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
To come back no more, in the twilight, or dawn;
And ROBBY grew weary of watching, and started
Alone on the journey his father had gone.

It is many a year; and this afternoon, sitting
At ROBBY's old window, I heard the band play,
And quickly ceased dreaming over my knitting,
To recollect-WILLIE is twenty to-day!

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,
And dreamily list to the roll of the drum;
And smother the pain in my heart that is lying,
And bid all the fears in my bosom be dumb.

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-
Fell the great cannoneer!

The wondrous lulling of a hero's breath
His bleeding country weeps;

Hushed-in the alabaster arms of Death-
Our young Marcellus sleeps.

Grander and nobler than the child of Rome,
Curbing his chariot steeds,

The knightly scion of a Southern home
Dazzled the land with deeds!

Gentlest and bravest in the battle's brunt-
The Champion of the Truth-

He bore his banner to the very front
Of our immortal youth!

A clang of sabres 'mid Virginia's snow,
The fiery pang of shells-

And there's a wail of immemorial woe
In Alabama dells:

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,
Thy tears may soon be shed!

Think of thy boy, with Princes of the sky,
Among the Southern dead!

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!