Ay! trampled on blossoms, and seared the sweet breath Of the greenwood with low-brooding vapors of death; O'er the flowers and the corn we were borne like a blast, And away to the forefront of battle we passed,— "Column! Forward!" For the cannon's hoarse thunder roared out from the glades, And the sun was like lightning on banners and blades, When the long line of chanting Zouaves, like a flood, From the green of the woodlands rolled, crimson as blood "Column! Forward!" While the sound of their song, like the surge of the seas, With the "Star-Spangled Banner" swelled over the leas; And the sword of Duryea, like a torch, led the way, Bearing down on the batteries of Bethel that day"Column! Forward!" Through green-tasselled cornfields our columns were thrown, And like corn by the red scythe of fire we were mown; While the cannon's fierce ploughings new-furrowed the plain, That our blood might be planted for Liberty's grain "Column! Forward!" Oh! the fields of fair June have no lack of sweet flowers, But their rarest and best breathe no fragrance like ours; And the sunshine of June, sprinkling gold on the corn, Hath no harvest that ripeneth like Bethel's red morn "Column! Forward!" When our heroes, like bridegrooms, with lips and with breath Drank the first kiss of Danger and clasped her in death; And the heart of brave Winthrop grew mute with his lyre, When the plumes of his genius lay moulting in fire "Column! Forward!" Where he fell shall be sunshine as bright as his name, And the grass where he slept shall be green as his fame; For the gold of the pen and the steel of the sword Write his deeds-in his blood-on the land he adored "Column! Forward!" And the soul of our comrade shall sweeten the air, And the flowers and the grass-blades his memory upbear; While the breath of his genius, like music in leaves, With the corn-tassels whispers, and sings in the sheaves "Column! Forward!" A. J. H. DUGANNE. MANASSAS. [First Battle of Bull Run, July 21, 1861.] THEY have met at last-as storm-clouds And the Northmen back and bleeding And their thunders have been stilled, Like the leaves of Vallambrosa In the moonlight, in the midnight, Like those leaves before the gale, When aloft in morning sunlight And "swift vengeance on the Rebel Little did they think that night But peace to those who perished Light be the earth above them ; Long shall Northmen rue the day CATHERINE M. WARFIELD. THE DEATH OF LYON. [General Nathaniel Lyon was killed in the battle of Wilson's Creek, Missouri, while in command of the Union forces, August 10, 1861. His last words were: "Come on, my brave boys! I will lead you !”] SING, bird, on green Missouri's plain, Up rose serene the August sun Up curled from musket and from gun It gathered like a funeral pall, Now broken, and now blended, Where rang the bugle's angry call, Four thousand men, as brave and true Upon the foe that morning threw The strength of their despairing. They feared not death-men bless the field That patriot soldiers die on; Fair Freedom's cause was sword and shield, Their leader's troubled soul looked forth And felt the shadows close like night "General, come lead us!" loud the cry Oh! cursed for aye that traitor's hand, Serene he lay, while past him pressed As calmly as a babe may rest So Lyon died; and well may flowers For never had this land of ours Living, his country was his bride; Rest, patriot, in thy hillside grave, ANONYMOUS. |