PART XV.

War and Peace.

But three feet good of that old wood,
So scarred in war, and rotten,
Was thrown aside, unknown its pride,
Its honors all forgotten:

When, as in shade the block was laid,
Two robins, perching on it,
Thought that place best to build a nest,-
They planned it, and have done it:

The splintered spot which lodged a shot
Is lined with moss and feather,
And, chirping loud, a callow brood
Are nestling up together.

How full of bliss,—how peaceful is

That spot the soft nest caging,

Where war's alarms and blood-stained arms

Were once around it raging.

TUPPER.

PART XV.

War and Peace.

DRIVING HOME THE COWS.

Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass
He turned them into the river-lane;
One after another he let them pass,

And fastened the meadow bars again.

Under the willows and over the hill

He patiently followed their sober pace;
The merry whistle for once was still,
And something shadowed the sunny face.

Only a boy! and his father had said
He never would let his youngest go;
Two already were lying dead

Under the feet of the trampling foe.

But after the evening work was done,

And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp, Over his shoulder he slung his gun

And stealthily followed the foot-path damp,

Across the clover and through the wheat,
With resolute heart and purpose grim,
Though cold was the dew to the hurrying feet,
And the blind bat's flitting startled him.

Thrice since then had the lane been white,
And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom;
And now, when the cows came back at night,
The feeble father drove them home.

For news had come to the lonely farm
That three were lying where two had lain;
And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm
Could never lean on a son's again.

The summer days grew cold and late,

He went for the cows, when the work was done;
But down the lane, as he opened the gate,
He saw them coming, one by one,

Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess,

Shaking their horns in the evening wind; Cropping the buttercups out of the grass But who was it following close behind?

Loosely swung in the idle air

The empty sleeve of army blue;
And worn and pale, from the crisping hair
Looked out a face that the father knew.

For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn,
And yield their dead unto life again;
And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn
In golden glory at last may wane.

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes;
For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb,
And under the silent evening skies

Together they followed the cattle home.

KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD.

ROLL-CALL.

"CORPORAL GREEN!" the orderly cried;
"Here!" was the answer, loud and clear,
From the lips of the soldier who stood near;
And "Here" was the word the next replied.

"Cyrus Drew!"- then a silence fell —
This time no answer followed the call;
Only his rear man had seen him fall,
Killed or wounded; he could not tell.

There they stood in the falling light,

These men of battle with grave, dark looks,
As plain to be read as open books,

While slowly gathered the shades of night.

The fern on the hillsides was splashed with blood,
And down in the corn where the poppies grew
Were redder stains than the poppies knew,
And crimson dyed was the river's flood.

For the foe had crossed from the other side
That day, in the face of a murderous fire,
That swept them down in its terrible ire,
And their life-blood went to color the tide.

"Herbert Kline!" At the call there came
Two stalwart soldiers into the line,

Bearing between them this Herbert Kline,
Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name.

"Ezra Kerr!"—and a voice answered, "Here!"
"Hiram Kerr !"— but no man replied.

They were brothers, these two; the sad winds sighed,
And a shudder crept through the cornfield near.

"Ephraim Deane ! " - then a soldier spoke;
"Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said;
"Where our ensign was shot, I left him dead,
Just after the enemy wavered and broke.

"Close to the roadside his body lies;

I paused a moment and gave him drink;
He murmured his mother's name, I think,
And death came with it and closed his eyes."

'Twas a victory, yes, but it cost us dear

For that company's roll, when called at night, Of a hundred men who went into the fight, Numbered but twenty that answered "Here!" San Francisco Argonaut.

N. G. SHEPARD.

THE COUNTERSIGN WAS MARY.

"T WAS near the break of day, but still
The moon was shining brightly;
The west wind as it passed the flowers
Set each one swaying lightly;
The sentry slow paced to and fro,
A faithful night-watch keeping,

While in the tents behind him stretched
His comrades, - all were sleeping.

Slow to and fro the sentry paced,
His musket on his shoulder;

But not a thought of death or war

Was with the brave young soldier.