it cease, GERSHOM WIBORN. |