"Then I thought: It's all a nightmare, all a humbug and a

bore;

Just another foolish grape-vine1- and it won't come any

more;

But it came, sir, notwithstanding, just the same way as be

"That is all that I remember, till a sudden burst of light, And I stood beside the River, where we stood that Sunday night,

Waiting to be ferried over to the dark bluffs opposite,
When the river was perdition and all hell was opposite!

"And the same old palpitation came again in all its power, And I heard a Bugle sounding, as from some celestial Tower; And the same mysterious voice said: 'IT IS THE ELEVENTH HOUR!

"Yes, — to-morrow will be New Year's, and a right good

"There was where the gun-boats opened on the dark, rebellious host;

And where Webster semicircled his last guns upon the coast; There were still the two log-houses, just the same, or else

their ghost,

And the same old transport came and took me over

- or its

ghost!

I Canard.

THE OLD SERGEANT.

143

"And the old field lay before me all deserted far and wide; There was where they fell on Prentiss, there McClernand

met the tide;

There was where stern Sherman rallied, and where Hurlbut's

heroes died,

Lower down, where Wallace charged them, and kept charging till he died.

"There was where Lew Wallace showed them he was of the

canny kin,

There was where old Nelson thundered, and where Rousseau waded in ;

There McCook sent 'em to breakfast, and we all began to

win

There was where the grape-shot took me, just as we began to win.

66

Now, a shroud of snow and silence over everything was

spread;

And but for this old blue mantle and the old hat on my

head,

I should not have even doubted, to this moment, I was

dead,

For my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon the dead!

"Death and silence! - Death and silence! all around me as

I sped!

And behold, a mighty TOWER, as if builded to the dead,
To the Heaven of the heavens, lifted up its mighty head,
Till the Stars and Stripes of Heaven all seemed waving
from its head!

"Round and mighty-based it towered-up into the infiniteAnd I knew no mortal mason could have built a shaft so

bright;

For it shone like solid sunshine; and a winding stair of light, Wound around it and around it till it wound clear out of

sight!

Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascending the great

Suddenly the solemn challenge broke of Halt, and who goes there!'

'I'm a friend,' I said, "if you are.' 'Then advance, sir, to the Stair!'

"I advanced! — That sentry, Doctor, was Elijah Ballantyne ! First of all to fall on Monday, after we had formed the line: Welcome, my old Sergeant, welcome! Welcome by that countersign!'

And he pointed to the scar there, under this old cloak of mine !

"As he grasped my hand, I shuddered, thinking only of the

grave;

But he smiled and pointed upward with a bright and bloodless glaive:

'That's the way, sir, to Headquarters.' 'What Headquarters!' 'Of the Brave.'

'But the great tower?' That,' he answered, 'is the way, sir, of the Brave!'

"Then a sudden shame came o’er me at his uniform of light; At my own so old and tattered, and at his so new and bright; 'Ah!' said he, 'you have forgotten the New Uniform tonight,

Hurry back, for you must be here at just twelve o'clock tonight!'

"And the next thing I remember, you were sitting there,

all! Good-by!

Doctor, please to give my musket and my knapsack, when I

die,

To my Son-my Son that's coming, — he won't get here till

I die!

NO MORE.

145

"Tell him his old father blessed him as he never did be

fore,

And to carry that old musket"

door!

Hark! a knock is at the

See! it opens! "Father! Father!

speak once more!"

"Bless you!"-gasped the old, gray Sergeant, and he lay

and said no more.

FORCEYTHE Willson.

No More.

HUSHED be the song and the love-notes of gladness

That broke with the morn from the cottager's door, Muffle the tread in the soft stealth of sadness, For one who returneth, whose chamber-lamp burneth

No more.

Silent he lies on the broad path of glory,

Where withers ungarnered the red crop of war. Grand is his couch, though its pillows are gory, 'Mid forms that shall battle, 'mid guns that shall rattle

No more.

Soldier of Freedom, thy marches are ended,
The dreams that were prophets of triumph are o'er;
Death with the night of thy manhood is blended,
The bugle shall call thee, the fight shall enthrall thee

Far to the Northward the banners are dimming,

-

No more.

And faint comes the tap of the drummers before;

Low in the tree-tops the swallow is skimming;

Thy comrades shall cheer thee, the weakest shall fear thee

VOL. III.

7

No more.

Far to the Westward the day is at vespers,

And bows down its head, like a priest, to adore ; Soldier, the twilight for thee has no whispers,

The night shall forsake thee, the morn shall awake thee No more.

Wide o'er the plain where the white tents are gleaming,
In spectral array, like the graves they're before—
One there is empty, where once thou wert dreaming
Of deeds that are boasted, of one that is toasted

When the commander to-morrow proclaimeth

A list of the brave for the nation to store,

Thou shalt be known with the heroes he nameth,

No more.

Who wake from their slumbers, who answer their numbers

No more.

Hushed be the song and the love-notes of gladness
That broke with the morn from the cottager's door,
Muffle the tread in the soft stealth of sadness,
For one who returneth, whose chamber-lamp burneth
No more.

ROBERT H. NEWELL.

Oh, breathe not his name!

ROBERT EMMETT.

H, breathe not his name! let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid;
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed,
As the night dew that falls on the grave o'er his head.

But the night dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps ;
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
THOMAS MOORE.