SARAH TITTLE BOLTON.
* * * * *
REQUIEM
FOR ONE SLAIN IN BATTLE.
Breathe, trumpets, breathe
Slow notes of saddest wailing,--
Sadly responsive peal, ye muffled drums;
Comrades, with downcast eyes
And banners trailing,
Attend him home,--
The youthful warrior comes.
Upon his shield,
Upon his shield returning,
Borne from the field of honor
Where he fell;
Glory and grief, together clasped
In mourning,
His fame, his fate
With sobs exulting tell.
Wrap round his breast
The flag his breast defended,--
His country's flag,
In battle's front unrolled:
For it he died;
On earth forever ended
His brave young life
Lives in each sacred fold.
With proud fond tears,
By tinge of shame untainted,
Bear him, and lay him
Gently in his grave:
Above the hero write,--
The young, half-sainted,--
His country asked his life,
His life he gave!
GEORGE LUNT.
* * * * *
MUSIC IN CAMP.
Two armies covered hill and plain,
Where Rappahannock's waters
Ran deeply crimsoned with the stain
Of battle's recent slaughters.
The summer clouds lay pitched like tents
In meads of heavenly azure;
And each dread gun of the elements
Slept in its embrasure.
The breeze so softly blew, it made
No forest leaf to quiver,
And the smoke of the random cannonade
Rolled slowly from the river.
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