Ever the mine and assault, our sallies, their lying alarms, Bugles and drums in the darkness, and shoutings and soundings to arms;

Ever the labor of fifty that had to be done by five,

Ever the marvel among us that one should be left alive,

Ever the day with its traitorous death from the loopholes round,

Ever the night with its coffinless corpse to be laid in the ground;
Heat like the mouth of a hell, or a deluge of cataract skies,
Stench of old offal decaying, and infinite torment of flies,
Thoughts of the breezes of May blowing over an English field,
Cholera, scurvy, and fever, the wound that would not be heal'd,
Lopping away of the limb by the pitiful-pitiless knife,-
Torture and trouble in vain for it never could save us a
life;

Valor of delicate women who tended the hospital bed,
Horror of women in travail among the dying and dead,
Grief for our perishing children, and never a moment for grief,
Toil and ineffable weariness, faltering hopes of relief,

Havelock baffled, or beaten, or butcher'd for all that we knew

Then day and night, day and night, coming down on the still shatter'd walls,

Millions of musket-bullets, and thousands of cannon-balls
But ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.

Hark! cannonade, fusilade! is it true what was told by the scout

Outram and Havelock breaking their way through the fell

mutineers ?

Surely the pibroch of Europe is ringing again in our ears!
All on a sudden the garrison utter a jubilant shout,

Havelock's glorious Highlanders answer with conquering cheers,

Sick from the hospital echo them, women and children come

out,

Blessing the wholesome white faces of Havelock's good fusil

eers,

Kissing the warr-harden'd hand of the Highlander wet with

their tears!

is it you?

Dance to the pibroch! - saved! we are saved! — is it

Saved by the valor of Havelock, saved by the blessing of

Heaven!

"Hold it for fifteen days!" we have held it for eighty-seven! And ever aloft over the palace roof the old banner of England

blew.

ALFRED, LORD TENASON.

SONG OF THE CAMP

"GIVE us a song!" the soldiers cried,
The outer trenches guarding,
When the heated guns of the camps allied
Grew weary of bombarding.

The dark Redan, in silent scoff,
Lay grim and threatening under;
And the tawny mound of the Malakoff
No longer belched its thunder.

There was a pause. A guardsman said: "We storm the forts to-morrow;

Sing while we may, another day

Will bring enough of sorrow."

They lay along the battery's side,
Below the smoking cannon:

Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde,
And from the banks of Shannon.

They sang of love, and not of fame;
Forgot was Britain's glory :

Each heart recalled a different name,
But all sang "Annie Laurie."

Voice after voice caught up the song,
Until its tender passion

Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,
Their battle-eve confession.

Dear girl, her name he dared not speak,
But as the song grew louder,

Something upon the soldier's cheek
Washed off the stains of powder.

Beyond the darkening ocean burned
The bloody sunset's embers,
While the Crimean valleys learned
How English love remembers.

And once again a fire of hell

Rained on the Russian quarters,
With scream of shot, and burst of shell,
And bellowing of the mortars.

And Irish Norah's eyes are dim
For a singer dumb and gory;
And English Mary mourns for him
Who sang of "Annie Laurie.”

From the smoky night encampment, bore the banner of the

rampant

Unicorn,

And grummer, grummer, grummer, rolled the roll of the drum

mer,

Through the morn!

Then with eyes to the front all,
And with guns horizontal,

Stood our sires;

And the balls whistled deadly,
And in streams flashing redly
Blazed the fires;

As the roar

On the shore,

Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres

Of the plain;

And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder,
Cracking amain !

With hot sweeping anger, came the horse guards' clangor

On our flanks;

Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old-fashioned fire
Through the ranks !

And the trooper-jackets redden at the touch of the leaden

Rifle-breath;

And rounder rounder, rounder, roared the iron six-pounder,

Hurling death!

GUY HUMPHREY MCMASTER.

BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC

MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord : He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

He hath loosed the fateful lightnings of his terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on.

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and

damps;

I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps : His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel : "As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall

deal;

Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on."

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call re

treat;

He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment-seat; O, be swift, my soul, to answer him! be jubilant, my feet!

Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me ;
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.

JULIA WARD HOWE.

Avenge the patriotic gore

That flecked the streets of Baltimore,

And be the battle queen of yore,

Maryland, my Maryland!

Hark to an exiled son's appeal,

Maryland!

My Mother State, to thee I kneel,
Maryland!

For life or death, for woe or weal,
Thy peerless chivalry reveal,

And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
Maryland, my Maryland!

Thou wilt not cower in the dust,
Maryland!

Thy beaming sword shall never rust,
Maryland!

Remember Carroll's sacred trust,
Remember Howard's warlike thrust,
And all thy slumberers with the just,
Maryland, my Maryland!
Come! 't is the red dawn of the day,
Maryland!

Come with thy panoplied array,
Maryland!

With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,
With Watson's blood at Monterey,
With fearless Lowe and dashing May,
Maryland, my Maryland!

Dear Mother, burst the tyrant's chain,
Maryland!

Virginia should not call in vain,

Maryland!

She meets her sisters on the plain,
"Sic semper !" 't is the proud refrain
That baffles minions back amain,
Maryland!

Arise in majesty again,

Maryland, my Maryland!

Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,

Maryland!

Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, Maryland!

Come to thine own heroic throng

Stalking with Liberty along,

And chant thy dauntless slogan-song.

Maryland, my Maryland!