Under the storm of lead, Still hissing overhead, They re-formed the battle-line; Then the brave Captain said: "Guardsmen: avenge our dead!

_Charge_!"--Up the hill they go,-- Right into the swarming foe!

Woe to the foemen--woe!

See mad Zagonyi there; Streams on the wind his hair, Flashes his saber bare; On they go--on they go; Volleys flash, Sabers clash, On they plunge, on they dash, Following Zagonyi Into the h.e.l.l again.

Hand to hand fight and die Infantry, cavalry; Grappled and mixed they lie-- Infantry, cavalry: Hurra!--the Rebels fly!

Bravo!--Three Hundred!

"Forward and follow me!"

Shouted the Captain; "Union and Liberty!"

All the Guards thundered.

With mad hearts and sabers stout Into the Rebel-rout Gallop the Guardsmen, Thundering their cry again, Cleaving their foes in twain, Piling the heaps of slain Sabered and sundered.

Three hundred foes they slayed, Glorious the charge they made, Victorious the charge they made-- The gallant Three Hundred!

Let the Crown-Poet paid Sing of the "Light Brigade"

And "The wild charge they made"

When "Some one had blundered;"

Following the British Bard, I sing of the Body-Guard-- The Heroes that fought so hard-- Where n.o.body blundered.

Hail, brave Zagonyi--hail!

All hail, the Body-Guard!-- The glorious-- The victorious-- The invincible Three Hundred.

A MILLION MORE

[AUGUST, 1862.]

The nation calls aloud again, For Freedom wounded writhes in pain.

Gird on your armor, Northern men; Drop scythe and sickle, square and pen; A million bayonets gleam and flash; A thousand cannon peal and crash; Brothers and sons have gone before; A million more!--a million more!

Fire and sword!--aye, sword and fire!

Let war be fierce and grim and dire; Your path be marked by flame and smoke, And tyrant's bones and fetters broke: Stay not for foe's uplifted hand; Sheathe not the sword; quench not the brand Till Freedom reign from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, Or might 'mid ashes smoke and gore.

If leader stay the vengeance-rod, Let him beware the wrath of G.o.d; The maddened millions long his trust Will crush his puny bones to dust, And all the law to guide their ire Will be the law of blood and fire.

Come, then--the shattered ranks implore-- A million more--a million more!

Form and file and file and form; This war is but G.o.d's thunder-storm To purify our cankered land And strike the fetter from the hand.

Forced by grim fate our Chief at last Shall blow dear Freedom's bugle-blast; And then shall rise from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e Four millions more--four millions more.[CS]

[CS] There were four millions of slaves in the South when the war began.

ON READING PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S LETTER

To Horace Greeley, of date Aug. 22, 1862--"If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it," etc.

Perish the power that, bowed to dust, Still wields a tyrant's rod-- That dares not even then be just, And leave the rest with G.o.d.

THE DYING VETERAN

All-day-long the crash of cannon Shook the battle-covered plain; All-day-long the frenzied foemen Dashed against our lines in vain; All the field was piled with slaughter; Now the lurid setting sun Saw our foes in wild disorder, And the b.l.o.o.d.y day was won.

Foremost on our line of battle All-day-long a veteran stood-- Stalwart, brawny, grim and steady, Black with powder, smeared with blood; Never flinched and never faltered In the deadliest storm of lead, And before his steady rifle Lay a score of foemen dead.

Never flinched and never faltered Till our shout of victory rose, Till he saw defeat, disaster, Overwhelmed our flying foes; Then he trembled, then he tottered, Gasped for breath and dropped his gun, Staggered from the ranks and prostrate Fell to the earth. His work was done.

Silent comrades gathered round him, And his Captain sadly came, Bathed his quivering lips with water, Took his hand and spoke his name; And his fellow soldiers softly On his knapsack laid his head; Then his eyes were lit with l.u.s.ter, And he raised his hand and said:

"Good-bye, comrades; farewell, Captain!

I am glad the day is won; I am mustered out, I reckon-- Never mind-my part is done.

We have marched and fought together Till you seem like brothers all, But I hope again to meet you At the final bugle-call.

"Captain, write and tell my mother That she must not mourn and cry, For I never flinched in battle, And I do not fear to die.

You may add a word for Mary; Tell her I was ever true.

Mary took a miff one Sunday, And so I put on the "blue."

"And I know she has repented, But I never let her see How it cut--her crusty answer-- When she turned away from me.

I was never good at coaxing, So I didn't even try; But you tell her I forgive her, And she must not mourn and cry,"

Then he closed his eyes in slumber, And his spirit pa.s.sed away, And his comrades spread a blanket O'er his cold and silent clay.

At dawn of morn they buried him, Wrapped in his army-blue.

On the b.l.o.o.d.y field of Fair Oaks Sleeps the soldier tried and true.

GRIERSON'S RAID

Mount to horse--mount to horse; Forward, Battalion!

Gallop the gallant force; Down with Rebellion!

Over hill, creek and plain Clatter the fearless-- Dash away--splash away-- Led by the Peerless.

Carbines crack--foemen fly Hither and thither; Under the death-fire They falter and wither.

Burn the bridge--tear the track-- Down with Rebellion!

Cut the wires--cut the wires!

Forward, Battalion!

Day and night--night and day, Gallop the fearless-- Swimming the rivers' floods-- Led by the Peerless; Depots and powder-trains Blazing and thundering Masters and dusky slaves Gazing and wondering.

Eight hundred miles they ride-- Dauntless Battalion-- Down through the Southern Land Mad with Rebellion.

Into our lines they dash-- Brave Cavaliers-- Greeting our flag with A thunder of cheers.