No More Learning

Osawatomie Brown! !
Behind whose rampant banner all the North was pouring down.

But at last, 't is said, some prisoners escaped from Old Brown's
durance,
And the effervescent valor of the Chivalry broke out,
When they learned that nineteen madmen had the marvelous
assurance--
Only nineteen--thus to seize the place and drive them straight
about;
And Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown,
Found an army come to take him, encamped around the town.

But to storm, with all the forces I have mentioned, was too risky;
So they hurried off to Richmond for the Government Marines,
Tore them from their weeping matrons, fired their souls with
Bourbon whiskey,
Till they battered down Brown's castle with their ladders and
machines;
And Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown,
Received three bayonet stabs, and a cut on his brave old crown.

Tallyho! the old Virginia gentry gather to the baying!
In they rushed and killed the game, shooting lustily away;
And whene'er they slew a rebel, those who came too late for
slaying,
Not to lose a share of glory, fired their bullets in his clay;
And Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown,
Saw his sons fall dead beside him, and between them laid him
down.

How the conquerors wore their laurels; how they hastened on
the trial;
How Old Brown was placed, half dying, on the Charlestown
court-house floor;
How he spoke his grand oration, in the scorn of all denial;
What the brave old madman told them,--these are known
the country o'er.
"Hang Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown. "
Said the judge, "and all such rebels! " with his most judicial
frown.

But, Virginians, don't do it! for I tell you that the flagon,
Filled with blood of Old Brown's offspring, was first poured
by Southern hands;
And each drop from Old Brown's life-veins, like the red gore
of the dragon,
May spring up a vengeful Fury, hissing through your slave-worn
lands!
And Old Brown,
Osawatomie Brown,
May trouble you more than ever, when you've nailed his coffin
down!
APOCALYPSE

RICHARD REALF

[Sidenote: April 19, 1861]
_The first life lost in the battle with rebellion was that of
Private Arthur Ladd, of the Sixth Massachusetts, killed in the
attack of the Baltimore mob. _

Straight to his heart the bullet crushed;
Down from his breast the red blood gushed,
And o'er his face a glory rushed.

A sudden spasm shook his frame,
And in his ears there went and came
A sound as of devouring flame.

Which in a moment ceased, and then
The great light clasped his brows again,
So that they shone like Stephen's when

Saul stood apart a little space
And shook with shuddering awe to trace
God's splendors settling o'er his face.

Thus, like a king, erect in pride,
Raising clean hands toward heaven, he cried:
"All hail the Stars and Stripes! " and died.

Died grandly. But before he fell--
(O blessedness ineffable! )
Vision apocalyptical

Was granted to him, and his eyes,
All radiant with glad surprise,
Looked forward through the Centuries,

And saw the seeds which sages cast
In the world's soil in cycles past,
Spring up and blossom at the last;

Saw how the souls of men had grown,
And where the scythes of Truth had mown
Clear space for Liberty's white throne;

Saw how, by sorrow tried and proved,
The blackening stains had been removed
Forever from the land he loved;

Saw Treason crushed and Freedom crowned,
And clamorous Faction, gagged and bound,
Gasping its life out on the ground.

* * * * *

With far-off vision gazing clear
Beyond this gloomy atmosphere
Which shuts us out with doubt and fear

He--marking how her high increase
Ran greatening in perpetual lease
Through balmy years of odorous Peace

Greeted in one transcendent cry
Of intense, passionate ecstasy
The sight which thrilled him utterly;

Saluting, with most proud disdain
Of murder and of mortal pain,
The vision which shall be again!

So, lifted with prophetic pride,
Raised conquering hands to heaven and cried:
"All hail the Stars and Stripes! " and died.





THE PICKET GUARD

ETHEL LYNN BEERS

[Sidenote: Sept. , 1861]
_The stereotyped announcement, "All Quiet on the Potomac," was
followed one day in September, 1861, by the words, "A Picket Shot,"
and these so moved the authoress that she wrote this poem on the
impulse of the moment. _



"All quiet along the Potomac," they say,
"Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'Tis nothing--a private or two, now and then,
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost--only one of the men,
Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle.