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From stricken fields and ocean caves
I hear their voice and cry instead-
Gazing upon our myriad graves,
Be generous to the crippled braves
Who were the comrades of the dead!"

Our cause was holy to the height

Of holiest cause to manhood given;
For Peace and Liberty to smite,

And while the warm blood bounded bright,
For these to die, if called by Heaven!
The dead are cared for-in the clay
The grinning skull no laurel seeks;
But for the wounded of the fray
It is through my weak lips to-day



MAIDEN Agnes," said the Year in going,
"What the message I shall bear from thee
To the angels, who with love past knowing
Fed the life-lamp of thy infancy?

When I reach them they will murmur low,
'What of our Agnes doth thy record show?'"

"Tell them, tell them that beside the sea
I wait a passage to the Land of Morn;
For Hope has said, that o'er the waves to me
A goodly vessel by the winds is borne;

To waft me proudly to that sunny land
Where all the castles of my dreaming stand.

"Day after day I watch the ships go by,

And strain my eyes across the restless deep, Where, dimly pictured 'gainst the summer sky, The Hills of Morning in their beauty sleep.


But look! even now across the shining sea
The ship of promise bearing down for me."

"Woman Agnes, on the wreck-strewn shore,
When the angels of thy infancy
Ask if homeward turn thy steps once more,
What, I pray thee, shall my answer be?
'Tell us, tell us,' they will say, 'O, Year,
Draws the loved one unto us more near?'"

"Leave me, leave me all is lost-is lost!

My goodly ship is crumbled in the deep; My trusted helmsman in the breakers tossed;

All's wrecked, all's wasted, e'en the power to weep.

The mocking waves toss scornfully ashore
The ruined treasures that are mine no more.

"Leave me alone, to pore upon the waves,

Whitened with upturned faces of the dead;
Earth for such corpses has, alas! no graves;
No holy priest has requiescat said.
There's nothing left me but the bitter sea;
God and his angels have forgotten me."

"Christian Agnes, in the firelight dreaming,

What the message I shall bear from thee To the angels, whose soft eyes are beaming

From the portal where they watch for me? 'Is she coming?' they will say; 'O, Year, Draw her footsteps to the Homeland near?'"

"This the message-that I sit no more

With eyes bent idly on the Hills of Morn,
That in the tempest, on the wreck-strewn shore,
A holier purpose to my soul was born.
Give leave to labor, was the prayer I said,
Leaving the dead past to inter its dead.

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"And it was granted. By my hearth to-night, Tell the beloved ones, I sit alone,


But not unhappy; for the morning light
Will show my pathway with its uses strewn.
Happy in labor, say to them, 0, Year,

I wait the Sabbath, which I trust draws near."



BANISHED from Rome! What's banished but set free

From daily contact of the things I loathe ?

"Tried and convicted traitor!"-Who says this?
Who'll prove it at his peril, on my head?

Banished? I thank you for't! It breaks my chains!
I held some slack allegiance till this hour,

But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords!
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,

I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,

To leave you in your lazy dignities!

But here I stand and scoff you!-here I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face!
Your consul's merciful. For this, all thanks!
He dates not touch a hair of Catiline !

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"Traitor!" I go,—but I return! This trial! Here I devote your senate!—I've had wrongs, To stir a fever in the blood of age,

And make the infant's sinews strong as steel,

This day's the birth of sorrow! This hour's work

Will breed proscriptions! Look to your hearths, my lords!
For there henceforth shall sit for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus! all shames and crimes;
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones,
Till Anarchy come down on you like night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave!




NOTE.-The following beautiful and touching lines were taken from the •knapsack of a Union soldier, who was found dead, upon the battle-field of Hatcher's Run, Va., in Nov., 1864. The original manuscript, torn and defaced, was presented to Major BARTON by Colonel EDWARD HILL, of the Sixteenth Michigan Infantry. The author is unknown.

Hi! Harry! Hallie! Halt, and tell
A soldier just a thing or two;
You've had a furlough! been to see
How all the folks in Jersey do; -
It's a year agone since I was there,
I, and a bullet from Fair Oaks.

Since you've been home, old comrade, true,
Say, did you see any of "our folks?"
You did? Shake hands! Oh, ain't I glad!
For if I do look grim and rough,
I've got some feeling.-People think
A soldier's heart is mighty tough!
But, Harry, when the bullets fly,

And hot saltpetre flames and smokes !
And whole battalions lie a-field!
One's apt to think about his folks.
And so you saw them! When and where ?
The old man! Is he lively yet?

And mother-does she fade at all,

Or does she seem to pine and fret for me?
And little "sis," has she grown tall?
And then, you know, her friend, that
Annie Ross-How this pipe chokes :
Come, Hal, and tell me, like a man,
All the news about our folks.

You saw them at the church, you say;
It's likely; for they're always there
On Sunday. What! No! A funeral!
Who? Why, Harry, how you halt and stare!
And all were well, and all were out?
Come, surely, this can't be a hoax!

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"I said all well, old comrade dear,

I say all well! for He knows best,
Who takes His young lambs in His arms
Before the sun sinks in the West.
The soldier's stroke deals left and right,
But flowers fall as well as oaks-
And so, fair Annie blooms no more:

And that's the matter with your folks.'
Here's this long curl, 'twas sent to you,
And this fair blossom, from her breast,
And here your sister Bessie wrote

This letter telling all the rest.

Bear up, old friend,"―nobody speaks!

Only the dull camp raven croaks

And soldiers whisper,

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boys be still!

There's some bad news from Granger's folks!' He turned his back upon his grief

And sadly strove to hide the tears

Kind nature sends to woe's relief.

Then answered, "Ah, well! Hal, I'll try;
But in my throat there's something chokes
Because, you see, I'd thought so long
To count her in among our folks.

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I can't help thinking, too,

I might have kept this trouble off
By being gentle, kind and true!-
But may be not. She's safe up there;

And when His hand deals other strokes
She'll stand at Heaven's gate, I know,
To wait and welcome " our folks."

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