Hung over field and city: now everywhere is seen, green. The verdure climbs the Common, beneath the leafless trees, To where the glorious Stars and Stripes are floating on the breeze. There, suddenly as spring awoke from winter's snowdraped gloom, The Passion-Flower of Seventy-Six is bursting into bloom. Dear is the time of roses, when earth to joy is wed, And garden-plot and meadow wear one generous flush of red; But now in dearer beauty, to her ancient colors true, Blooms the old town of Boston in red and white and blue. Along the whole awakening North are those bright emblems spread; A summer noon of patriotism is burning overhead: No party badges flaunting now, no word of clique or clan; But "Up for God and Union!" is the shout of every man. Oh, peace is dear to Northern hearts; our hardearned homes more dear; But Freedom is beyond the price of any earthly cheer; And Freedom's flag is sacred; he who would work it harm, Let him, although a brother, beware our strong right arm! Ah brother! ah, the sorrow, the anguish of that word! The fratricidal strife begun, when will its end be heard? Not this the boon that patriot hearts have prayed and waited for ; We loved them, and we longed for peace: but they would have it war. Yes; war! on this memorial day, the day of Lex ington, A lightning-thrill along the wires from heart to heart has run. Brave men we gazed on yesterday, to-day for us have bled; Again is Massachusetts blood the first for Freedom shed. To war, and with our brethren then,-if only this can be! Life hangs as nothing in the scale against dear Liberty! Though hearts be torn asunder, for Freedom we will fight: Our blood may seal the victory, but God will shield the Right! MANASSAS July 21, 1861 BY CATHERINE M. WARFIELD They have met at last as storm-clouds And the Northmen back and bleeding And their thunders have been stilled, Like the leaves of Vallombrosa In the moonlight, in the midnight, Like those leaves before the gale, When aloft in morning sunlight And "swift vengeance on the rebel " Proudly vaunted; Little did they think that night Should close upon their shameful flight, And rebels, victors in the fight, Stand undaunted. But peace to those who perished Light be the earth above them; Long shall Northmen rue the day (Southern.) THE COUNTERSIGN BY A CONFEDERATE SOLDIER Alas! the weary hours pass slow, I hear the bearded whippoorwill; I scarce can see a yard ahead, My ears are strained to catch each sound; I hear the leaves about me shed, And the spring's bubbling through the ground. Along the beaten path I pace, Where white rays mark my sentry's track; In formless shrubs I seem to trace The foeman's form with bending back, I think I see him crouching low; With ready piece I wait and watch, And think of other times than these. Sweet visions through the silent night! The tender, milk-white hand in mine; And then that bitter, bitter day, I pressed her weeping to my heart; I had to tear myself away, And left her, stolid in my woe. So rose the dream, so passed the night- I heard the solid march of men; And fields where lay the golden sheaf, |