When the black ships bear down
On tyrant fort and town,

'Mid cannon cloud and rattle-
And the great guns once more
Thunder back the roar

Of the traitor walls ashore,

And the traitor flags come down!

HENRY HOWARD BROWNell.

ASHBY.

[General Turner Ashby, a noted Confederate cavalry officer fell in an engagement at Harrisburg, Va., June, 1862.]

To the brave all homage render;
Weep, ye skies of June!

With a radiance pure and tender,
Shine, O saddened moon!
"Dead upon the field of glory!"—
Hero fit for song and story-
Lies our bold dragoon!

Well they learned, whose hands have slain him,

Braver, knightlier foe

Never fought 'gainst Moor or Paynim

Rode at Templestowe :

With a mien how high and joyous,

'Gainst the hordes that would destroy us

Went he forth, we know.

Nevermore, alas! shall sabre
Gleam around his crest-
Fought his fight, fulfilled his labor,
Stilled his manly breast-

All unheard sweet nature's cadence,
Trump of fame and voice of maidens ;
Now he takes his rest.

Earth, that all too soon hath bound him,
Gently wrap his clay!

Linger lovingly around him,

Light of dying day!

Softly fall, ye summer showers;
Birds and bees, among the flowers
Make the gloom seem gay.

Then, throughout the coming ages,
When his sword is rust,
And his deeds in classic pages—
Mindful of her trust-

Shall Virginia, bending lowly,
Still a ceaseless vigil holy

Keep above his dust!

JOHN R. THOMPSON.

STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY.

[These verses, says Mr. William Gilmore Simms, "were found, stained with blood, in the breast of a dead soldier of the old Stonewall Brigade, after one of Jackson's battles in the Shenandoah Valley." Though widely copied and justly admired, their authorship long remained a well-kept secret; but the compiler of the present volume has been so fortunate as to discover that they were unquestionably written by Dr. J. W. Palmer, of Maryland.]

COME, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails,
Stir up the camp-fire bright;

No growling if the canteen fails,
We'll make a roaring night.

Here Shenandoah brawls along,

There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong,

To swell the Brigade's rousing song

Of "Stonewall Jackson's way."

66

66

66

We see him now-the queer slouched hat
Cocked o'er his eye askew ;

The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat,
So calm, so blunt, so true.

The "Blue-Light Elder" knows 'em well;
Says he, "That's Banks-he's fond of shell
Lord save his soul! we'll give him-"; well!
That's “Stonewall Jackson's way."

Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!
Old Massa's goin' to pray.

Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!
Attention! it's his way.

Appealing from his native sod,

In forma pauperis to God:

Lay bare Thine arm; stretch forth Thy rod!
Amen!" That's "Stonewall's way.'

He's in the saddle now. Fall in!
Steady! the whole brigade!

Hill's at the ford, cut off; we'll win

His way out, ball and blade!

What matter if our shoes are worn?

What matter if our feet are torn?

'Quick step! we're with him before morn!"
That's "Stonewall Jackson's way."

The sun's bright lances rout the mists
Of morning, and, by George!
Here's Longstreet, struggling in the lists,
Hemmed in an ugly gorge.

Pope and his Dutchmen, whipped before;
'Bay'nets and grape !" hear Stonewall roar ;
'Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score!"
In "Stonewall Jackson's way.'

Ah! Maiden, wait and watch and yearn
For news of Stonewall's band!
Ah! Widow, read, with eyes that burn,
That ring upon thy hand.

Ah! Wife, sew on, pray on, hope on ;
Thy life shall not be all forlorn ;
The foe had better ne'er been born
That gets in "Stonewall's way."
J. W. PALMER.

THE BAREFOOTED BOYS.

I.

By the sword of St. Michael
The old dragon through;

By David his sling

And the giant he slew ;
Let us write us a rhyme,
As a record to tell

How the South on a time

Stormed the ramparts of Hell
With her barefooted boys!

II.

Had the South in her border

A hero to spare,

Or a heart at her altar,

Lo! its life's blood was there!

And the black battle-grime

Might never disguise

The smile of the South

On the lips and the eyes
Of her barefooted boys!

III.

There's a grandeur in fight,

And a terror the while,
But none like the light

Of that terrible smile

The smile of the South,
When the storm-cloud unrolls
The lightning that loosens
The wrath in the souls

Of her barefooted boys!

IV.

It withered the foe

Like the red light that runs
Through the dead forest leaves,
And he fled from his guns!
Grew the smile to a laugh,
Rose the laugh to a yell,
As the iron-clad hoofs
Clattered back into Hell

From our barefooted boys!

ANONYMOUS.

REVEILLE.

[Written by a sergeant in the 140th Regiment of New York Volunteers, who died at Potomac Station, Va., December 28, 1862, aged twenty-five years. An eminent authority says of this poem, that it contains “almost the finest lyric line in the language."]

THE morning is cheery, my boys, arouse !

The dew shines bright on the chestnut boughs,
And the sleepy mist on the river lies,

Though the east is flushing with crimson dyes.
Awake! awake! awake!

O'er field and wood and brake,
With glories newly born,

Comes on the blushing morn.

Awake! awake!

You have dreamed of your homes and friends all

night;

You have basked in your sweethearts' smiles so bright;