แ

Bending the List.

"Is there any news of the war?" she said.

Only a list of the wounded and dead,"
Was the man's reply,

Without lifting his eye.

"'Tis the very thing I want," she said; "Read me a list of the wounded and dead."

He read the list-'twas a sad array

Of the wounded and killed in the fatal fray;
In the very midst was a pause to tell
That his comrades asked: "Who is he, pray?"
"The only son of the Widow Gray,"
Was the proud reply

Of his captain nigh.

What ails the woman standing near?
Her face has the ashen hue of fear.

“Well, well, read on; is he wounded? quick! Oh, God! but my heart is sorrow sick!" "Is he wounded?" "No! he fell, they say, Killed outright on that fatal day!"

But see, the woman has swooned away!

Sadly she opened her eyes to the light;
Slowly recalled the events of the fight;
Faintly she murmured-" Killed outright!
It has cost me the life of my only son,
But the battle is fought and the victory won;
The will of the Lord, let it be done."

God pity the cheerless Widow Gray,
And send from the halls of Eternal Day
The light of his peace to illume her way!

Stonewall Jackson's Way.

COME, stack arms, men, pile on the rails, the camp-fires bright,

Stir up

No matter if the canteen fails,

We'll make a roaring night!
Here Shenandoah brawls along,
There lofty Blue Ridge echoes strong
To swell the brigade's rousing song
Of" Stonewall Jackson's Way!"

We see him now-the old slouched hat,
Cocked o'er his eye askew ;

The shrewd dry smile, the speech so pat-
So calm, so blunt, so true.

The "Blue Light Elder" knows them well,
Says he "That's Banks-he's fond of shell,
Lord save his soul! we'll give him

That's "Stonewall Jackson's Way."

"well,

Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!

Old Blue Light's going 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 Jackson'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 ere the morn!
That's "Stonewall Jackson's Way!"

The sun's bright glances rout the mists
Of morning-and by George!
There's Longstreet struggling in the lists,
Hemmed in an ugly gorge.

Pope and his columns, whipped before.

Bay'nets and grape " hear Stonewall roar; "Charge, Stewart!"-"pay off Ashby's score!" Is "Stonewall Jackson's Way!"

Ah! maiden, wait and watch and yearn
For news of Stonewall's band,

Ah! widow, read with eyes that burn,

That ring upon your hand!

Ah! wife, sew on, pray on, hope on,
Thy life shall not be all forlorn,
The foe had better ne'er been born

Than get in "Stonewall's Way !"

SOUTHERN ILLUSTRATED NEWS.

Stonewall Jackson.

BY PAUL H. HAYNE.

I.

THE fashions and the forms of men decay,
The seasons perish, the calm sunsets die,
Ne'er with the same bright pomp of cloud or ray
To flush the golden pathways of the sky;
All things are lost in dread Eternity--
States, Empires, Creeds, the Lay

Of master Poets, even the shapes of Love,

Bear ever with them an invisible Shade,

Whose name is Death; we cannot breathe nor move, But that we touch the Darkness, till, dismayed,

We feel the imperious Shadow freeze our hearts, And mortal Hope grows pale, and fluttering Life departs!

II.

All things are lost in dread Eternity,

Save that majestic VIRTUE which is given.

Once, twice, perchance, beneath our earthly Heaven,
To some great soul in ages. Oh! the lie,
The base, incarnate lie we call the World,
Shakes at his coming, as the forest shakes,

When mountain storms, with bannered clouds unfurled,
Rush down and rend it; sleek Convention drops
Its glittering mask, and hoary, cobwebbed rules

Of petty charlatans or insolent fools
Shrink to annihilation-Truth awakes,

A morning splendor in her fearless eyes,
Touching the delicate stops

Of some rare lute which breathes of promise fair,
Or pouring on the covenanted air

A trumpet blast which startles, but makes strong,
While ancient Wrong,

Driven like a beast from his deep-caverned lair,
Grows gaunt, and inly quakes,
Knowing that Retribution draws so near!

III.

Whether with blade, or pen,

Toil these immortal men,

There's is the Light supreme, which Genius wed

To a clear spiritual dower,

Hath ever o'er the aroused Nations shed

Joy, faith, and power;

Whether from wrestling with the God-like Thought,.
They launch a noiseless blessing on mankind,
Or thro' wild streams of terrible carnage brought,
No longer crushed and blind,

Trampled, dishevelled gored,

They proudly lift, where kindling soul and eye
May feast upon her beauty as she stands,
(Girt by the strength of her invincible bands,)

And freed through keen redemption of the sword-
Thy worn, but radiant form, victorious Liberty!

IV.

We bow before this grandeur of the spirit;
We worship and adore

God's image, burning through it ever more;
And thus, in awed humility to-night,