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Battle Ebe.

I SEE the broad, red, setting sun
Sink slowly down the sky;

I see amid the cloud-built tents—
His blood-red standard fly;

And meek meanwhile, the pallid moon
Looks from her place on high.

O setting sun, awhile delay!
Linger on sea and shore;

For thousand eyes now gaze on thee,
That shall not see thee more;
A thousand hearts beat proudly now,
Whose race like thine is o'er!

O ghastly moon! thy pallid ray
On paler brows shall lie!

On many a torn and bleeding heart,

On many a glazing eye;

And breaking hearts shall live to mourn,

For whom 'twere bliss to die!

The Unreturning.

THE Swallow leaves the ancient eaves,
As in the days agone;

The wheaten fields are all ablaze

And in and out the west wind plays,
Amid the tasseled corn.

The sun's rays light as warm and bright
On clover fields all red;

The wild bird wakes his simple song
As joyfully, the whole day long,

As if he were not dead!

The summer skies, with softest sighs,
Their rain and sunshine send;

And, standing in the farmhouse door,
I see dotting the landscape o'er-
The flocks he used to tend.

The woodbine grows-the jasmine blowsBeside the window-sill:

Their soft sweet sigh is in the air,

For the dead hands that placed them there On the red field are still.

Around the wolds the summer folds

Her wealth of golden light;

And, past the willows' silvery gleam,
I catch the glimmering of the stream
And lilies, cool and white.

But oh! one shade has solemn made
The sunshine and the bloom;

His voice, whose sweet and gentle words
Were sweeter than the song of birds,
Is silent in the tomb.

How can the day, so bright and gay,

Glare round the farmhouse door?

When all the quiet ways he trod
By leafy wood, or blooming sod,

Shall know him nevermore!

The Last of Earth:


LAST night a comrade sent in haste
For me to soothe his fearful pain;
He felt Death's power advancing fast,
He knew that hope was vain.
God's promises I read again

Till Faith's sweet light shone from his eye;
Sole gleam-for sorrow filled me then,
As shadows fill the sky.

A dreary place-that Hospital

Where dim lamps break the solemn gloom, And nurses move with slow footfall,

Like spectres, through the room. Above those cots all miseries blend,

On each some form in suffering lies; Some groan-some sleep-but here one friend Puts on the angel's guise.

Scarcely I heard the bugle's call,

Scarce felt the night-wind's heavy breath,

I only saw the shadows fall

And the ghastly chill of death,
Save where a pallid splendor lay
Upon his brow-like Martyr's crown-
The sweet foreshadowing of the Day
In which Life's star goes down.

I hear his piteous tones implore
And heed his hand's hot clinging grasp
Pale hands, alas-that nevermore

Shall feel Love's answering clasp.

His frenzied spirit flies from pain,

He thinks himself once more at home: "Dear wife-dear child-I'm here again, Close to me-closer come.

"I could not lag where country led-
The voice of wrong could not beguile;
You would not have me stay, you said,
If honor ceased to smile.

Ah! many fall in this wild strife!

But Freedom holds their memories dear, And makes a gem of every life

For the crown she yet shall wear.

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