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HARVARD STUDENT'S SONG.

103

HARVARD STUDENT'S SONG.

BY JULIA WARD HOWE.

(Denkst du daran.)

REMEMBER ye the fateful gun that sounded

To Sumter's walls from Charleston's treacherous shore?

Remember ye how hearts indignant bounded When our first dead came back from Baltimore? The banner fell that every breeze had flattered, The hum of thrift was hushed with sudden woe; We raised anew the emblems shamed and shattered, And turned a front resolved to meet the foe.

Remember ye, how forth to battle faring

Our valiant ranks the fierce attack withstood, In all the terrors of the tumult bearing

The people's heart of dauntless lionhood? How many a hand forsook its wonted labor,

Forsook its gains, as prizes fall'n in worth, To wield with pain the warlike lance and sabre, To conquer Peace with God, for all on earth?

Remember ye, how, out of boyhood leaping,

Our gallant mates stood ready for the fray;

104

HARVARD STUDENT'S SONG.

As new-fledged eaglets rise, with sudden sweeping, And meet unscared the dazzling front of day? Our classic toil became inglorious leisure,

We praised the calm Horatian ode no more; But answered back with song the martial measure, That held its throb above the cannon's roar.

Remember ye the pageants dim and solemn, Where Love and Grief have borne the funeral pall?

The joyless marching of the mustered column, With arms reversed to Him who conquers all? Oh! give them back, thou bloody breast of Treason, They were our own, the darlings of our hearts! They come benumbed and frosted out of season, With whom the summer of our youth departs.

Look back no more! our time has come, my Brothers!

In Fate's high roll our names are written too; We fill the mournful gaps left bare by others, The ranks where Fear has never broken through! Look, ancient walls, upon our stern election ! Keep, Echoes dear, remembrance of our breath! And, gentle eyes and hearts of pure affection, Light us, resolved to Victory or Death!

KISS ME, MOTHER, AND LET ME GO. 105

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KISS ME, MOTHER, AND LET ME GO.

BY MISS NANCY A. W. PRIEST.

AVE you heard the news that I heard to-day?
The news that trembles on every lip?

The sky is darker again, they say,

And breakers threaten the good old ship.
Our country calls on her sons again,

To strike, in her name, at a dastard foe;
She asks for six hundred thousand men;
I would be one, mother. Let me go.

The love of country was born with me;

I remember how my young heart would thrill When I used to sit on my grandame's knee And list to the story of Bunker Hill.

Life gushed out there in a rich red flood;

My grandsire fell in that fight, you know; Would you have me shame the brave old blood? Nay, kiss me, mother, and let me go.

Our flag, the flag of our hope and pride,
With its stars and stripes, and its field of blue,
Is mocked, insulted, torn down, defied,
And trampled upon by the rebel crew.
And England and France look on and sneer,

106 KISS ME, MOTHER, AND LET ME GO.

"Ha! queen of the earth, thou art fallen low;" Earth's downtrod millions weep and fear;

So kiss me, mother, and let me go.

Under the burning Southern skies,

Our brothers languish in heart-sick pain, They turn to us with their pleading eyes;

O mother, say, shall they turn in vain ? Their ranks are thinning from sun to sun, Yet bravely they hold at bay the foe; Shall we let them die there, one by one? So kiss me, mother, and let me go.

Can you selfishly cling to your household joys,
Refusing this smallest tithe to yield,
While thousands of mothers are sending boys
Beloved as yours to the battle-field?

Can you see my country call in vain,

And restrain my arm from the needful blow? Not so, though your heart should break with pain, You will kiss me, mother, and let me go.

A MOTHER'S ANSWER.

107

A MOTHER'S ANSWER.

"I HAVE KISSED HIM, AND LET HIM GO."

HE'S my own boy, and this is my plea:
Perhaps it is foolish and weak;

But mothers I'm sure will have pity on me,
And some word will tenderly speak.

The light of my home-my tears fall like rain
Is it wonder I shrink from the blow

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That my heart is crushed by its weight of pain? But I've kissed him, and let him go.

There are some, I know, who feel a strange pride .In giving their country their all,

Who count it a glory that boys from their side,

In the strife are ready to fall.

But I, sitting hére, have no pride in my heart;
(God forgive me that this should be so !)

For the boy that I love the tears still start,
Yet I've kissed him, and let him go.

Last night, with soft steps, I stole to his bed
As oft in childhood I'd done;

On his pillow I bowed my poor, stricken head
Till out of the east rose the sun.

His dreams were of me; for he turned in his sleep,

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