Somebody's hand hath rested there;

Was it a mother's, soft and white? And have the lips of a sister fair

Been baptized in those waves of light?

God knows best. He was somebody's love; Somebody's heart enshrined him here; Somebody wafted his name above,

Night and morn, on the wings of prayer. Somebody wept when he marched away, Looking so handsome, brave and grand; Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay; Somebody clung to his parting hand

Somebody's watching and waiting for him,
Yearning to hold him again to her heart:
There he lies-with the blue eyes dim,
And smiling, child-like lips apart.
Tenderly bury the fair young dead,

Pausing to drop on his grave a tear,
Carve on the wooden slab at his head,

66

Somebody's darling lies buried here!"

Monody on Jackson.

Ay, toll! toll! toll!

Toll the funeral bell!

So let its mournful echoes roll

From sphere to sphere, from pole to pole, O'er the flight of the greatest, kingliest soul That ever in battle fell.

Yes, weep! weep! weep!
Weep for the hero fled!

For Death, the greatest of soldiers, at last
Has o'er our leader his black pall cast.
From earth his noble form hath passed
To the home of the mighty dead.

Then toll! and weep! and mourn!

Mourn the fall. of the brave!

For Jackson, whose deeds made the nation proud,

Whose very name was a war-song loud,

With the "crimson cross" for his martial shroud

Now sleeps his long sleep in the grave.

His form has passed away

His voice is silent and still

No more, at the head of "the old brigade
The daring men who were never dismayed-
Will he lead them to glory that never can fade
STONEWALL, of the Iron Will!

He fell as a hero should fall;

'Mid the thunder of war he died.

While the rifle cracked and the cannon roared,
And the blood of the friend and foeman poured,
He dropped from his nerveless grasp the sword
That erst was the nation's pride.

Virginia, his mother, is bowed;
Her eyelids heavy and low.

From all the South comes the wailing moan,
And mountain and valley reëcho the groan,
For the gallant chief of her clans has flown—
The nation is filled with woe.

Rest, warrior! rest!

Rest in thy laureled tomb!

Thy mem'ry shall live to earth's latest years,
Thy name shall still raise the despot's fears,
While over thee falls a nation's tears;

Thy deeds shall not perish in gloom!

Coercion :

A POEM FOR THEN AND NOW.

WHO talks of Coercion? who dares to deny
A resolute people the right to be free?

Let him blot out forever one star from the sky,
Or curb with his fetter the wave of the sea!

Who prates of Coercion? can love be restored

To bosoms where only resentment may dwell? Can peace on earth be proclaimed by the sword,

Or good-will among men be established by shell?

Shame! shame!-that the statesman and trickster, forsooth,

Should have for a crisis no other recourse, Beneath the fair day-spring of light and of truth, Than the old brutum fulmen of tyranny,-force!

From the holes where Fraud, Falsehood, and Hate slink away;

From the crypt in which Error lies buried in chains;

This foul apparition stalks forth to the day, And would ravage the land which his presence profanes.

Could you conquer us, Men of the North-could you

bring

Desolation and death on our homes as a floodCan you hope the pure lily, Affection, will spring From ashes all reeking and sodden with blood?

Could you brand us as villains and serfs, know ye

not

What fierce, sullen hatred lurks under the scar? How loyal to Hapsburg is Venice, I wot!

How dearly the Pole loves his Father, the Czar!

But 'twere well to remember this land of the sun
Is a nutrix leonum, and suckles a race
Strong-armed, lion-hearted, and banded as one,
Who brook not oppression and know not disgrace.

And well may the schemers in office beware
The swift retribution that waits upon crime,

When the lion, RESISTANCE, shall leap from his lair,
With a fury that renders his vengeance sublime.