Ah! many a true-hearted hero and brave, As any whom FAME'S mighty trumpet has blown, Has sunk, thus unhonored, alone in his grave, His name and his deeds to his fellows unknown. Green, green grows the grass o'er his cold, earthy bed! May the wild flowers of Nature the monument be Of the patriot who thus for his country has bled, And drawn his last breath in the cause of the free!' THE PARTING HOUR IS DARK, MOTHER. CAPTURE OF NORFOLK, VA., MAY 10TH, 1862. THE parting hour is dark, mother, I grieve to think that I, mother, Tumultuous are the thoughts, mother, One long last fond embrace mother, I feel it in the battle's heat, E'en as I feel it now. One pressure of the hand-one look- That holds me to thy loving breast; My mother dear, farewell. RICHARD H. LENT. NEVER OR NOW. DESTRUCTION OF THE MERRIMAC, OFF NORFOLK, VA., MAY 11TH, '62. LISTEN, young heroes! your country is calling! Time strikes the hour for the brave and the true, Now while the foremost are fighting and falling, Fill up the ranks that have opened for you! You whom the fathers made free and defended, Stain not the scroll that emblazons their fame; You whose fair heritage spotless descended, Leave not your children a birth-right of shame. Stay not for questions while Freedom stand gasping! Wait not till Honor lies wrapt in his pall! Brief the lips' meeting be, swift the hand clasping"Off for the wars" is enough for them all! Break from the arms that would fondly caress you! Hark! 'tis the bugle blast! sabres are drawn! Mother shall pray for you, father shall bless you, Maidens shall weep for you when you are gone. Never or now! cries the blood of a nation Poured on the turf where the red rose shall bloom; Never or now! roars the hoarse-throated cannon From the foul dens where our brothers are dying, From the hot plains where they perish outnumbered, ANONYMOUS. GO FORTH MY SON. BEFORE THE CAPTURE OF NATCHEZ, MISS., GO FORTH, my son, your country calls Go forth, and battle for her cause, I much will miss your presence here, That you'll return, when Treason's flag When in the dreary Southern gloom A mother's prayers will guard you then, And when the hour of strife arrives, For I would rather have thee die Than fail to meet the foe! J. HENRY HAYWARD. THE STANDARD BEARER. BATTLE OF FORT DARLING, VA., MAY 16TH, '62. And the brave standard-bearer, blood mantled and torn With the wounds of the conflict, that strove for his prize But wrapped in the banner whose glory life-borne Now emblazons his bosom,still honored he lies. There are eyes that are stony, blood-blotted in glare, Some are locked in the grapple that struggled to gain Many smiled at the glory achieved ere they died, The father lies stark 'neath the grim monster's heel, The most faithful commmander e'er true to his trust, With his patriot hand he still clutches the bladeThat he pledged to his country till buried in dust, And upon her fair bosom the warrior is laid. WM. H. INGERSOLL, L. L. D. |