"ONLY A PRIVATE" Only a private ! his jacket of blue, Is stained by the smoke and the dust,— As Bayard he' s brave; as Rupert he's true; Like Davld of old he tries to subdue, But in God is his only trust! Only a privates to march and to fight, To suffer and starve and be strong; With knowledge enough to know that the might Of justice, and birth, and freedom and right, In the end must crush out the wrong. Only a private ! no ribbon or star Shall gilt with false glory his name! No honors for him in braid or in bar;— His Legion of Honor is only a scar, And his wounds are his roll of fame. Only a private ! one more hero slain On the field lies silent and chill ! And in the far North a wife prays in vain— One clasp of the hand she may never clasp again, One kiss from the lips that are still. Only a private! there let him sleep, He will need no tablet, nor stone, For the vines of Southland o'er his grave will creep And at night the stars through the clouds will peep And watch him who lies there alone. Only a martyr who fought and who fell, Unknown and unmarked in the strife; But still as he lies in his lonely cell, Angel and Seraph the legend shall tell,— Such a death is eternal life! GEORGE S. HOOKEY.
TRIBUTE TO THE NINETY-THIRD Noblest of heros! ye who stood That fearful thirty-first of May, Beside the river's raging flood; Whose swollen waters barred your way,- Who fought as only freeman could, And kept the foe at bay. Onward ye come in fearless haste, Nor danger recked above,below; Plunging in water to the waist; Nor feared to breast its surging flow,- Up the opposing bank ye faced, To meet the coming foe. Then crushing deep the forest through, The vollied thunders went and came; The leaden hail, in lighting flew, Riding on wings of living flame; Bearing a hundred deaths to you, A thousand deaths to them. But vainly onward now ye press; Now foes appear, before concealed; Your weaker numbers you confess, Yet inch by inch, contest the field; Your little band grows less and less, But know not how to yeild. He was a noble mark I ween, In the fierce battle's fiercest tide, Among the foremost foemen seen; His heart the traitor marksmen tried In vain,-his Bible lay between, And turned the death aside. But holier tears for you who lay, After the labors of the fight; To wounds and raging thirst a prey, Through all the horrors of the night,- Upturned your dying eyes for day, And vainly prayed for light. No! Not in vain!- to you then came, Amid the wreck of broken guns, From out the night a purer flame; Ye saw the patriot, sainted ones, Bend earthward-call you name by name, And hail you, younger sons! Be yours the brightest memory That yet the ear of Fame has heard; Through earth, the children of the free, Shall bless the gallant Ninety-Third; And to your sons each name shall be A cherished household word. And they, the loved, to whom ye were Beloved sons or brothers dear,- The mother- may it comfort her- May it assauge the father's tear; To see all earth, one worshipper, Beside each honored bier! Like perfumes, which the early spring, Borrowed from the vernal flowers, And sheds them from her dewy wing, Around our steps in odorous showers; So sweet a balm shall memory bring To soothe their loss and ours. THE FOLLOWING WAS PUBLISHED IN THE LEBANON ADVERTISER OF JULY 16,1862
SONG OF WELCOME We hail thee, comrades, true, Men of loyal blue, To thee all hail; God bless that gallant host, Their country's pride and boast, Whose fame shall ne'er be lost While freedom reigns. We nothing crave nor sue, Men of the loyal blue, But what is just! Whose hearts have er'er been found On Freedom's holy ground. Then let our songs abound. In God we trust. Let Welcome's song arise, Till echoes reach the skies, To men so true! Let all the chorus join, And swell the joyful song, To whom the praise belong- Brave men in blue. COMPOSED BY COL. JOHN SNODGRASS.