Earth, that all too soon hath bound him, Linger lovingly around him, Light of dying day! Softly fall, ye summer showers; Then, throughout the coming ages, Keep above his dust! JOHN R. THOMPSON. STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY. [These verses, says Mr. William Gilmore Simms, "were found, stained with blood, in the breast of a dead soldier of the old Stonewall Brigade, after one of Jackson's battles in the Shenandoah Valley." Though widely copied and justly admired, their authorship long remained a well-kept secret; but the compiler of the present volume has been so fortunate as to discover that they were unquestionably written by Dr. J. W. Palmer, of Maryland.] COME, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails, No growling if the canteen fails, Here Shenandoah brawls along, There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong, Of "Stonewall Jackson's way." We see him now-the queer slouched hat The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat, The "Blue-Light Elder" knows 'em well; Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off! Old Massa's goin' to pray. Strangle the fool that dares to scoff! Attention! it's his way. Appealing from his native sod, In forma pauperis to God : 'Lay bare Thine arm; stretch forth Thy rod! Amen!" That's "Stonewall's way.' He's in the saddle now. Fall in! Steady! the whole brigade! Hill's at the ford, cut off; we'll win His way out, ball and blade! What matter if our shoes are worn? What matter if our feet are torn? Quick step! we're with him before morn!" The sun's bright lances rout the mists Here's Longstreet, struggling in the lists, Pope and his Dutchmen, whipped before; 'Bay'nets and grape !" hear Stonewall roar ; "Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score!" In "Stonewall Jackson's way." Ah! Maiden, wait and watch and yearn Ah! Wife, sew on, pray on, hope on ; THE BAREFOOTED BOYS. I. By the sword of St. Michael By David his sling And the giant he slew; How the South on a time Stormed the ramparts of Hell II. Had the South in her border A hero to spare, Or a heart at her altar, Lo! its life's blood was there! And the black battle-grime Might never disguise The smile of the South On the lips and the eyes Of her barefooted boys! III. There's a grandeur in fight, Of that terrible smile The smile of the South, Of her barefooted boys! IV. It withered the foe Like the red light that runs From our barefooted boys! ANONYMOUS. REVEILLE. [Written by a sergeant in the 140th Regiment of New York Volunteers, who died at Potomac Station, Va., December 28, 1862, aged twenty-five years. An eminent authority says of this poem, that it contains “almost the finest lyric line in the language."] THE morning is cheery, my boys, arouse ! Though the east is flushing with crimson dyes. Awake! awake! awake! O'er field and wood and brake, Comes on the blushing morn. Awake! awake! You have dreamed of your homes and friends all night; You have basked in your sweethearts' smiles so bright; Come, part with them all for a while again,- You have dreamed full long, I know. Turn out! turn out! From every valley and hill there come MICHAEL O'CONNOR. SPRING IN WAR-TIME SPRING, with that nameless pathos in the air Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain, Out in the lonely woods the jasmine burns Its fragrant lamps, and turns Into a royal court with green festoons The banks of dark lagoons. In the deep heart of every forest tree The blood is all aglee, And there's a look about the leafless bowers As if they dreamed of flowers. Yet still on every side appears the hand Of Winter in the land, |