By Northern lead and Southern steel,

Fresh slaughtered, there the victims lay; For Night and Death had quenched the hate That flamed and scorched that fearful day. Not all are dead. Some feebly drag

Their broken limbs across the plain, To seek a quiet spot to die,

A shelter from the driving rain.

Among the corpses piled and pale,
A few are living here and there;
A few, with fast abating breath,

Can shriek a curse or moan a prayer.
A few, through chilling rain and sleet,
Upturn their slowly glaring eyes;
But see no beam of hope above,

No rainbow in the sullen skies.

Across the misty, sodden field,

Vainly their aching sight they strain; For friend or foe, to bear them thence, They search the night, and search in vain. In vain-for they must bleed and die : No succoring hand may reach them yet; Both sides had gained the victory,

And both must save their etiquette !

Still fell the rain on friend and foe,

On dead and living, through the night,
The wind outhowled the cries below;
Till broke the morning's sombre light.
The driving rain had swept the plain,
And washed the pools of blood away;
But nothing recked those "victors" then,
As cold, and pale, and stiff they lay.

MY KINSMAN'S FALL.

AT COLD HARBOR, VA.,

MAY 24TH, '62.

LET us rest awhile, my comrade,
Our stubborn foe has fled,
And left us here the victors,

Where so much blood was shed.
And I do not wish to look upon
The pale and mangled dead.

You wonder at my sadness,
And why I could not feel
The thrilling joy of victory,
When with such fiery zeal
We charged upon their columns,
And bathed in blood our steel.

When broken and in terror,
They left the gory plain,
Where many of their number lay
Beside our mangled slain-
You wonder that I turned away,
As if it gave me pain.

I did not falter, did I,

There by the fence, you know, Where the fierce fight raged so hotly, And so much blood did flow,

And where of our brave comrades
So many were laid low?

But when that bullet struck me,
And numbed my arm with pain,
And I saw upon my rifle

The ruddy crimson stain-
I felt then as I hope I ne'er
May feel in life again.

I felt that my blood circled in
The veins of him that sped
The ball that did so nearly
Lay me among the dead—
I felt he was my kinsman,
And turned away my head.

And when we charged upon them,

Like a swift river's flow,

I knew that my own kinsman

Would meet me there a foe,

And thought that mine might be the sword That there should lay him low.

When they fled before us, vanquished,
And we stumbled o'er the dead,
I saw a face all pale and stark,

And with its own blood red-
I knew 'twas him, and felt my blood
Thrill with a nameless dread

I knew he was a traitor,

But could not hate him—no !-
For my own blood once warmly
Did in his pulses flow;

And I wished that some hand other
Than mine had laid him low.

But let us not speak of it,
For in this evil time,

Such ties should be forgotton ;
To falter would be crime,
When treason's bayonets glitter
All o'er the land like rain.

Let us go on now, comrade;
See how the sun's rays gleam
O'er yon long line of corpses-
How like a fearful dream!
No!-let us go 'round them,

Down this way by the stream.

F. J. BECK

定

DEAR FATHER WHEN YOU ARE FAR AWAY.

AT THE BATTLE OF WILLIAMSBURG, VA.;

MAY 25TH, 1862.

DEAR father, when you're far away;
Think of your little Lutie;

There's one at home who'll often pray
You may not shrink from duty.

Think not, when all your sky seems dark,
Oh, think not of repining;
Remember that the darkest clouds
Must have a silver lining.

Go forward in the threat'ning strife,
Remember 'tis for freedom;

No life's too great a sacrifice,

If our dear country need them

If in this struggle we should fall,
Freedom is lost forever;

For the sun of other lands is set
To rise in future, never.

With wistful eyes to our land they look,
And think that hope is dawning;
Soon will their night be turned to day,
And be as lovely morning.

Thus, when your path seems dark to grow,
And you weary in discharge of duty,
Think what's at stake in the present war,
And the prayers of your child Lutie.

PIERSON.

ONCE AGAIN YOUR COUNTRY CALLS.

SECOND CALL FOR VOLUNTEERS.,
MAY 25TH, '62.

ONCE again your country calls,
Sons of Freedom's sires arise!
Spread the order o'er the land,

Sound the tocsin through the skies;
Treason stalks with powerful charms-
Freedom's sons to arms, to arms!

Where Virginia's river flows,

There your friends imperiled stand,
Fathers, brother, husbands-all

Ask of you a helping hand;

By the memory of the slain,

Will ye hear their plea in vain !