Beneath the cedar and the pine,

In solitude austere,

Unknown, unnamed, forgotten, lies
A Georgia Volunteer.

MARY ASHLey Townsend.

BY THE POTOMAC.

THE soft new grass is creeping o'er the graves
By the Potomac ; and the crisp ground-flower
Lifts its blue cup to catch the passing shower;
The pine-cone ripens, and the long moss waves
Its tangled gonfalons above our braves.

Hark, what a burst of music from yon bower!—
The Southern nightingale that, hour by hour,
In its melodious summer madness raves.
Ah, with what delicate touches of her hand,
With what sweet voices, Nature seeks to screen
The awful Crime of this distracted land,—
Sets her birds singing, while she spreads her
Mantle of velvet where the Murdered lie,
As if to hide the horror from God's eye.

green

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

THE VOICES OF THE GUNS.

WITHIN a green and shadowy wood,
Circled with Spring, alone I stood:
The nook was peaceful, fair, and good.

The wild-plum blossoms lured the bees,
The birds sang madly in the trees,
Magnolia scents were on the breeze.

All else was silent; but the ear
Caught sounds of distant bugle clear,
And heard the bullets whistle near,-

When from the winding river's shore
The Rebel guns began to roar,
And ours to answer, thundering o'er ;
And, echoed from the wooded hill,
Repeated and repeated still,

Through all my soul they seemed to thrill;

For, as their rattling storm awoke,
And loud and fast the discord broke,
In rude and trenchant words they spoke :

"We hate!" boomed fiercely o'er the tide;
"We fear not!" from the other side;
“We strike !” the Rebel guns replied.

Quick roared our answer: "We defend!"

Our rights!" the battle-sounds contend;

"The rights of all !" we answer send.

"We conquer !" rolled across the wave; "We persevere !" our answer gave;

"Our chivalry!" they wildly rave.

"Ours are the brave !" "Be ours the free!"

66 Be ours the slave, the masters we!"
"On us their blood no more shall be!"

As when some magic word is spoken
By which a wizard spell is broken,
There was a silence at that token.

The wild birds dared once more to sing,
I heard the pine bough's whispering,
And trickling of a silver spring.

Then, crashing forth with smoke and din,
Once more the rattling sounds begin;
Our iron lips roll forth: "We win!"

And dull and wavering in the gale
That rushed in gusts across the vale
Came back the faint reply: "We fail!"
And then a word, both stern and sad,
From throat of huge Columbiad:

"Blind fools and traitors! Ye are mad!"

Again the Rebel answer came,
Muffled and slow, as if in shame :

"All, all is lost!" in smoke and flame.

Now bold and strong and stern as Fate The Union guns sound forth: "We wait!" Faint comes the distant cry: "Too late!"

"Return, return!" our cannon said;
And, as the smoke rolled overhead,
"We dare not!" was the answer dread.
Then came a sound both loud and clear,
A Godlike word of hope and cheer:
"Forgiveness!" echoed far and near;

As when beside some death-bed still
We watch, and wait God's solemn will,
A bluebird warbles his soft trill.

I clenched my teeth at that blest word,
And, angry, muttered, "Not so, Lord!
The only answer is the sword!"

I thought of Shiloh's tainted air,
Of Richmond's prisons, foul and bare,
And murdered heroes, young and fair,—

Of block and lash and overseer,
And dark, mild faces pale with fear,
Of baying hell-hounds panting near.

But then the gentle story told
My childhood in the days of old
Rang out its lessons manifold.

O prodigal and lost! arise,

And read the welcome blest that lies
In a kind Father's patient eyes!

Thy elder brother grudges not

The lost and found should share his lot,
And wrong in concord be forgot.

Thus mused I, as the hours went by,
Till the relieving guard drew nigh,
And there was challenge and reply.

And as I hastened back to line,
It seemed an omen half divine

That "Concord" was the countersign.

ANONYMOUS.

MUSIC IN CAMP.

Two armies covered hill and plain,
Where Rappahannock's waters
Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain
Of battle's recent slaughters.

The summer clouds lay pitched like tents
In meads of heavenly azure;

And each dread gun of the elements
Slept in its high embrasure.

The breeze so softly blew, it made
No forest leaf to quiver;

And the smoke of the random cannonade
Rolled slowly from the river.

And now where circling hills looked down

With cannon grimly planted,

O'er listless camp and silent town
The golden sunset slanted.

When on the fervid air there came

A strain, now rich, now tender; The music seemed itself aflame

With day's departing splendor.

A Federal band, which eve and morn
Played measures brave and nimble,
Had just struck up with flute and horn
And lively clash of cymbal.

Down flocked the soldiers to the banks;
Till, margined by its pebbles,

One wooded shore was blue with "Yanks,"
And one was gray with "Rebels.”

Then all was still; and then the band,
With movement light and tricksy,
Made stream and forest, hill and strand,
Reverberate with "Dixie."

The conscious stream, with burnished glow,
Went proudly o'er its pebbles,
But thrilled throughout its deepest flow
With yelling of the Rebels.

Again a pause; and then again
The trumpet pealed sonorous,

And "Yankee Doodle" was the strain
To which the shore gave chorus.

The laughing ripple shoreward flew
To kiss the shining pebbles;

Loud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue
Defiance to the Rebels.

And yet once more the bugle sang

Above the stormy riot;

No shout upon the evening rang-
There reigned a holy quiet.