Deserves your hate. You common cry of curs, whose breath I loathe As reek o' the rotten fens." Coriolanus. "Hark! hark! the dogs do bark." SONS of New England in the fray, Do Nursery Rhyme. Do you hear the clamor behind your back? you hear the yelping of Blanche and Tray, Sweetheart and all the mongrel pack? Girded well with her ocean crags, Little our mother heeds their noise; TREASON'S LAST DEVICE. Her eyes are fixed on crimson flags: But you, do you hear it, Yankee boys? 143 Do you hear them say that the patriot fire Do you hear the hissing voice which saith With not one of her sisters to share her fate, A Hagar, wandering sick at heart? A Pariah, bearing the nation's hate? Sons, who have peopled the gorgeous West, Where, by a richer soil carest, It grows as ever its parent grew, Of your churches ring with her ancient voice, Do To coasts where the gray Pacific roars, Spirits of sons who side by side In a hundred battles fought and fell, In the isles where the shades of heroes dwell, – Say, has it reached your glorious rest, And ruffled the calm which crowns you there? The shame that recreants have confest, The plot that floats in the troubled air? Sons of New England, here and there, ? Say, do you hear the cowards' cry But you, WASHINGTON, Jan. 19, 1863. New York Tribune. LARRY'S RETURN FROM THE WAR.* BY WILL S. HAYS. THE black clouds were angrily chasing each other; * Larry was one of those who withdrew from the contest because of the Proclamation of Freedom to the slaves in the States under rebel rule, which was issued January 1, 1863. LARRY'S RETURN FROM THE WAR. 145 And lo! there stood Larry, as fresh and as cosy As when he left Kitty's bewitching young charms; Whose eyes were so bright, and whose cheeks were so rosy, 66 "Arrah! Kitty," said Larry, "love, come to me arms.” "O Larry! you're safe!" Yes, thrue for ye, darlin'; I've been in the battles, whin the balance wor kilt, An' the ribils, like haythens, come fightin' an' snarlin' Arrah! Kitty, no knowin' the blood that was spilt." "Come, Larry, sit down." you, 66 'Faith, I will, an' close near For lonesome I've been for many months past; I often have wished d'ye mind?" "Yes, I hear you." "That ivery big fight that we had was the last." "And have you been wounded?” lucky. "Ah, no! I wor The boys fought like divils, an' died in a hape; An' since our last march, as we wint through Kintucky, How many brave fellows have laid down to slape! "No longer a sojer, dear Kitty, I'll tarry, Faith, while I wor one, to the cause I wor thrue, An' now I've come home, love, a swate girl to marry." 'Pray, Larry, who is she?" "Arrah! Kitty, 't is 66 you! I've got me discharge, an' through life's wintry weather We'll make the path aisy as aisy can be. Me heart's in me hand." "I'll take them together." "Presint arms, then, darlint!" "I will, love," says she. "Ah, Larry! I'm glad are you tired of fightin'?" And sweet Kitty smiled — looked him full in the eyes. "Oh! no, Kitty, dear; for I took a delight in Performin' me dooty, wherever it lies; May me hand lave me body whin I pull the thrigger In battle again." "Why, Larry?" "Because The Goddess of Liberty 's turned to a nigger, HERMITAGE, January 8, 1863. Louisville Sunday Democrat AT PORT ROYAL. BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. THE tent-lights glimmer on the land, The night-wind smooths with drifting sand At last our grating keels outslide, And while we ride the land-locked tide, For dear the bondman holds his gifts Of music and of song; The gold that kindly Nature sifts The power to make his toiling days And poor home-comforts please; The quaint relief of mirth that plays With sorrow's minor keys. Another glow than sunset's fire Has filled the West with light, Where field and garner, barn and byre |