No hold had he above, below -
Alone he stood in air:

To that far height none dared to go-
No aid could reach him there.

We gazed, but not a man could speak!
With horror all aghast -

In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,
We watched the quivering mast.
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,
And of a lurid hue-

As riveted unto the spot

Stood officers and crew.

The father came on deck: he gasped,
"O God, thy will be done!"
Then suddenly a rifle grasped,
And aimed it at his son.

"Jump, far out, boy, into the wave!

Jump, or I fire," he said;

"That only chance your life can save: Jump, jump, boy!" He obeyed.

THE SLEEPING SENTINEL.

The incidents here woven into verse relate to William Scott, a young soldier from the State of Vermont, who, while on duty as a sentinel at night, fell asleep, and, having been condemned to die, was pardoned by the President. They form a brief record of his humble life at home and in the field, and of his glorious death.

'TW

WAS in the sultry summer-time, as War's red records show, When patriot armies rose to meet a fratricidal foeWhen, from the North and East and West, like the upheaving sea, Swept forth Columbia's sons, to make our country truly free.

Within a prison's dismal walls, where shadows veil'd decay,
In fetters, on a heap of straw, a youthful soldier lay:
Heart-broken, hopeless, and forlorn, with short and feverish
breath,

He waited but the appointed hour to die a culprit's death.

Yet, but a few brief weeks before, untroubled with a care,
He roam'd at will, and freely drew his native mountain air
Where sparkling streams leap mossy rocks, from many a wood-
land font,

And waving elms and grassy slopes give beauty to Vermont!

Where, dwelling in an humble cot, a tiller of the soil,
Encircled by a mother's love, he shared a father's toil-
Till, borne upon the wailing winds, his suffering country's cry
Fired his young heart with fervent zeal for her to live or die.

Then left he all: a few fond tears, by firmness half conceal'd,
A blessing, and a parting prayer, and he was in the field
The field of strife, whose dews are blood, whose breezes War's
hot breath,

Whose fruits are garner'd in the grave, whose husbandman is
Death!

Without a murmur, he endured a service new and hard;

But, wearied with a toilsome march, it chanced one night, on

guard,

He sank exhausted at his post, and the gray morning found
His prostrate form a sentinel, asleep, upon the ground!

So, in the silence of the night, aweary, on the sod

Sank the disciples, watching near the suffering Son of God;
Yet, Jesus, with compassion moved, beheld their heavy eyes,
And, though betray'd to ruthless foes, forgiving, bade them rise!

But God is love—and finite minds can faintly comprehend How gentle Mercy, in His rule, may with stern Justice blend; And this poor soldier, seized and bound, found none to justify, While War's inexorable law decreed that he must die.

'Twas night. In a secluded room, with measured tread, and slow,

A statesman of commanding mien paced gravely to and fro:
Oppress'd, he pondered on a land by civil discord rent;
On brothers arm'd in deadly strife: it was the President!

The woes of thirty millions fill'd his burden'd heart with grief;
Embattled hosts, on land and sea, acknowledged him their chief;
And yet, amid the din of war, he heard the plaintive cry
Of that poor soldier, as he lay in prison, doom'd to die!

'T was morning. On a tented field, and through the heated haze, Flash'd back, from lines of burnished arms, the sun's effulgent

blaze;

While, from a sombre prison-house, seen slowly to emerge,
A sad procession, o'er the sward, moved to a muffled dirge.

And in the midst, with faltering step, and pale and anxious face, In manacles, between two guards, a soldier had his place:

A youth-led out to die; and yet, it was not death, but shame, That smote his gallant heart with dread, and shook his manly frame!

Still on, before the marshall'd ranks, the train pursued its way Up to the designated spot, whereon a coffin lay

His coffin! And, with reeling brain, despairing — desolate -
He took his station by its side, abandon'd to his fate!

Then came across his wavering sight strange pictures in the air:

He saw his distant mountain home; he saw his mother there;
He saw his father bow'd with grief, through fast-declining years ;
He saw a nameless grave; and then, the vision closed-in tears!

Yet, once again: In double file, advancing, then, he saw
Twelve comrades, sternly set apart to execute the law;

But saw no more: his senses swam deep darkness settled

round

And, shuddering, he awaited now the fatal volley's sound!

Then suddenly was heard the noise of steeds and wheels approach

And, rolling through a cloud of dust, appeared a stately coach: On, past the guards, and through the field, its rapid course was

bent,

Till, halting, 'mid the lines was seen the nation's President!

He came to save that stricken soul, now waking from despair;
And from a thousand voices rose a shout which rent the air!
The pardon'd soldier understood the tones of jubilee,
And, bounding from his fetters, bless'd the hand that made him
free!

'Twas spring. Within a verdant vale, where Warwick's crystal tide

Reflected, o'er its peaceful breast, fair fields on either sideWhere birds and flowers combined to cheer a sylvan solitude Two threatening armies, face to face, in fierce defiance stood !

-

Two threatening armies! one invoked by injured Liberty,
Which bore above its patriot ranks the Symbol of the Free;
And one, a rebel horde, beneath a flaunting flag of bars,
A fragment, torn by traitorous hands, from Freedom's Stripes
and Stars!

A sudden shock which shook the earth, 'mid vapor dense and dun, Proclaim'd, along the echoing hills, the conflict had begun; While shot and shell athwart the stream with fiendish fury sped, To strew among the living lines the dying and the dead!

Then, louder than the roaring storm, peal'd forth the stern command,

"Charge! soldiers, charge!" and, at the word, with shouts, a fearless band,

Two hundred heroes from Vermont, rush'd onward, through the

flood,

And upward o'er the rising ground they mark'd their way in blood!

The smitten foe before them fled, in terror, from his post-
While, unsustained, two hundred stood, to battle with a host!
Then, turning, as the rallying ranks with murderous fire, replied.
They bore the fallen o'er the field, and through the purple tide!

The fallen! And the first who fell in that unequal strife Was he whom Mercy sped to save when Justice claim'd his life

The pardon'd soldier! And, while yet the conflict raged around While yet his life-blood ebb'd away through every gaping wound

While yet his voice grew tremulous, and death bedimm'd his eye

He call'd his comrades to attest he had not fear'd to die!

And, in his last expiring breath, a prayer to Heaven was sent That God, with His unfailing grace, would bless our President!

U

BARBARA FRIETCHIE.

P from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,

The cluster'd spires of Frederick stand,
Green-wall'd by the hills of Maryland.