Bugles blowing, banners flowing,
For a nation's overthrowing--
'Tis a wonderful outgoing
Jubilee !

As came the haughty Persian,
Press they on!

But we have not yet forgotten
Marathon!

And through the memory passes,
With all its mighty masses,
The battle of Manassas

Lost and won!

Bugles blowing, banners flowing
For a nation's overthrowing-
All the North to battle going!
Back to run!

Now, God in Heaven be with you,
Noble chief,

For the time of your probation
Waxes brief-

Your foemen thrice outnumber
The army clad in umber,

Whom no pomps of war encumber, "Light and lief-"

Bugles blowing, banners flowing,
We take comfort in the knowing,
Sometimes, after great cock-crowing,
Come to grief!

May you turn the tide of battle,
Dauntless Lee!

Hurling back the wreck of armies
Like the sea.

Your force is scant and meager,
Compared to the beleaguer,
But every heart is eager
To be free!

Bugles blowing, banners flowing,
Can make no braver showing
Than the South to battle going
Under thee!

Than the South the North repelling,
While her mighty heart is swelling
And every pulse is glowing
With the fame of thy bestowing,
Robert Lee!

Lines

TO GENERAL N. B. FORREST.*

BY POSALIE MILLER, MONTGOMERY, ALA.

BRAVE Forrest, like a storm-king sweeps O'er the vile invader's path;

In thunders of vengeance that echo afar; And he flashes like Freedom's orient star. Or Heaven's lightning of wrath!

And woe to the foe,

When he deals the blow, For his heart is nerved anew,

By the memory of those,

Who in death repose,

The faithful, the brave and the are

Brave Forrest, like a lion springs

On the prowling vandal, who comes
With demon hands and hearts so black,
To desolate, pollute and sack

Our firesides and our homes.

With vengeful sting
He's on the wing,

As a torrent he rushes along;

And his warriors brave,

Like old ocean's wave,

Surge over the Hessian throng!

Brave Forrest, like an eagle swoops
Down on the frightened prey;

With glittering sword in noon-day's blaze,
And at dewy eve 'neath the moon-light rays,
Our "war-eagle" leads the way!

Oh, twine his name

With the laurel of fame,
In letters unfading and bright;
Embellish with glory,

Each thread of the story,
That it glow with a living light!

Like the comet's dash,

Thro' the ages 'twill flash
Adown the dim future of Time:
And 'mid heroes of yore,

On Eternity's shore,

It will live in a record sublime!

MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA, July, 1861.

The Devil's Delight.

BY JOHN R. THOMPSON.

To breakfast one morning the Devil came down,
By demons and vassals attended;

A headache had darkened his brow with a frown,
From his orgie last night, or the weight of his crown,
But his presence infernal was splendid.

In a robe of red flame was Diavolo dressed,
Without smutch of a cinder to soil it;

Blue blazes enveloped his throat and his chest,
While the tail, tied with ribbons as blue as the vest,
Completed his Majesty's toilet.

No masquerade devil of earth could begin,

With his counterfeit horns and his mock tail,

To look like this model Original Sin,

As of lava and lightning and bitters and gin,
He sat and compounded a cocktail.

But to give, in all conscience, the Devil his due,
He seemed sorrowful rather than irate;
And his Majesty moped all the déjeuner through,
With a twitch, now and then, of the ribbons of blue,
And the look of a penitent pirate;

Then a smile, such as follows some capital joke
Of a Dickens, a Hood, or a Jerrold,
Sweet, playful, and tender, all suddenly broke
O'er the face of Sathanas, as turning he spoke,
'Go, imp! bring the file of the Herald !"

The paper was brought, and Old Nick ran his eye (In default of debates in the Senate)

Over crimes, there were plenty, of terrible dye,
Over letter and telegram, slander and lie,

And the blatherskite leaders of Bennett.

There were frauds in high places, official deceit ;
There were sins, we'll not name them, of ladies;
There were Mexican murders, and murders in Crete,
By the thousand, all manner of villainies sweet,
To the Herald's subscribers in Hades.

But the numberless horrors of every degree
Did not wholly dispel his dejection;
"The Herald's a bore, I'm aweary," says he;
Then uprising, he added, "What's this? TENNESSEE!'
By jingo! here's Brownlow's election!

"Ho, varlet! fill up till the beaker runs o'er!" Cried the Deil, growing joyous and frisky;

A white-hot ferruginous goblet he bore,

And the liquor was vitriol 'straight,' which he swore Was less hurtful than tangle-foot whisky.

"Fill up! let us drink," said the Father of Lies, "To the mortal whose claims are most weighty!" And a light diabolic shone out of his eyes, That made the thermometer instantly rise To fully five thousand and eighty.

"I have knights of the garter and knights of the lance, Who shall surely hereafter for sin burn;