"Cavalry, charge!" Not a man of them shrank.
Their sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank,
Rose joyously, with a willing breath—
Rose like a greeting hail to death.

Then forward they sprang, and spurred and clashed;
Shouted the officers, crimson-sashed;

Rode well the men, each brave as his fellow,
In their faded coats of the blue and yellow;
And above in the air, with an instinct true,
Like a bird of war their pennon flew.

With clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds,
And blades that shine like sunlit reeds,
And strong brown faces bravely pale
For fear their proud attempt shall fail,
Three hundred Pennsylvanians close
On twice ten thousand gallant foes.

Line after line the troopers came

To the edge of the wood that was ring'd with flame; Rode in and sabred and shot-and fell:

Nor came one back his wounds to tell.

And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall

In the gloom, like a martyr awaiting his fall,
While the circle-stroke of his sabre, swung
'Round his head, like a halo there, luminous hung.
Line after line; ay, whole platoons,
Struck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons
By the maddened horses were onward borne
And into the vortex flung, trampled and torn;
As Keenan fought with his men, side by side.
So they rode, till there were no more to ride.
But over them, lying there, shattered and mute,
What deep echo rolls? 'Tis a death salute
From the cannon in place; for, heroes, you braved
Your fate not in vain: the army was saved!
Over them now-year following year-
Over their graves, the pine-cones fall,

And the whippoorwill chants his spectre-call;
But they stir not again: they raise no cheer:
They have ceased. But their glory shall never

cease,

Nor their light be quenched in the light of peace.

The rush of their charge is resounding still,

That saved the army at Chancellorsville.

GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP

DEATH OF STONEWALL JACKSON.

[On the evening of the first day's fight at Chancellorsville, Va., May 2, 1863, where Stonewall Jackson had accomplished his famous flank movement around the Union right, he rode out to inspect the ground for the morrow's battle, and in the darkness was surprised and shot by some of his own pickets. He died on the xoth of May following.]

NOT 'mid the lightning of the stormy fight,
Not in the rush upon the vandal foe,
Did kingly Death, with his resistless might,
Lay the great leader low.

His warrior soul its earthly shackles broke
In the full sunshine of a peaceful town;
When all the storm was hushed, the trusty oak
That propped our cause went down.

Though his alone the blood that flecks the ground,
Recording all his grand, heroic deeds,
Freedom herself is writhing with the wound,
And all the country bleeds.

He entered not the Nation's Promised Land
At the red belching of the cannon's mouth;
But broke the House of Bondage with his hand-
The Moses of the South!

O gracious God! not gainless is the loss :
A glorious sunbeam gilds thy sternest frown;
And while his country staggers with the Cross,
He rises with the Crown.

HARRY L. FLASH.

"THE BRIGADE MUST NOT KNOW, SIR!"

"WHO'VE ye got there?"-" Only a dying brother, Hurt in the front just now.

"Good boy! he'll do. Somebody tell his mother Where he was killed, and how."

"Whom have you there?"—" A crippled courier, Major,

Shot by mistake, we hear.

He was with Stonewall."-"Cruel work they've made here;

Quick with him to the rear!"

"Well, who comes next ?"-"Doctor, speak low, speak low, sir;

Don't let the men find out!

It's STONEWALL!"—" God !"—"The brigade must not know, sir,

While there's a foe about!"

Whom have we here-shrouded in martial manner, Crowned with a martyr's charm?

A grand dead hero, in a living banner,

Born of his heart and arm:

The heart whereon his cause hung-see how clingeth

That banner to his bier!

The arm wherewith his cause struck-hark! how

ringeth

His trumpet in their rear !

What have we left? His glorious inspiration,

His prayers in council met.

Living, he laid the first stones of a nation;

And dead, he builds it yet.

J. W. PALMER.

UNDER THE SHADE OF THE TREES.

[This poem is founded upon the following incident, taken from an account of Stonewall Jackson's last hours: "A few moments before his death, he called out in his delirium, Order A. P. Hill to prepare for action; . pass the infantry to the front tell Major Hawks... Here the sentence was left unfinished. But soon after, a sweet smile overspread his face, and he murmured quietly, with an air of relief, 'Let us cross the river and rest under the shade of the trees. These were his last words."]

WHAT are the thoughts that are stirring his breast?
What is the mystical vision he sees?
-"Let us pass over the river, and rest
Under the shade of the trees."

Has he grown sick of his toils and his tasks?
Sighs the worn spirit for respite or ease?
Is it a moment's cool halt that he asks

Under the shade of the trees?

Is it the gurgle of waters whose flow

Ofttime has come to him, borne on the breeze, Memory listens to, lapsing so low,

Under the shade of the trees?

Nay-though the rasp of the flesh was so sore, Faith, that had yearnings far keener than these, Saw the soft sheen of the Thitherward Shore, Under the shade of the trees ;

Caught the high psalms of ecstatic delight—
Heard the harps harping, like soundings of seas-
Watched earth's assoiled ones walking in white
Under the shade of the trees?

Oh, was it strange he should pine for release,
Touched to the soul with such transports as these,—
He who so needed the balsam of peace,

Under the shade of the trees?

Yea, it was noblest for him—it was best
(Questioning naught of our Father's decrees),
There to pass over the river and rest

Under the shade of the trees!

MARGARET J. PRESTON.

THE BLACK REGIMENT.

[Port Hudson, La., June, 1863.]
DARK as the clouds of even,
Ranked in the western heaven,
Waiting the breath that lifts
All the dread mass, and drifts
Tempest and falling brand
Over a ruined land;—
So still and orderly,
Arm to arm, knee to knee,
Waiting the great event,
Stands the Black Regiment.

Down the long dusky line
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;
And the bright bayonet,
Bristling and firmly set,

Flashed with a purpose grand,

Long ere the sharp command