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The warrior's name would be a name abhorred;
And every nation that should lift again
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead
Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain.
Down the dark future, through long generations,
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease.
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,
I hear once more the voice of Christ say "Peace!"
Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals
The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies,
But, beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of love arise.

-H. W. Longfellow.

The Reveille.

H

ARK! I hear the tramp of thousands,

And of armed men the hum

Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered

Round the quick alarming drum,

Saying, "Come,

Freemen, come,

Ere your heritage be wasted!" said the quick alarming drum.

"Let me of my heart take counsel

War is not of Life the sum;

Who shall stay and reap the harvest

When the autumn days shall come?"

But the drum

Echoed, "Come!

Death shall reap the braver harvest!" said the

solemn-sounding drum.

"But when won the coming battle,

What of profit springs therefrom?

What if conquest, subjugation,

Even greater ills become?

But the drum

Answered, "Come!

You must do the sum to prove it!" said the Yankee answering drum.

"What if, 'mid the cannon's thunder,

Whistling shot and bursting bomb, When my brethren fall around me, Should my heart grow cold and numb!"

But the drum

Answered, "Come!

Better there in death united than in life a recreant

come!"

Thus they answered-hoping, fearing

Some in faith, and doubting some

Till a trumpet-voice, proclaiming,

Said, "My chosen people, come!"

Then the drum!

Lo! was dumb,

For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, "Lord we come!"

The Battle-Field.

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NCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,

Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,

And fiery hearts and armed hands

Encountered in the battle cloud.

-T. B. Hart.

Ah! never shall the land forget

How gushed the life-blood of her braveGushed, warm with hope and courage yet, Upon the soil they fought to save.

The timid good may stand aloof,

Now all is calm and fresh and still;
Alone the chirp of flitting bird,
And talk of children on the hill,

And bell of wandering kine, are heard.

No solemn host goes trailing by

The black-mouthed gun, and staggering wain;

Men start not at the battle cry,

O, be it never heard again!

Soon rested those who fought; but thou
Who minglest in the harder strife
For truths which men receive not now,
Thy warfare only ends with life.
A friendless warfare! lingering long

Through weary day and weary year;
A wild and many weaponed throng
Hang on thy front and flank and rear.

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,
And blanch not at thy chosen lot;

The sage may frown-yet faint thou not.

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,

The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; For with thy side shall dwell, at last,

The victory of endurance born.

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again—
The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes in pain,
And dies among his worshipers.

Yes, though thou lie upon the dust,
When they who helped thee flee in fear,
Die full of hope and manly trust,

Like those who fell in battle here!

Another hand thy sword shall wield,
Another hand the standard wave,
Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.
-William Cullen Bryant,

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IVE me but two brigades," said Hooker, frowning at fortified Lookout, "And I'll engage to sweep yon mountain clear of that mocking rebel rout!"

At early morning came an order that set the general's face aglow;

"Now," said he to his staff, "draw out my soldiers, Grant says that may go!"

Hither and thither dashed eager colonel to join his regiment, [tent to tent; While a low rumor of the daring purpose ran on from For the long roll was sounded in the valley, and the keen trumpet's bray,

And the wild laughter of the swarthy veterans, who cried, "We fight to-day!"

The solid tramp of infantry, the rumble of the great jolting gun,

The sharp, clear order, and the fierce steeds neighing, "Why's not the fight begun?"—

All these plain harbingers of sudden conflict broke on the startled ear;

And last, arose a sound that made your blood leapthe ringing battle cheer.

The lower works were carried at one onset, like a vast roaring sea

Of lead and fire, our soldiers from the trenches swept out the enemy;

And we could see the gray coats swarming up from the mountain's leafy base,

To join their comrades in the higher fastness-for life or death the race!

Then our long line went winding round the mountain, in a huge serpent track,

And the slant sun upon it flash'd and glimmer'd, as on a dragon's back.

Higher and higher the column's head push'd onward, ere the rear moved a man;

And soon the skirmish lines their straggling volleys and single shots began.

Then the bald head of Lookout flamed and bellow'd, and all its batteries woke,

And down the mountain pour'd the bombshells, puffing into our eyes their smoke:

And balls and grape shot rained upon our column, that bore the angry shower

As if it were no more than that soft dropping which scarcely stirs the flower.

Oh, glorious courage that inspires the hero, and runs through all his men!

The heart that failed beside the Rappahannock, it was itself again!

The star that circumstance and jealous faction shrouded in envious night,

Here shone with all the splendor of its nature, and with a freer flight!

Hark! hark! there go the well known crashing volleys, the long-continued roar,

That swells and falls, but never ceases wholly, until the fight is o'er.

Up toward the crystal gates of heaven ascending, the mortal tempests beat, [God's very feet! As if they sought to try their cause together, before

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[The battle was fought in September, 1513, between the forces of England nd Scotland. The latter were worsted, and King James slain with eight thousand of his men. Lord Surrey commanded the English troops.]

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Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare-
You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard,
With ten picked archers of my train;
With England if the day go hard,
To Berwick speed amain-

But, if we conquer, cruel maid,
My spoils shall at your feet be laid
When here we meet again."

He waited not for answer there,
And would not mark the maid's despair,
Nor heed the discontented look
From either squire; but spurred amain,
And, dashing through the battle-plain,
His way to Surrey took.

Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still
With Lady Clare upon the hill;
On which (for far the day was spent)
The western sunbeams now were bent.
The cry they heard, its meaning knew,
Could plain their distant comrades view:
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say,
"Unworthy office here to stay!

No hope of gilded spurs to-day.
But, see! look up-on Flodden bent
The Scottish foe has fired his tent."

And sudden, as he spoke,
From the sharp ridges of the hill,
All downward to the banks of Till
Was wreathed in sable smoke.
Volumed and vast, and rolling far,
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,
As down the hill they broke;
No martial shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march; their tread alone,
At times their warning trumpet blown,
At times a stifled hum,

Told England from his mountain throne
King James did rushing come-
Scarce could they hear or see their foes
Until at weapon-point they close.
They close in clouds of smoke and dust,
With sword-sway and with lance's thrust;
And such a yell was there

Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if men fought upon the earth
And fiends in upper air:

O, life and death were in the shout,
Recoil and rally, charge and rout,

And triumph and despair.

Long looked the anxious squires; their eye Could in the darkness naught descry.

At length the freshening western blast
Aside the shroud of battle cast;
And first, the ridge of mangled spears
Above the brightening cloud appears;
And in the smoke the pennons flew;
As in the storm the bright sea-mew.
Then marked they, dashing broad and far,
The broken billows of the war,
And plumed crests of chieftains brave
Floating like foam upon the wave,

But naught distinct they see:
Wide raged the battle on the plain;
Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain;
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain;
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again,
Wild and disorderly.

Amid the scene of tumult, high
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly:
And stainless Tunstall's banner white,
And Edmund Howard's lion bright,
Still bear them bravely in the fight;
Although against them come

Of gallant Gordons many a one,
And many a stubborn Highlandman,
And many a rugged Border clan,

With Huntley and with Home.

Far on the left, unseen the while,
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle;
Though there the western mountaineer
Rushed with bare bosom on the spear,
And flung the feeble targe aside,

And with both hands the broadsword plied,
'Twas vain; but fortune, on the right,
With fickle smile, cheered Scotland's fight.
Then fell that spotless banner white,

The Howard's lion fell;

Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew
Around the battle-yell.

The Border slogan rent the sky!

A Home! a Gordon! was the cry:
Loud were the clanging blows;
Advanced--forced back-now low, now high,

The pennon sunk and rose;

As bends the bark's mast in the gale,
When rent are rigging, shrouds and sail,

It wavered 'mid the foes.

No longer Blount the view could bear: "By heaven and all its saints, I swear,

I will not see it lost!

Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare
May bid your bead, and patter prayer-

I gallop to the host."

And to the fray he rode amain,
Followed by all the archer train.

The fiery youth, with desperate charge,
Made, for a space an opening large-
The rescued banner rose,

But darkly closed the war around,
Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground,
It sunk among the foes.

Then Eustace mounted too; yet staid,
As loath to leave the helpless maid,
When, fast as shaft can fly,
Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils spread,
The loose rein dangling from his head,
Housing and saddle bloody red,

Lord Marmion's steed rushed by;
And Eustace, maddening at the sight,
A look and sign to Clara cast,

To mark he would return in haste, Then plunged into the fight.

Ask me not what the maiden feels,

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