And soon fierce tongues of flame, in fury sporting wild, Shot up like hellish demons high in morning air; And in fantastic vengeance leaped, Destruction's favor ite child;

Alike unheeding anguish, sighs and prayer.

Anon was heard an old, familiar strain,

That had been wont to waken pleasure's rapturous

thrill;

The patriot's smile, but now alas! 'twere vain

As charmer's voice to adder deaf and still.

It told a story born of astreate flag,

When Freedom flung her banner to the breeze;

But now, o'er every height, through every dell and

crag,

The notes of Freedom's death were wailing through

the trees.

And as that gaudy ensign flaunted vainly out,

Each stripe seemed but a gash, encrimsoned with life's

gore,

Drawn from our bleeding hearts by tyrant's fearful knout; Each star a blazing brand that scorched our being's

core.

Ah! we had loved it once-that starred and striped

flag

Our idol it had been-our talisman of light;

But now, alas! alas! the emblem dire to drag

Fair Freedom's form to slavish, cowering night.

And multitudes there were, of strange and unknown

forms,

From almost every clime that claims the air of Heaven;-

Exultant? No! But awed before the storms

Of war, that crashed like Alpine heights when riven.

When noontide came, a winding sheet of fire

Enwrapped the city in its crimson shroud;

And eddying sheets of sparks flashed up in dreadful ire, While Ruin's howl of triumph echoed loud!

Above it all, through clouds of sulphurous woe,

The sun rolled like an orb of blood, all vengeful in mid-air ;

Ah, righteous Heaven! and 'twill be even so,

When God shall blast this sphere, which now smiles bright and fair.

Ah! man was powerless before the awful sight,

For all the air around was but of fire the breath;

And hearts with vengeance filled, grew cold, in sheer affright,

Before the dizzy, hideous, howling dance of Death!

Its music was the crash of bursting shell,

The roar of flames and shrieks of wild despair;

Oh, God! were scenes more terrible, when fell

The demon angels from their place in Heaven so fair?

The day wore on; and as the sun was near its setting, The rushing stream near by, was with a crackling murmur blent;

As if Destruction, Famine saw, and further work for

getting,

Sated, sang to herself a song of sweet content.

And evening came; and o'er the pall of smoke

That draped like funeral crape, the desolate ramparts far;

"Night drew her sable mantle," (and over hearts, that

broke

In anguish none can paint,) "and pinned it with a star!"

And as it mates came out, and one by one

Pierced through the murky veil, like diamond flashes, They paler grew, as saw they, where they shone, But crumbling walls, and smouldering heaps of ashes!

The gentle moon looked sorrowful and trist,

And round her drew a circling bow of tears; And hid her radiant face behind the cloudy mist, As mourning weepers veil their sighs, and throbs

And am I done? and is my story told?—

Told quite, in all its varied, saddened phases

Of hopes that rose as Titans rose of old,

To war with Fate and powers in highest places?

Hopes, that sprang agile as Minerva armed,

From head of Jove, to wrestle fierce with might; Hopes, that each trusting, valiant bosom warmed As heart breathed unto heart, the magic watchword

"Right!"

As draws the night its curtain o'er the world,

As stars that fade before the sunlight's shimmer, Our hopes were paling as our banner there we furled, And scarce remained of all their light, a flickering glimmer.

Beneath that city's blackened, crumbling walls,

A nation's hopes lie crushed, to be exhumed— never (?)

As falls the stars from Heaven when Freedom falls, The light of Hope dies out-dies out, alas! forever!

And now I sit and mournful sing the song,

Whose heart refrain is, "Shall we e'er be free?" Shall Phoenix-like those hopes from ashes spring ere long?

Or Rachel mourn bereft for aye-a nation's Niobe?

NEW YORK, MARCH 18, 1867.

The Story of the Powhatan."

BY VIRGINIA MADISON. (MISS S. A. BROCK.)

Down from the rocky heights it comes,
Of the old Blue Ridge!

Where it springs from the earth in a crystal lake,
O'er which the lights and shadows break
In a sportive glimmer;

For the sun pours over its dazzling sheen,
Through a tangled mass of evergreen—
And the moonlight's shimmer

Is pale and tender;

And in midnight splendor

The stars look down from the arching skies,
With a courting smile in their cheery eyes,
As the night-bird sings,

And folds his wings

In the sturdy oak that towers above,
Sheltering the treelets with his love—
His arms enclasped with the towering pine,
And lifting high the tendriled vine;
While granite boulders stand around,
In silence grim, in awe profound,
Unbroken, save by the birds, and the stream

* The name given by the early settlers to James River.