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About The Sunday Oregonian. (Portland, Ore.) 1881-current | View Entire Issue (June 10, 1917)
THE SUNDAY OREGCXIAX, PORTLAND,- JFXE 10, 1917. MORE OLD FAVORITE POEMS WITH MILITARY STRAIN HEARD Several Requests Are Complied With by Lovers of Poetry and Others Are Sought New Contributors Are Noted. 6 O you remember the old tong that contains the following lines?: "White wings, they never grow D weary. They carry me cheerily over the sea." "We have a request from Ethel L. Hunter, of Milwaukle. for the full text of the sons, and would appreciate a correct and complete copy from some of our readers. Another request Is for the song con taining the following: "Down by the rlver. he saw growing there, A beautiful Illy so white and so fair; O that I must have,' cried he, heedless with Joy, And into the lake went the heedless young boy." A request comes from Albany for the old poem which begins: "Dick and Harry and little Joe, Bat in, the corner In a row." And also a request for the one which goes, in part, as follows: Then up spake the youngest, frailest brother: Ye talk of savin wood and lie. And tea and sugar, all the while But ye never talk o' savin' motherr " Mrs. James EL Brown, of Tucson, Arii.. asks for "The Blackbird," which on tains the following lines: Tti England my Blackbird and X lived together; Ea was the chief flower that In It did dwell! P&tr ladles of honor his person, did ad mire." etc "Little Mohee" la requested, by a Condon reader: "O, go no more roam tog o'er the salt sea, and m teach you to speak In the language of little Mo hes." "The Cocoanut drove" Is another title under which the poem Is known. ; A request Is received for the poem beginning: Still slls the schoolhouse by the road. a ragged beggar sunning: round it still the sumachs grow and blackberry vines are running. . . ... their triumph and his loss. Like her, because they love him." Mrs. X. D. Hinkston asks for the song beginning: "My ship sails tonight, my darling Ronett. and with3 you I can ramble no more." She also requests "The Drummer Boy of Waterloo" and The Soldier's Farewell," which runs: "With my knapsack for my pillow and my rifle la my hand, as I start In de fense of my own native land." R, C. Powell requests the poem In which the lines are found: "I hear the tread of pioneers of nations yet to be; the first low wash of waves where soon shall roll a human sea," Mrs. John A. Fort asks for "The Tem perance Alphabet." which begins: "A Is for Adder that lurks In the cup; the drunkard don't see It and so drinks It up." Jennie Chamberlain, of Uklah, asks for "Cuddle Me on Your Knee, Mamma," In which a few of the words are: "I fancied I roamed In the woods afar, and you rested me under a tree, whence a butterfly came flitting with pride." A. I Orr asks for the poem begin ning: "There's a garden full of roses, there's a cottage by the "Dove,1 and the trout stream- frets and flows beneath the o'erhanging crags above." Also trie song beginning: "She launched her frail bark on the swift rolling stream and sang her wild song In a maniac's scream." He asks also the name of the author of "When Peter Led the First Cru sade." TUB DYING SOLDIER. A waste of land, a sodden plain. A lurid sunset sky, With clouds that fled and. faded fast In ghostly phantasy; A field upturned oy trampling feet. A field up-piled with slain. With horse and I rider blent in, death Upon the battle-plain. The dying and the dead lie low; For them, no more shall rise The evening moon, nor midnight stars, Nor daylight's soft surprise; They will not wake to tenderest call. Nor see again each home. Where waiting hearts shall throb, and break. When, this day's tidings coma. Two soldiers, lying as they fell Upon the reddened clay In daytime, foes; at night. In peace Breathing their lives awayl Br,avo hearts had stirred each, manly ' breast; Fate, only, made them foes; And lying, dying, side by aide. A softened feeling rose. Oirr time Is short," one faint voice said; Today we've done our best On different sides: what matters nowt Tomorrow we shall rest! Life lies behind. I might not care For only my own sake; But far away are other hearts. That this day'a work will break. "Among New Hampshire's snowy hUls, There pray Tor me tonight A woman, and a little girl With hair like golden light"! And at the thought, broke forth, at last. The cry of anguish wna. That would not longer be repressed "O Godl my wife, my chlldl" "And," said the other dying man, "Aoross the Georgia plain. There watch and wait for me loved ones X ne'er shall see again: A little girl, with dark, bright eye Each day waits at the door; Her father's step, her father's kiss. Will never greet her more. "Today we sought each other's lives: Death levels all that now; For soon before God's mercy-seat Together we shall bow. Forgive each other while we may? Lite's but a weary game. And, right or wrong, the morning sun Will find us, dad, the same. The dying lips the pardon breathet The dying hands entwine; The last ray fades, and over all Thestars from heaven shine; And. the little girl with golden hair. And one with dark eyes bright. On Hampshire's hills, and Georgia's plain. Were fatherless that night! Contributed by C W. Castle. AX INCIDENT OF THE WAR. BY HARRY W. KIMBALL. Down the placid river gliding, Twixt the banks of waving life. Baited a steamboat heavy laCen, 'Mid the scenes of former strife. On the deck a throng of traVlera Listened to a singer's voice, As it sung that song of pleading Song that makes the sad rejoice "Jesus, lover of my soul. Let me to thy bosom fly, Vhile the nearer waters roll. While the tempest still Is nigh; Hide me, O my Savior, hide, 'Til the storm of life is past. Safe Into the haven guide. Oh, receive my soul at last." Xn the throng an aged soldier Heard the voice with ears Intent, And his quickened memory speeding O'er the lapse of years was sent. And he thought of hard-flight battles. ox t carnage ana tne gore. And the lonely picket guarding On the low Potomac's shore. Of the clash and roar of cannon. And the cry of wounded men. Of the sick'nlng sights of slaughter In some Southern prison pen. And that voice was old, familiar. And he'd heard it long ago. While his lonely picket guarding With a measured beat, and slow. When it ceased and all was silent. Thus the aged soldier cried: "Sir, were you a Union soldier; Did you fight against our side?" " "Stranger, 'neath yon starry pennon Fought I for the shackled slave. For my country and her freedom. And her sacred name to save." "Were you near the calm Potomao On a frosty Autumn night? Did you guard . your lonely picket As the stars were shining bright? "Did you sing that song so grandly. Filling all the silent air? Did you sing to your Redeemer, As you paced so lonely there? Thus the aged soldier questioned. And his eyes were filled with tears As he heard the singer answer. At his tale of hopes and fears: "Yes, I well recall that evening On the low Potomac's shore. As I paced my lonely station. And re-paced It o'er and o'er. "And I thought of home and household. Of my wife and children three. And my darling baby Bessie. Dearest In the world to me. 'Thinking thus, my heart was troubled With a dread, foreboding ill: And I listened, but the midnight All around was calm and stllL Then I sang the song my mother Taught me, bending at her knee: Andi all fear of coming trouble Quickly passed away from me. Thus the singer told his story; I hen the aged soldier said. As his heart was stirred with feeling. And his thoughts were backward, led: And I, too, my lonely station Paced and re-paced o'er and o'er. Where the blazing campflres flashing lighted up the other shore. "On the banks across the river, There I saw your coat of blue. And my hand was on the trigger. as I aimed my gun at you; "When across the silent water Came the song you've sung today. And my heart was touched and soft ened By that sweet, melodious lay; Vther refuge ave I none. Hangs my helpless soul on Thee: Leave, oh, leave me not alone, bull support and comfort ma 'All my trust on Thee Is stayed All my help from Thee I bring. Cover my defenseless head With the shadow of Thy wing. And I brought my gun to carry. For I could not shoot you then: And your humble prayer was answered By our God, the Lord of men." Then they clasped their hands as broth ers. While the steamboat glided on. As they talked of hard-fought battles And of deeds long past and gone. How Jehovah had been o'er them. Shielded from the fiery wave. While they, beneath their banners. ought the battles of the brave. Contributed by C W. Castle. THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET. O'er a low couch a setting sun Had thrown its latest ray, ' Where, in his last strong agony. A dying warrior lay, The stern old Baron Rudlger, vv hose frame had ne'er been bent. By wasting pain, tilTtime and toll Its Iron strength had spent. "They come around me here, and say. My days of life are o er. That I shall mount my noble steed. And lead my band no more; They come, and to my beard they dare To tell me now, that I, Their own liege lord and master horn. mat i hai ha: must die. And what Is death? I've dared him oft Before the Paynlm's spear. Think ye he's entered at my gate. xiaa come to seek me here? I've met him, faced him, scorned him. When the fight was raging hot, ril try his might 111 brave . his power, Defy, and fear him not! Ho! sound the tocsin from the tower. And fire the culverin! Bid each retainer arm with speed, Call every vassal in! Up with my banner on the wall! The banquet board prepare! Throw wide the portal of my hall And bring my armor therel" A hundred hands were busy then; The banquet forth was spread. And rang the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread; While from the rich, dark tracery. Along the vaulted wall. Lights gleamed on harness, plume and spear. O'er the prond old Gothlo hall. Fast hurrying through the outer gate The mailed retainers poured On through the portal's frowning arch. And thronged around the board; While at Its head, within the dark. Carved oaken chair of state. Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudlger vt ith girded falchion sate. "Fill every beaker up, my men! Pour forth the cheering wine I There's life and strength In every drop Thanksgiving to the vine! Are ye all there, my vassals true? Mine eyes are waxing dim Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, Each gbblet to the brim! Te're there, but yet I see you not! Draw forth each trusty sword. And let me hear your faithful steel Clash once around my board! I hear It faintly louder yet! vhat clogs my heavy breath? Up all and shout for Rudlger, "Defiance unto death!" Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel. And rose a deafening cry. That made the torches flare around. And shook the flags on high: "Ho, cravens, do ye fear him? Slaves! traitors! have ye flown? Ho, cowards, have ye left me To meet him here alone? "But I defy him! let him come!" Down rang the massy cup. While from Its sheath the ready blade Came flashing half-way up; And with the black and heavy plumes, Scarce trembling on his bead. There, In his dark, carved, oaken chair, Odd Rudlger sat dead! Contributed by Mrs. F. M. Olds and George I Foster GO, MY BOY, WHERE DUTY CALLS. Go. my boy, and heaven bless you! 1 have read each precious line Of your heart's responsive throbbing 10 a higher call than mine. God has spoken you have heard him. And. though tears these evea bedim. Your affection for your mother bnau not mar your love for him. Could I bid you stay from fondness When the ever ruling hand Marks your path to duty clearly For the safety of vour land? No! 'tis yours to be a patriot. Ana lis mine to be as true: Go, my boy where duty calls you Ana my heart shall follow you! Go In faith and feel protection in a power supreme, divine; Should a bullet pierce your body It will also enter mine. Do I think of this in sorrow? Does mv InVA Rri fan fnw? Do I tremble at the-prospect? jno, my son, no more than you. Dear to me Is every pathway Where your precious feet have trod: But I give you fondly, freely. lo my country and my God. You and I shall never falter In the work we have to do: Go, my boy, where duty calls you And my heart shall follow you. I shall pray for you how often With the waking hour of morn. Through the labors of my household And when night Is coming on. If a mother's prayers can keep you. Mid the dangers you incur. God will surely bring you back Again to happiness and her. I will never doubt the goodness That has kept you until now. That has kept the evil from your Heart, the shadow from your brow. And I know that it shall keep You In the path you must pursue. Go, my boy, where duty calls you And my heart shall follow you. If my boy were less a hero. Less the man In thought and deed. I had less to give my country In her trying hour of need; And I feel a pride in knowing That to serve this cause divine From the hearthstone goes no braver Heart than that which goes from mine. I have loved you from the hour That my lips first pressed your brow Ever tenderly, but never Quite as tenderly as now; All I have Is his who gave It, Whatsoe er he bids me do: Go, my boy, where duty oalls yon And my heart shall follow you. I shall miss you In the Springtime, When the orchard is In bloom. When the smiling face of nature Bathes Its beauty In perfume; When the birds are sweetly singing By the door and on the wing. I shall think of you who always Used to pause and hear them- sing. Long will seem the waning hours Through the drowsy Summer day With my boy exposed to dangers On a soil far, far away. But my spirit shall not murmur. Though a tear bedim my view; Go, my boy, where duty calls you And my heart shall follow you. You will come and see your mother Come and kiss her as you say; From her lips receive the blessing That shall cheer you on your way; From her fond 'embrace go forward To resist your country s foe With the comforting assurance That your mother bade you go. Now may heaven protect and bless you. ioiy angeis K uai u your a y , Keep your spirit from temptation And your feet from going astray. To your mother ever faithful. To your country ever true. Go, my boy, where duty calls yon And my heart snail ioiiow you. Contributed by Mrs. Ed. Preble. BLUE AND GRAY. From the New York Sun. 'Twas a sight to be long remembered. That I saw on the cars one day As the train was flying southward. In the latter part of May. It was only two aged women, Who met by chance that day. One had eyes of loveliest blue. The other, the sweetest gray. "Where go you?" said the blue-eyed one To her with the eyes of gray, T am going to visit my husband's grave. In the Southland far away." "Was he a soldier?" the blue-eyed asked. As she gazed In the eyes of gray: And half unconsciously she grasped Her hand in a loving way. The eyes of gray lit up with pride, "Yes, he was a soldier true; He fell at the battle of Shlloh" "Oh! there's where mine fell, too." And then they clasped each other and wept. am Here she lies, where all must come, After days grown wearisome, She that was Chrysanthemum, Tulips falter in the wind; With blown leaves her eyes are blind And her singing mouth is dumb; Her 6he lies, where all must come. Eyes as dark as indigo Now a deeper darkness know; Hair that mocked the raven's wing Feels its lotus withering, After days grown wearisome. Lotus flowers upon her breasts Best as deeply as she rests; Milky veil about her rolled Feels seeds quicken in its fold, Heat she fears not now, nor cold; Here she lies, where all must come. Little feet that moved so light, Music will not stir tonight, Though the strongest love of men Lifted on the samisen. Little hand3 men's hearts that led Into snares that she had spread, After days grown wearisome. Little hands shall hold no more Closing door or opening door; Keys of pleasure or of grief; Lo, they hold a withered leaf. World and what is thy distress One Chrysanthemum the less ? World, what sayest thou? 'She is dumb, She that was Chrysanthemum. Anonymous. The eyes of blue and gray Mingled their flood of sympathy As the train sped on its way. "What uniform did your 'soldier wear? My soldier wore the blue." "Ah," said" the other, "mine wore the gray." "No matter, they both were true." "Yes, they were true, our loved and lost. True to their dying day. And It matters not what they wore on earth. They are clothed In white today." And when 'we came to the station, A very small town by the way. The men all stood bareheaded As the two went on their way. They walked up the street together. Like children, hand-ln-hand. Out on the country highway Where the old church used to stand. And on and on till they reached the place Where thJr soldiers brave were laid; And they kissed and wept o'er each grave alike. And together knelt down and prayed; They each told the other about the past. How they lived with their children dear, And agreed, while God should spare their lives. To meet there once a year. And then they walked back, to the sta tion, . . These soldiers' widows In tears. Helped by each other's sympathy. To bear their burden of years. Back to the West they traveled. To their children, kind and true. One with eyes of the sweetest gray. The other the loveliest blue. Contributde by Ruth Luce. HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WAR RIOR DEAD. BY TENNYSON. - Home they brought her warrior, dead; She nor swooned, nor uttered cry. All her maidens watching, said: "She must weep or she will die." Stole a maiden from her place. Lightly to the warrior stepped; Took the facecloth from his face Yet she neither spoke nor wept. Then they praised him soft and low. Called him worthy to be lovea; Truest friend and noblest foe Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Rose a nurse of 90 years; T)l A V mVIM iinn V, Ir., Like Summer tempest came her tears: "sweet, my cniia, x live lor inee. Contributor. Mrs. C M. Redfield. of Deschutes. SUGGESTIONS TO CONTRIBU TORS TO THE POETRY PAGE. We are not able to reprint poems requested which belong to works that are protected by copyright, such as Service, Kip ling, Riley and others. Except in cases where there Is exceptional timeliness, it Is not possible to reprint poems whioh have appeared on this page al ready within a period of a few months. Copies that are sent In Illegi bly written, written on both sides of the pages or written without regard to the correct poetlo form, or poems which are ob viously incorrect cannot be han dled on this page. Neither can we continue to re print songs that have been popu lar In recent years,' owing to the vast number of genuinely old poems that must be handled. Up to the time of the Spanish War Is about as far Into the modern as we will be able to come. Unless request for the return of clippings or manuscripts, with an inclosure of postage or stamped and addressed envelopes, is made, contributions will not be returned after they are used. Contributions are handled as rapidly as possible, but owing to the volume of manuscripts re reived It is frequently several weeks before a poem sent In can be reprinted. Effort is made to acknowledge all contributions. Precedence In reprinting Is given to copies of poems sent In In response to requests printed on this page. In sending In manuscript, write on one side only of the paper, leave a fair space at the begin ning of the first page and the end of the last and Indicate at the end the name of the contrib utor to whom It is to be cred ited. We reserve the right to reject without comment contributions which are Inappropriate or of lit tle value either from a sentimen tal, historical Or poetical stand : point. Note on the outside of the en velope, "Old Poem Department." THE PILGRIMS. BY O. C. APPLE GAT H. They sought, away from soulless power, The rugged, rock-bound strand; And found release from kingly greed That cursed their native land. They cast afar the fertile seed Of freedom's spreading tree. To shield the land from kingly might And bloom in years to be. A brighter day for mankind's weal Tn Plvmnnrh't vnntl!i hfrnn: The pilgri...j sought these solitudes With 'aith. In God and man; To live and worship as they chose, Unscared by Pope or King. And spoke In words of living truth That never ceased to ring. From noble thoughts or rugged men A mighty progress grew. As o'er the continental leagues. Went forth the message new. Through forests deepo'er prairies wide. The shouts of freemen rang; As from the seeds these pilgrims cast A mighty nation sprang. From Alleghany's singing groves To Mississippi's stream. And far beyond on mighty plains The pilgrims' trappings gleam; Till o'er Sierra's serried back The wearied legions pour, To rear the bulwarks of our power Along the Western shore. No tyrant's banner long shall wave,. Nor klngling long oppress. When freemen from our native shore. Go forth new homes to bless: And lands beyond the salted seas As freedom's truths unfold. Shall feel the impress of the men Who came to Plymouth old; Who laid foundations on' the rock In dismal forests gloom. And requiems sang on barren shore O er many a lonely tomb; But knew not that the coming years, Through all their dire distress. Would bring fruition to their hopes And countless people bless. Old ocean's vastness cannot stay The march of Freedom's sons. Nor feudal castles long withstand - The might of Freedom's guns. The mighty march of progress may No tyrant's hand withstand. Though triumphing In war or peace In many a distant land. Contributed by Clara D. Mitchell. TWO LITTLE MAIDS. Once there lived, side by side, two lit tie maids; Used to dress Just alike; hair down in braids: Blue gingham pinafores; stockings of red; Little sunbonnets tied on each curly head. When school was over secrets they'd tell. Whispering, arm In arm. down by the well. One day a quarrel came; hot tears were shed. "You can't play In our back yard!" and the other said Chorus "I don't want to play In your yard; I don't like you any more: You'll be sorry when you see me Sliding down our cellar door. You can't holler down our rain barrel. You can't climb our apple tree; I don't want to play In your yard If you won't be good to me." Next day two little maids each other miss; Quarrels are soon made up, healed with a kiss; Then arm in arm again, happy they go. Friends all through life to be. they love each other so. Soon school days pass away; sorrows and bliss: But love remembers yet, quarrels and kiss; In aweet dreams of childhood they near the cry. "You can't play In our yard." and the old reply: Chorus. Requested by a reader and contrib uted by C. G. Humason. Gresbam, Or. THE KING AND THE RUSTIC In Henry's reign the darling King. Whose praises still the Frenchmen sing A peasant once, with idle song. Was riding happily along Toward Paris; and, when near that place, A stately horseman met his face. It was the King. His retinue Was at a distance, out of view; For so the King had planned the matter. That he might reach his purpose better. "Which way, good man?" the monarch said. "Does business you to Paris lead?" "It does; but. yet another thing I wish to see our darling King, Who loves his people all so dearly. And whom they love, and that sin cerely." The monarch smiled, and blandly said: "In that, my friend. IU give you aid" "But how." the rustlo asked, "shall I, 'Mid all the great folks standing by. Tell which is her' "I'll tell you how." The King replied. You've only now To notice who. In all the crowd That lowly bow, or shout aloud. Keeps on his hat, while others bare Their heads, and gaze with reverent air." Now had they got In Paris quite: The rustlo riding on the right. Whatever boorish life can teach. Whatever awkwardness can reach. In manner, motion, look or 'speech. That simple lout that day displayed. When he In Paris entry made. He answered all the monarch asked. And all his humble powers tasked. To show him how his farm he kept; How well he fed, how well he slept; How every Sunday 'twas his lot To have a pullet in his pot "Which lot. says he. "is Just the thing. That all souls have, so says our King." Long, long he talked his tongue ran fleet As up they rode the crowded street: Nor yet perceived most strange to say From all that met his eye that day. What must have been the oddest thing A rustlo riding with the King. But. when he saw the window cy Open wide, and every eye Straining at the passers-by, While all the air was made to ring With "Vive le Roi Long live the King." "Friend," said he to his unknown guide. While with wonder and fright the monarch he eyed. Sure, you must be the King, or I! For nobody else. In all this crowd. Has a hat on his head, whether hum ble or proud." The good King smiled. Tou're right!" said he; Tm the person you wished to see! Contributed by M. C. Cantrell, Eu reka, Cai. DECORATION DAY. Unfurl the flag so gently, let Old Glory wave today. Over friend and foe alike, wherever they may lay. Scatter flowers for the hero, and on the unknown grave. Each died in loyal service, his country thus to save. Away back In the '60s there came the thrilling cry That Fort Sumter had been taken, and danger threatened nigh. Of Lincoln's mighty call for troops, for volunteers to go. To shoulder gun and musket and face the coming foe. Three hundred thousand brave ' and strong arose as one great band. That freedom as a watchword might wave o'er our fair land. That the Stars and Stripes might ever wave from every spire and dome. As a sign of peace and victory In each and every home. Do you feel It would he loyal to call to mind today Which one wore the blue or which one wore the" gray? Twine the laurel wreath so gently, as If you never knew Which one was Confederate or Union laddie true. But now the war cry's silent, no more the noise and din Resoundeth through our country, like the very curse of sin. We catch the thrill and spirit, as from shore to shore we see Our Nation's glorious emblem, our flag of liberty. But as we shout the triumphs of the red. the white, the blue. Remember It was dearly bought by sol dier boys so true. As each fought bravely for the right, as ' duty spurred them on. Thus seeking as we all should do, to wear the victor a crown. Contributed by Ida May Johnston. THE RUSTY SWORD. By George M. Vlckers. In a little roadside cottage, half hid by shrubs and vines. A woman, old and feeble, on a faded couch reclines; Her face is sweet, but sorrow has left Its Imprint there. And her voice tells not the burden that her God hath bid her bear. As I drink the limpid water from the homely, dripping gourd, I note on the wall before me a naked, rusty sword. I glance at the aged woman, and speaking she bows her head: "'Twas worn by a gallant soldier, for many a long year dead. "One day, sir. I was looking where the road winds over there. Wishing the war was over and breath ing a mother's prayer I saw a wagon coming, and soldiers, all moving slow; They were bringing my boy home, - wounded ah! it's many a year ago. "I burled him there, by those willows as you pass you can see his grave; Oh. stranger, my child was a comfort, but his heart It was true and brave!" Watching the pearls drop downward over her aged face, I mount, and I ride in silence away from the lonely place. But now I have reached the willows, and I leap to the shady ground; I gather some wayside flowers to throw on his mossy mound; I care not If Grant has led him, nor If he has fought with Lee; I am an American soldier and so was he. Contributed-by C. W. Castle. WE OLD BOYS. "Twas side by side, as comrades dear. In dark days long ago. We fought the fight without a fear. And rendered blow for blow. In battle, march or prison pen Each unto each was true. As beardless boys became strong men And braved the long war through. CHORUS We are the boys, the gay old boys. Who marched In sixty-one; We'll ne'er forget old times, my boys. When yru and I were young. And though, through all these years of peace. We've somewhat older grown. The spirit of those early days We'll ever proudly own. Our grand old flag is Just as fair As in the trying time. When traitors sought its folds to tear And we suppressed the crime. What If grim age creeps on apace? Our souls shall not grow old: But we will stand as in the day When we were warriors bold. We stood for fight for our dear land. For home, and all that's true So firmly clasp hand unto hand And comradeship renew. C Q. Humason, Gresham, Or, contributor THE CAPTAIN WITH HIS WHISKERS. Oh. they marched through the town with their banners so gay. And I ran to the window, to hear the band play I peeped through the blinds very cam tlously then. Lest the neighbors should say I was looking at the man. Oh! I heard the drums beat, and tho music so sweet. But my eyes at the time oaught a much greater treat For the troops were the finest I ever did see. And the captain with his whiskers took a sly glance at me. When we met at the ball X, of course. thought- twas right. To pretend that we never had met bev fore that night. But he knew me at once. I perceived oy nis glance. And I hung down my head, when h asked me to dance. Oh! he sat by my side at the end of the et. And the sweet words he spoke I shall never forget. For my heart waa enlisted and co-old not get free. And the captain with his whiskers tooH ly glance at me. But they marched from the town and see him no more. But X think of him oft. and the whis kers he wore. And X dream all the night, and X thlnH all the day. Of the love of a captain, who went faa away. Oh! I hear the drums beat and the) musio so sweet. And I listen in my dreams to ths marching of feet. And my heart Jumps with Joy when In fancy I see The captain with his whiskers take sly glance at me. Contributed by Mrs. S. Armstrong, of v ader. Wash. THE AMERICAN BOY. SON. Father, look up and see that nag! How gracefully It files! Those pretty stripes, they seem to bo A rainbow In the skies. FATHER. It is your country's flag, my boy. Ana proudly drinks the llKht. O'er ocean's wave. In foreign climes. A symbol of our might. SON. Father, what fearful noise Is that. Now thundering in the clouds? Why do they, cheering, wave their hats And rush along In crowds? FATHER. It Is the voice of cannonry. The glad shouts of the free; This Is a day of memory, 'Tis Freedom's Jubilee! SON. I wish that I was now a man, I'd free my country, too. And cheer as loudly as the rest; But, father, why don't you? FATHER. rm getting old and weak; but still My heart is big with Joy; I've witnessed many a day like this. Shout you aloud, my boyl SON. Hurrah for Fredom's Jubilee, God bless our native land! And may I live to hold the boon Of- freedom In my hand. . FATHER. - - - v Well done, my boy, grow up and love , The land that gave you birth A land where freedom loves to dwell A paradise on earth. From Sander's Union Series. No. . also called Town's Fourth Examiner. printed about 1867-8; contributed by Etbal L. Hunter. A WOMAN'S EZEcmoir. (Paris, May '71.) By Edward King. . Sweet-breathed and young. The people's daughters. No nerves unstrung. Going to slaughtersl Good morning, friends; You'll love us better; Mske us amends; We've burst your fetterl How the "sun gleams! (Women are snarling). Give me your beams. Liberty's darling! "Marie's my name Christ's mother bore it; That badge; no shame; Glad that I wore It." Hair to her waist. Limbs like a Venus, Robes are displaced. "Soldiers, please screen usPT "He at the front? That is my lover; Stood all the brunt: Now the fight's over. "Powder and bread Gave out together. Droll! to be dead In this bright weather! "Jean, boy. we might Have married in June! This the wall? Right! Vive la commune!" Contributed by L. A. Wllkie, ANNIE LAURIE. Maxwelton's braes are bonnle Where early fa's the dew. And 'twas there that Annie Laurie Gave me her promise true. Gave me her promise true. Which ne'er forgot will be. And for bonnle Annie Laurie I'd lay me doon and dee. , Her brow Is like the snawdrift. Her throat Is like the swan. Her face it is the fairest That e're the sun shone on. That e're the sun shone on. And dark blue is her e'e. Anil for bonnle Arinle Laurie I'd lay me doon and dee. Like dew on the gowan lying Is the fa" o' her fairy feet. And like winds in Summer sighing. Her voice Is low and sweet. Her voice Is low and sweet. And she's a' the world to me. And for bonnle Annie Laurie I'd lay me doon and dee. Lady John Scott. MEMORIAL DAY. The cycling years again have brought To us Memorial Day; The gallant men who bravely fought For us are old and gray. Their numbers year by year grow less. And more are laid away. Where we with flowers their grave may dress On each Memorial Day. Then bring the blossoms fair and sweet. To deck each grass-grown bed. While reverently we all repeat. "Here lie our honored dead. " Whose memory we will all revere Till time shall pass away, And sacred keep with every year . A new Memorial Day." Contributed by Mrs, Delia, Webhea 1