THE REVEILLE.

THE MARCH OF THE 1ST REGIMENT FOR WASHINGTON,
APRIL 17TH, '61.

HARK! I hear the tramp of thousands,
And of armed men the hum-
Lo! a nation's hosts have gather'd
'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 Union answering drum.

"What if'mid the cannons' thunder,
Whistling shot and bursting bomb,
When my brothers 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!"

T. B. HART.

THE ARSENAL.

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WORK AT HARPER'S FERRY, APRIL 19TH, '61.

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms:
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villagers with strange alarms.

Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, When the death-angel touches these swift keys! What loud lament and dismal Miserere

Will mingle with their awful symphonies!

I hear e'en now the infinite fierce chorus,
The cries of agony, the endless groan,
Which through the ages that have gone before us,
In loud reverberations reach our own.

The tumult of each sacked and burning village; The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns; The soldiers' revel in the midst of pillage;

The wail of famine in beleaguered towns;

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade;
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,

The diapason of the cannonade.

Were half the power that fills the earth with terror,
Were half the wealth bestow'd on camps and courts,
Giv'n to redeem the human mind from error,
There were no need of arsenals or forts.

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.

1

VAINLY I WAIT FOR THEE.

CAPTURE OF THE STAR OF THE WEST,
APRIL 16TH, '61.

I AM waiting, sadly waiting,
'Neath the trysting tree-

Waiting for thy welcome footsteps,
And thy smile of love for me.
Evening shadows fast are falling,
Night comes on apace,

Vainly through the dusk I'm peering.
Thy dear form to trace.

Never more shall I behold thee,

Low in death thou'rt lain,

On the battle-field so gory,

For thy country slain.

From mine eyes the tears are falling-
Bitter tears of grief and pain,
But methinks thy sweet voice whispers,
"Cheer thee, love, we'll meet again."

HELENE OSGOO

THE MARTYRED THREE.

THE MARCH TO THE CAPITOL.

OUR mother, Massachusetts,
Hath sons of valiant mould-
Bright-eyed and gentle-featured,
Strong-limbed and stalwart-souled!
Within her lap she holds them—
Her lap of fruitful soil;

And, bosomed on her fragrant hills,
They drink the milk of toil.

And so they wax to manliness,
By bread of freedom nurs'd;
And so they love all lands above,
Old Massachusetts first!
One day, through all the nation-
From blue Potomac's stream
To woods of far Aroostook,
There flash'd a lightning gleam :

In scrolls of fire electric

The battle-word went forth

Like burning brand from hand to hand,

Through all the loyal North:

"The Capitol's in danger!—

So every soul rehears'd,

-And pass'd the brand from hand to handOld Massachusetts first!