The Picket Euard. "ALL quiet along the Potomac," they say, Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, 'T is nothing-a private or two, now and then, All quiet along the Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon, Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping; While 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 mutters a prayer for the children asleep― The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, And gathers his gun closer up to its place He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree- Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves? All quiet along the Potomac to-night, No sound save the rush of the river; While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead The picket 's off duty forever. ETHEL LYNN BEERS. The Countersign. ALAS! the weary hours pass slow, I scarce can see a yard ahead; My ears are strained to catch each sound; I hear the leaves about me shed, And the spring's bubbling through the ground. Along the beaten path I pace, Where white rags mark my sentry's track; In formless shrubs I seem to trace The foeman's form, with bending back; With ready piece I wait and watch, Detect each harmless earthen notch, And turn guerillas into stone; And then amid the lonely gloom, Beneath the tall old chestnut trees, My silent marches I resume, And think of other times than these. "Halt! who goes there?" my challenge cry, But in the tent that night awake, I still may have the countersign. ANONYMOUS. Sherman's March to the Sea. OUR camp-fires shone bright on the mountain As we stood by our guns in the morning, When a rider came out of the darkness Then cheer upon cheer for bold Sherman That came from the lips of the men; More bright in their splendor would be, And that blessings from Northland would greet us When Sherman marched down to the sea. Then forward, boys! forward to battle! Frowned down on the flag of the free; Still onward we pressed, till our banners Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel, Oh, proud was our army that morning, That echoed o'er river and lea, And the stars in our banner shone brighter When Sherman marched down to the sea SAMUEL H. M. BYERS. 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, Then fastened the meadow bars again. Under the willows, and over the hill, Only a boy! and his father had said He never could 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 Thrice since then had the lanes been white, For news had come to the lonely farm The summer day grew cool and late, He went for the cows when the work was done; |