NOTE.
During the Revolution, a young girl plighted to an officer of Marion's corps, followed him without being discovered to the camp, where, dressed in male attire, and unknown to him, she enrolled in the service. A few days after, during a fierce conflict that occurred, she stood by his side in the thickest of the fight, and in turning away a lance aimed at his heart received it in her own, and fell bleeding at his feet. She was buried on the banks of the Santee. He was afterward distinguished in the service at Fort Moultrie, and at Savannah, where he received his death-wound in carrying off the flag which was intrusted to him.
THE POLE'S FAREWELL.
BY WM. H. C. HOSMER.
Warsaw, farewell! Alone that word
Fame's dark eclipse recalls;
The voice of wail alone is heard
Within her ruined walls—
Her pavement rings beneath the tread
Of bondsmen by their master led.
Hope kindles on my native shore
No more her beacon fires—
The Northern Bear is trampling o'er
The dust of fallen sires,
And signal ever to destroy
Hath been his growl of savage joy.
Oh! for one hour of glory gone—
An arm of might to hurl
The Czar, in thunder, from his throne,
And Freedom's flag unfurl;
Then welcome, like a bride, the grave,
Unbranded by the name of slave!
Our snowy Eagle [3] screams no more
Defiance high and loud;
The wing is broken that could soar
Through battle's smoky cloud,
And wounded by a coward's spear,
His perch is now lost Poland's bier.
Once happy was the hall of Home,
Now Desolation's lair—
Blood stains its hearth, and I must roam
A pilgrim of despair,
Leaving, when heart and brain grow cold,
My weary bones in foreign mould.