Volunteered. I KNOW the sun shines, and the lilacs are blowing, And the summer sends kisses by beautiful May. Oh! to see the rich treasures the spring is bestow ing, And think-my boy, WILLIE, enlisted to-day! It seems but a day since, at twilight, low humming, I rocked him to sleep with his cheek upon mine; While ROBBY, the four-year-old, watched for the coming Of father adown the street's indîstinct line. It is many a year since my HARRY departed It is many a year; and this afternoon, sitting And that, standing beside him this soft May-day morning, The sun making gold of his wreathed cigar smokeI saw in his sweet eye and lip a faint warning, And choked down the tears when he eagerly spoke. "Dear mother, you know how these Northmen are crowing They would trample the rights of the South in the dust; The boys are all fire; and they wish I were going—’ He stopped, but his eyes said "Oh! say if I must!" I smiled on the boy, though my heart it seemed breaking; My eyes filled with tears-but I turned them away; And I answered him-" WILLIE, 'tis well you are waking Go! act as your father would bid you to-day!" I sit in the window and see the flags flying, I shall sit in the window, when summer is lying Out over the fields, and the honey bee's hum Lulls the rose at the porch from her tremulous sighing, And watch for the face of my darling to come. And, if he should fall-his young life he has given For Freedom's sweet sake; and for me-I will pray Once more with my HARRY and ROBBY, in Heaven, To meet the dear boy, that enlisted to-day. John Pelham. JUST as the spring came laughing through the strife, With all its gorgeous cheer; In the glad April of historic life- The wondrous lulling of a hero's breath Hushed-in the alabaster arms of Death- Grander and nobler than the child of Rome, The knightly scion of a Southern home Gentlest and bravest in the battle's brunt- He bore his banner to the very front A clang of sabres 'mid Virginia's snow, And there's a wail of immemorial woe The pennon droops, that led the sacred band Along the crimson field; The meteor blade sinks from the nerveless hand, Over the spotless shield! We gazed and gazed upon that beauteous face, While, round the lips and eyes, Couched in their marble slumber, flashed the grace Of a divine surprise. Oh, mother of a blessèd soul on high, Think of thy boy, with Princes of the sky, How must he smile on this dull world beneath, Fevered with swift renown He, with the martyr's amaranthine wreath, Twining the victor's crown! |