Lulls the rose at the porch from her tremulous sigh

ing,

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.

ANONYMOUS.

BETHEL.

[It was in the ill-fated attack of the Union forces on Big Bethel, near Newport News, Virginia, June 10, 1861, that the lamented Major Theodore Winthrop lost his life.]

WE mustered

formed,

at midnight, in darkness we

And the whisper went round of a fort to be

stormed;

But no drum-beat had called us, no trumpet we

heard,

And no voice of command, but our colonel's low word

And out, through the mist and the murk of the

morn,

From the beaches of Hampton our barges were

borne ;

And we heard not a sound, save the sweep of the

oar,

Till the word of our colonel came up from the shore

"Column! Forward!"

With hearts bounding bravely, and eyes all alight, As ye dance to soft music, so trod we that night;

Through the aisles of the greenwood, with vines overarched,

Tossing dew-drops, like gems, from our feet, as we marched

"Column! Forward!"

As ye dance with the damsels, to viol and flute, So we skipped from the shadows, and mocked their pursuit ;

But the soft zephyrs chased us, with scents of the

morn,

As we passed by the hay-fields and green waving

corn

"Column! Forward!"

For the leaves were all laden with fragrance of June, And the flowers and the foliage with sweets were in tune;

And the air was so calm, and the forest so dumb, That we heard our own heart-beats, like taps of a drum

"Column Forward!"

Till the lull of the lowlands was stirred by a breeze, And the buskins of morn brushed the tops of the trees,

And the glintings of glory that slid from her track By the sheen of our rifles were gayly flung back— Column! Forward!"

And the woodlands grew purple with sunshiny mist, And the blue-crested hill-tops with rose-light were kissed,

And the earth gave her prayers to the sun in perfumes,

Till we marched as through gardens, and trampled on blooms

Ay! trampled on blossoms, and seared the sweet

breath

Of the greenwood with low-brooding vapors of

death;

O'er the flowers and the corn we were borne like a

blast, And away

to the forefront of battle we passed,-
"Column! Forward!"

For the cannon's hoarse thunder roared out from the glades,

And the sun was like lightning on banners and

blades,

When the long line of chanting Zouaves, like a

flood,

From the green of the woodlands rolled, crimson as blood

While the sound of their song, like the surge of the

seas,

With the "Star-Spangled Banner" swelled over the

leas;

And the sword of Duryea, like a torch, led the

way,

Bearing down on the batteries of Bethel that day— 66 Column! Forward!"

Through green-tasselled cornfields our columns were thrown,

And like corn by the red scythe of fire we were

mown;

While the cannon's fierce ploughings new-furrowed the plain,

That our blood might be planted for Liberty's

grain

"Column! Forward!"

Oh! the fields of fair June have no lack of sweet

flowers,

But their rarest and best breathe no fragrance like

ours;

And the sunshine of June, sprinkling gold on the

corn,

Hath no harvest that ripeneth like Bethel's red

morn

"" Column! Forward!"

When our heroes, like bridegrooms, with lips and with breath

Drank the first kiss of Danger and clasped her in death;

And the heart of brave Winthrop grew mute with

his lyre,

When the plumes of his genius lay moulting in

fire

"Column! Forward!"

Where he fell shall be sunshine as bright as his

name,

And the grass where he slept shall be green as his fame;

For the gold of the pen and the steel of the sword Write his deeds-in his blood-on the land he adored

"Column Forward!"

And the soul of our comrade shall sweeten the air,

And the flowers and the grass-blades his memory upbear;

While the breath of his genius, like music in leaves, With the corn-tassels whispers, and sings in the

sheaves

"Column! Forward!"

A. J. H. DUGANNE.

MANASSAS.

[First Battle of Bull Run, July 21, 1861.]

THEY have met at last-as storm-clouds
Meet in heaven;

And the Northmen back and bleeding
Have been driven:

And their thunders have been stilled,
And their leaders crushed or killed,
And their ranks, with terror thrilled,
Rent and riven !

Like the leaves of Vallambrosa
They are lying;

In the moonlight, in the midnight,
Dead and dying:

Like those leaves before the gale,
Swept their legions, wild and pale;
While the host that made them quail
Stood, defying.

When aloft in morning sunlight
Flags were flaunted,

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
In our passes!

Light be the earth above them;
Green the grasses!

Long shall Northmen rue the day
When they met our stern array,
And shrunk from battle's wild affray
At Manassas !

CATHERINE M. WARFIELD.