1861

SONG OF THE SOLDIERS.

1865.

COMRADES

OMRADES known in marches many, Comrades, tried in dangers many, Comrades, bound by memories many,

Brothers let us be.

Wounds or sickness may divide us,
Marching orders may divide us,
But whatever fate betide us,

Brothers of the heart are we.

Comrades, known by faith the clearest,
Tried when death was near and nearest,
Bound we are by ties the dearest,
Brothers evermore to be.

And, if spared, and growing older,
Shoulder still in line with shoulder,

And with hearts no thrill the colder,
Brothers ever we shall be.

By communion of the banner, —
Crimson, white, and starry banner,-
By the baptism of the banner,

Children of one Church are we.

Creed nor faction can divide us,
Race nor language can divide us.
Still, whatever fate betide us,

Children of the flag are we.

CHARLES G. HALPINE.

Jan. 6, 1862.

JONATHAN TO JOHN.

This poetic effusion of Mr. Hosea Biglow was preceded by the Idyl of the Bridge and the Monument, which set forth another side of American feeling at the British words and deeds consequent on the unauthorized capture, by Commodore Wilkes, of the Trent, conveying to England two Confederate Commissioners.

T don't seem hardly right, John,

IT

When both my hands was full,

To stump me to a fight, John, -
Your cousin, tu, John Bull!

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess
We know it now," sez he,

"The lion's paw is all the law,
Accordin' to J. B.,

Thet 's fit for you an' me!"

You wonder why we 're hot, John?
Your mark wuz on the guns,

The neutral guns, thet shot, John,

Our brothers an' our sons:

161

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess
There's human blood," sez he,

"By fits an' starts, in Yankee hearts, Though 't may surprise J. B. More 'n it would you an' me."

Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,
On your front-parlor stairs,
Would it jest meet your views, John,

To wait and sue their heirs?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess,

I only guess," sez he,

"Thet ef Vattel on his toes fell,

'T would kind o' rile J. B.,

Ez wal ez you an' me!"

Who made the law thet hurts, John,

Heads I win, ditto tails?

"J. B." was on his shirts, John,

Onless my memory fails,

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess

(I'm good at thet),” sez he,

"Thet sauce for goose ain't jest the juice

For ganders with J. B.,

No more than you or me!"

When your rights was our wrongs, John,

You did n't stop for fuss,

Britanny's trident prongs, John,
Was good 'nough law for us.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,

Though physic 's good," sez he, "It does n't foller that he can swaller Prescriptions signed ‘J. B.,'

Put up by you an' me!"

We own the ocean, tu, John:
You mus' n' take it hard,

Ef we can't think with you, John,
It's jest your own back-yard.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,
Ef thet's his claim," sez he,

"The fencin'-stuff 'll cost enough