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The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,

That night, when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to his lips--when low-murmured vows

Were pledged to be ever unbroken.
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,

He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to its place

As if to keep down the heart-swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree

The footstep is lagging and weary;
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,

Toward the shades of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves ?

Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing ?
It looked like a rifle—“Ah! Mary, good-bye!"

And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

No sound save the rush of the river ;
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead

The picket's off duty forever.



[General Lew Wallace, in his recently published Autobiography, mentions this as one of his favorite poems. A life of General Butler (1793-1880), "the Kentucky soldier-poet,' was written by Francis Preston Blair, Sr., in 1848, the year in which General Butler was a democratic candidate for Vice-President.)

O boatman! wind that horn again,

For never did the listening air

Upon its ambient bosom bear
So wild, so soft, so sweet a strain!
What tho' thy notes are sad and few,

By every simple boatman blown,
Yet is each pulse to nature true,

And melody in every tone.
How oft in boyhood's joyous day,

Unmindful of the lapsing hours,

I've loitered on my homeward way

By wild Ohio's bank of flowers; While some lone boatman from the deck

Poured his soft numbers to the tide, As if to charm from storm and wreck

The boat where all his fortunes ride.

Delighted, Nature drank the sound,
Enchanted, Echo bore it round,
In whispers soft and softer still,
From hill to plain and plain to hill,
Till e'en the thoughtless frolic boy,
Elate with hope and wild with joy,
Who gambolled by the river's side
And sported with the fretting tide,
Feels something new pervade his breast,
Change his light steps, repress his jest,
Bends o'er the flood his eager ear,
To catch the sounds far off, yet dear-
Drinks the sweet draught, but knows not why
The tear of rapture fills his eye.
And can he now, to manhood grown,
Tell why those notes, so simple and lone,
As on the ravished ear they fell,
Bound every sense in magic spell?
There is a tide of feeling given
To all on earth-its fountain, heaven-
Beginning with the dewy flower
Just ope'd in Flora's vernal bower,
Rising creation's orders through,
With louder murmur, brighter hue.
'Tis sympathy. Its ebb and flow
Give life its hue, its joy, and woe.
Music, the spirit that can move
Its waves to war or lull to love,
Can cheer the sailor mid the wave,
And bid the warrior dare the grave,
Inspire the pilgrim on the road,
And fire his soul to claim his God.

Then, boatman, wind that horn again;
Though much of sorrow mark its strain,
Yet are its notes to sorrow dear;
What tho' they wake fond memory's tear?
Tears are sad memory's sacred feast,
And rapture oft her chosen guest.



[Like "Dixie," this famous song originated in the theater and first became popular in New Orleans. The tune was borrowed from “The Irish Jaunting Car," a popular Hibernian air. Harry McCarthy was an Irishman who enlisted in the Confederate Army from Arkansas, The song was written in 1861. It was published by A. E. Blackmar who declared that General Ben Butler "made it very profitable by fining every man, woman, or child who sang, whistled, or played it on any instrument, $25." Blackmar was arrested, his music destroyed, and a fine of $500 imposed upon him.)

We are a band of brothers, and native to the soil,
Fighting for our liberty, with treasure, blood, and toil;

And when our rights were threatened, the cry rose near and


Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star!


Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern rights, Hurrah!
Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star!

As long as the Union was faithful to her trust,
Like friends and like brethren kind were we and just;
But now when Northern treachery attempts our rights to

mar, We hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.


First gallant South Carolina nobly made the stand;
Then came Alabama, who took her by the hand;

Next, quickly Mississippi, Georgia, and Florida,
All raised on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single


Ye men of valor, gather round the banner of the right,
Texas and fair Louisiana, join us in the fight:

Davis, our loved President, and Stephens, statesman rare,
Now rally round the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single


And here's to brave Virginia! The Old Dominion State
With the young Confederacy at length has linked her fate;

Impelled by her example, now other States prepare
To hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single


Then cheer, boys, cheer, raise the joyous shout,
For Arkansas and North Carolina now have both gone out;

And let another rousing cheer for Tennessee be given-
The Single Star of the Bonnie Blue Flag has grown to be


Then, here's to our Confederacy; strong we are and brave, Like patriots of old we'll fight our heritage to save;

And rather than submit to shame, to die we would prefer So cheer again for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single



Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern rights, Hurrah!
Hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag has gained the Eleventh




He is acting o'er the battle,

With his cap and feather gay,
Singing out his soldier-prattle,

In a mockish, manly way“
With the boldest, bravest footstep,

Treading firmly up and down,
And his banner waving softly,

O'er his boyish locks of brown.

And I sit beside him sewing,

With a busy heart and hand, For the gallant soldier's going

To the far-off battle landAnd I gaze upon my jewel,

In his baby spirit bold, My little blue-eyed soldier,

Just a second summer old.

Still a deep, deep well of feeling,

In my mother's heart is stirred, And the tears come softly stealing

At each imitative word! There's a struggle in my bosom,

For I love my darling boyHe's the gladness of my spirit,

He's the sunlight of my joy! Yet I think upon my country,

And my spirit groweth bold Oh! I wish my blue-eyed soldier

Were but twenty summers old!

I would speed him to the battle

I would arm him for the fight; I would give him to his country,

For his country's wrong and right! I would nerve his hand with blessing

From the “God of battles” wonWith His helmet and His armor

I would cover o'er my son.

Oh! I know there'd be a struggle,

For I love my darling boy; He's the gladness of my spirit,

He's the sunlight of my joy! Yet in thinking of my country,

Oh! my spirit groweth bold, And I wish my blue-eyed soldier

Were but twenty summers old!

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