« EelmineJätka »
He's re-enlisted for the war, for victory or for death ! A soldier's grave, perhaps !--the thought has half
way stopped my breath, And driven a cloud across the sun ;-my boy, it will
not be! The war will soon be over; home again you'll come to
He's re-enlisted: and I smiled to see him going, too! There's nothing that becomes him half so well as
army-blue. Only a private in the ranks! but sure I am indeed, If all the privates were like him, they'd scarcely cap
And I, and Massachusetts share the honor of his birth: The grand old State! to me the best in all the peopled
earth! I cannot hold a musket, but I have a son who can; And I'm proud for Freedom's sake to be the mother
of a man!
BY MICHAEL O'CONNOR
The morning is cheery, my boys, arouse!
Awake! awake! awake!
O'er field and wood and brake,
You have dreamed of your homes and friends all
You have dreamed full long, I know.
Turn out! turn out!
From every valley and hill there come
Every man in his place,
Fall in! fall in!
Mobile Bay, August 5, 1864
BY WILLIAM TUCKEY MEREDITH
Old Heart of Oak,
Lift from the bay,
Greets the young day.
Far, by gray Morgan's walls,
Looms the black fleet.
With the drums' beat!
While the steam hums;
See, as the hurricane
Hurtles in wrath
Back from its path!
To the guns' lips,
Hurls the black ships.
Now through the battle's roar
Clear the boy sings,
While his lead swings.
“Nor' by East keep her," Steady," but two alive; How the shells sweep her!
Lashed to the mast that sways
Over red decks,
Round the torn wrecks,
Framed for a cheer, Farragut leads his ships,
Guides the line clear.
On by heights cannon-browed,
While the spars quiver; Onward still flames the cloud
Where the hulks shiver. See, yon fort's star is set,
Storm and fire past. Cheer him, lads-Farragut,
Lashed to the mast!
Oh! while Atlantic's breast
Bears a white sail, While the Gulf's towering crest
Tops a green vale,
Men thy bold deeds shall tell,
Old Heart of Oak,
DRIVING HOME THE COWS
BY KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD
Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass
He turned them into the river-lane; One after another he let them pass,
Then fastened the meadow-bars again.
Under the willows, and over the hill,
He patiently followed their sober pace; The merry whistle for once was still,
And something shadowed the sunny face.
Only a boy! and his father had said
He never could let his youngest go: Two already were lying dead
Under the feet of the trampling foe.
But after the evening work was done,
And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp, Over his shoulder he slung his gun
And stealthily followed the foot-path damp.
Across the clover, and through the wheat,
With resolute heart and purpose grim,