And a shudder crept through the cornfield And the old time, full of feeling, on the snow: Of a hundred men who went into the There's more blood to be seen than this stain fight, Numbered but twenty that answered "Here!" There are pools of it-lakes of it—just over In a ditch with the rest while my arms can bear You had heard that his place was worst of them all; His form to a grave that mine own may Not 'mid the stragglers: where he fought he soon share; So if your strength fails, best go sit by the hearth, While his mother alone seeks his bed on the earth. would fall. There's the moon through the clouds. O Canst thou from thy heavens o'er such vis- thine? You will go? Then no faintings! Give me And still call this cursed world a footstool of the light, And follow my footsteps: my heart will lead Hark! a groan! There! another, here in right. this line Ah, God! what is here? A great heap of Piled close on each other. Ah! here is the the slain, flag, Torn, dripping with gore. Pah! they died for this rag! Here's the voice that we seek.-Poor soul, do not start; We're women, not ghosts.—What a gash Is there aught we can do? a message to give "Mother!" "Wife !"-ere he reeled down 'mong the dead. But, first, can you tell where his regiment stood? Speak, speak, man, or point! 'Twas the Why, girl, do you feel neither reverence nor Choking his voice! What a look of fright, despair! That your red hands turn ever toward this There! lean on my knee while I put back dim light the hair These dead men, that stare so? Ah! if you From eyes so fast glazing.-Oh, my darling, had kept Your senses this morning, ere his comrades My hands were both idle when you died had left, my own, alone ! He's dying-he's dead. Close his lids; let | Don't moan so, dear child; you're young, and your years us go. God's peace on his soul! If we only could May still hold fair hopes, but the old die of know tears. Where our own dear one lies! My soul has Yes, take him again. Ah! don't lay your turned sick! face there! Must we crawl o'er these bodies that lie here See! the blood from his wound has stained so thick? I cannot! I cannot !-How eager you are! One might think you were nursed on the red lap of war! He's not here-and not here. What wild hopes flash through My thoughts as foot-deep I stand in this dread dew And cast up a prayer to the blue, quiet sky! Was it you, girl, that shrieked ?-Ah! what face doth lie Upturned toward me there, so rigid and white? your loose hair. How quiet you are!-Has she fainted ? Is cold as his own.-Say a word to me! Am I crazed? Is she dead? Her heart Her trouble was bitter, but sure mine is worst! I'm afraid, I'm afraid, alone with these dead! Those corpses are stirring! God help my poor head! O God, my brain reels! 'Tis a dream! My I'll sit by my children until the men come old sight Is dimmed with these horrors. My son !oh, my son! Would I had died for thee, my own, only one ! There! lift off your arms: let him come to the breast Where first he was lulled with my soul's hymn to rest. Your heart never thrilled to your lover's fond kiss As mine to his baby-touch: was it for this? He was yours, too? He loved you? Yes, yes! you are right. Forgive me, my daughter: I'm maddened to To bury the others, and then we'll go home. Why, the slain are all dancing!-Dearest, don't move! Keep away from my boy: he's guarded by love. Lullaby, lullaby; sleep, sweet darling, sleep! God and thy mother will watch o'er thee keep. E. A. JOHNSTON. night. Furl it, fold it: it is best, |