It thrills the languid, warms the cold.
Gives even new courage to the bold;
And sometimes lifts the veriest clod
To own its lofty trust in God.
When Heaven shall blow the trump of peace,
And bid this weary warfare cease,
Their several missions nobly done,
The triumph grasped and freedom won—
Both armies from their toils at rest
Alike may claim the victor's crest,
But each shall see its dearest prize
Gleam softly from the other's eyes.
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS.
The Little White Glove.
BY PAUL H. HAYNES, SOUTH CAROLINA.
THE early spring-time faintly flushed the earth,
And in the woods, and by their favorite stream
The fair, wild roses blossomed modestly
Above the wave that wooed them: there at eve,
Philip had brought the woman that he loved,
And told his love and bared his burning heart.
She, Constance,-the shy sun-gleams trembling oft,
Though dewy leaves upon her golden hair,
Made him no answer,-tapped her pretty foot,
And seemed to muse: "To-morrow I depart,"
Said Philip, sadly, "for wild fields of war—
Shall I go, girl, with love's invisible mail,
Stronger than mortal armor, or, all stripped
Of love and hope, march reckless unto death ?"
A soft mist filled her eyes, and overflowed
In sudden rain of passion, as she stretched
Her delicate hand to his, and plighted troth,
With lips more rosy than the sun-bathed flowers;
And Philip pressed the dear hand fervently,
Wherefrom in happy mood, he gently drew
A small white glove, and ere she guessed his will,
Clipped lightly from her forehead one golden curl,
And bound the glove, and placed it next his heart.
"Now I am safe," cried Philip, "this pure charm
Is proof against all hazard or mischance!
Here, yea! unto this self-same spot I vow
To bring it stainless back;--and you shall wear
This little glove upon our marriage eve!"
And Constance heard him, smiling through her tears.
Another spring-time faintly flushed the earth,
And in the woods, and by their favorite stream,
The fair, wild roses blossomed modestly
Above the wave that wooed them :-there at eve
Came a pale woman with wild, wandering eyes,
And tangled, gold n ringlets, and weak steps
towards the streamlet's rippling marge, She seemed phantasmal, shadowy, like the forms By moonlight conjured up from a place of graves; There crouching o'er the stream, she laved and laved Some object in it, with a strained regard,
muttered fragments of distempered words,
Whereof were these: "He vowed to bring it back,
The love-charm that I gave him-my white glove-
Stainless and whole! He has not kept his oath!
Oh! Philip! Philip! have you cast me off-
Off, like this worthless thing you send me home,
Tattered and mildewed? Look you! what a rent,
Right through the palm! It cannot be my glove!—
And look again! what horrid stain is here!
My glove! you placed it next your heart, and swore
To keep it safe, and on this self-same spot,
Return it to me, on our marriage eve;
And now-and now-I know 'tis not my glove,—
Yet Philip, sweet! it was a cruel jest,
You surely did not mean to fright me thus?
For hark you! as I laved the loathsome thing,
To see what stain defiled it-(do not smile,
I feel that I am foolish, foolish Philip-)
But God of Heaven! I dreamed that stain was blood!"
SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS.
Post number one:-" All's well!"-Post number two: "All's well!" and so the assuring cry goes the circuit of the camp.-OFFICER'S
BY MRS. MARGARET J. PRESTON. VIRGINIA.
"ALL'S WELL,:-How the musical sound
Is pleasantly smiting the ear,
As the sentinel paces his round
And carols his tidings of cheer!
Half startled the soldier awakes,
Recalling his senses that roam;
'Tis but for a moment it breaks
On the dream he was dreaming of home:
"All's well!"
"All's well!"-Through the lengthening lines
Each sentry re-echoes the word, And faint through yon forest of pines,
The distant responses are heard: On the marge of the nebulous night, A weary, reiterate sigh,
It ripples, then vanishes quite
In the infinite depths of the sky.
"All's well!"-In the battle of life, Does my soul like a sentinel stand, Prepared to encounter the strife
With well burnished weapon in hand? While the senses securely repose,
And doubt and temptation have room,
Does the clear eye of conscience unclose?
Does she listen, and hear through the gloom,"All's well!"
"All's well!" Can I echo the word?
Does faith wield supremest control?
Have its tender persuasions been heard
In the questionless depths of my soul?
Then fear not: the conflicts, the scars,
The deadly death-struggle all past,
Clear voices, that fall from the stars,
Will herald thee victor at last-
"All's well!
BY EDWARD L. WARNER, M. D., NORTH CAROLINA.
FROM the hills of the West to the shores of the sea,
From the yellow Roanoke to the distant Pedee,
A wild wail of sorrow ascendeth on high,
For the heroes who bleed and the martyrs who die.
The hearts of our fathers are breaking with pain,
And the tears of our mothers descending like rain,
For the loved and the lost who homeward no more
Return from the field so red with their gore.
That banner of ours which so proudly hath flown Where the demon of carnage claimed all us his own, Now droops in its gloom, while the cypress is seen Entwined with the laurels on its glittering sheen.
The foemen exult as they bury the slain
Who fell in the charge on that terrible plain;
For Carolina's brave sons-the pride of the South-
Lie covered with glory at the dread cannon's mouth.
Ah! well may they gloat o'er the work they have done,
And boast of the field they so dearly have won,
When the hearts of such heroes forever are still
As fought at Manassas and Malvern's proud hill;
And at Bethel and Sharpsburg, all reckless of death,
Came down on the foe like the hurricane's breath,
And scattered his legions o'er mountain and lea,
As the leaves of the forest or the foam of the sea.
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