The Northern snows incarnadined with gore—
The Southern vales with blood, like wine, ran o'er—
The battle raging in the morning sun,
At night, the warfare scarcely yet begun—
The sire, in arms to meet his foeman-son,
Brother, to seek his brother in the strife,
Rushed madly on—demanding life for life!
And children, orphans made—and worse than widowed, wife!
And this the land which erst our fathers blest,
Favored of Heaven—the pilgrim's hope of rest—
Now cursed by traitors, who with impious hands
Have dared to sunder our once-hallowed bands—
Have dared to poison with their ven'mous breath
All that was fair—and raise the flag of death;
Have dared to blight the country of their birth,
Striving her name to banish from the earth!
God of our fathers! where your lightnings now,
To blind their vision, and their hearts to bow?
Traitors to all that manhood holds most dear,
Without remorse, with neither hope nor fear,
They trail our starry banner in the dust,
And flaunt their own base emblem in the gust;
Like the arch-fiend, who from a Heaven once fell,
They'd pull us down to their own fearful hell!
A boon! O God! a boon from thee we crave—
Shine on this gloomy darkness of the grave;
Stretch forth thine arm, and let the waves be still,
And Union triumph, as it must and will.
God of our Fathers! guide our arms aright,
Be near and with us in the deadly fight;
Columbia's banner may we still uphold,
And keep each star bright in its azure fold.
We mourn for those who sleep beneath the wave,
Or on the land have found a soldier's grave;
Each heart will be an altar to their fame,
And ever sacred kept each glorious name.
We'll honor those who nobly fought and bled,
And fighting fell, where freedom's banner led;
Each soldier-son, we'll welcome to our arms,
When strife has ceased its din and dread alarms!
Our soldiers, home returning from the wars,
Our dames shall nourish—honored scars
Shall mark them heroes, and they live to tell
How once they battled—battled brave and well—
For home and country—mountain, plain, and dell—
And how the nation like a phenix rose
From out its ashes, spite of fiendish foes;
Then once again Columbia shall be blest—
Home of the free, and land for the oppressed![Back to Contents]
CHAPTER XXXII.
An Incident of the 5th O. V. I. — How to Avoid the Draft — Keep the Soldiers' Letters — New Use of Blood-hounds — Proposition to Hang the Dutch Soldiers — Stolen Stars.
An Incident of the 5th O. V. I.
There is no regiment in the service that has won more enviable renown than the glorious old 5th; and, although I have met them but twice in my peregrinations, I can not let them go unnoticed in this volume. Many of the boys I knew intimately—none better than young Jacobs, who was killed near Fredericksburg, Virginia. A writer in the Cincinnati Commercial, soon after his death, penned the following merited tribute to his memory: