"All quiet along the Potomac," they say, "Except now and then a stray picket Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro, By a rifleman hid in the thicket. 'Tis nothing: a private or two, now and then, Will not count in the news of the battle; Not an officer lost-only one of the men, Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle." All quiet along the Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; 10 Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon, Or the light of the watch-fire, are gleaming. A tremulous sigh of the gentle night-wind Through the forest leaves softly is creeping, While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes, Keep guard, for the army is sleeping. There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, And thinks of the two in the low trundlebed Far away in the cot on the mountain. 20 His musket falls slack; his face, dark and grim, Grows gentle with memories tender, As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep For their mother-may Heaven defend her! The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then That night, when the love yet unspoken Leaped up to his lips-when low-murmured vows Were pledged to be ever unbroken. Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes off tears that are welling, 30 And gathers his gun closer up to its place As if to keep down the heart-swelling. He passes the fountain, the blasted pinetree; The footstep is lagging and weary; Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, Towards the shade of the forest so dreary. Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves? Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing? It looked like a rifle. . . . “Ha! Mary, goodby!" The red life-blood is ebbing and plashing. 40 All quiet along the Potomac to-nightNo sound save the rush of the river, While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead The picket's off duty forever! November, 1861. FAREWELL TO BROTHER JONATHAN 1 By CAROLINE Farewell! we must part; we have turned from the land Of our cold-hearted brother, with tyrannous hand, Who assumed all our rights as a favor to grant, And whose smile ever covered the sting of a taunt; Who breathed on the fame he was bound to defend, Still the craftiest foe, 'neath the guise of a friend; Who believed that our bosoms would bleed at a touch, Yet could never believe he could goad them too much; 1 See "Brother Jonathan's Lament for Sister Caroline," by Holmes, page 440. Southrons, hear your country call you! Up, lest worse than death befall you! To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie! For Dixie's land we take our stand, And conquer peace for Dixie Fear no danger! Shun no labor! Strong as lions, swift as eagles, 10 20 Back to their kennels hunt these beagles! Cut the unequal bonds asunder! 30 Let them hence each other plunder! On the soft air broke Treason's fiendish yell, The harbinger of death! 30 |