“I’m thinking of the soldier as the evening shadows fall.”

For I’m dreaming of the soldier, on his pallet bed of straw;
As the leaves are growing yellow and November winds are raw—
And a vision comes before me of aching, fever’d brow;
And a proud form blighted, blasted, strangely, strangely alter’d now.
And I feel that strong heart beating fainter, fainter with each breath,
Fluttering softly in its prison, fluttering thro’ the gate of death;
And a voice of sad despairing stirs my heart’s deep fountain now,—
As my hand is slowly wandering o’er that strangely altered brow.
And a sigh, soul full of longing, fills the chambers of my soul—
While the quivering heart-strings whisper “Life’s a tale that soon is told;”
God of Love, receive the soldier on that dim mysterious shore,
Where the weary are at rest and souls are sad, ah! nevermore.
Still the dusky sybil, “Future,” on her dim, prophetic leaves,
Writes that death will claim the soldier, when he gathers up his sheaves;
This is why I’m ever sighing, and my heart cannot be gay,
As the eve with low refraining comes to shroud the dying day.

That is why I still am sighing as the deep gray shadows fall,
As the twilight spirit settles down her shadows in the hall,
And I’m praying for the soldier from a soul with sorrow sore,
For our soldier boys have left us—gone, perchance, to come no more.

THE BATTLE OF GALVESTON.

By Mrs. L. E. Caplen, Galveston.

Air—“The Harp that once thro’ Tara’s Halls.”

’Twas on that dark and fearful morn,
That anxious hearts beat high!
And many from their friends were torn
Beneath the wintry sky.
But hark! what cannon roar is that?
Terrific—but sublime—
Wafting some mortals to their graves,
Far from their Northern clime.
As the battle rag’d, voices high
Echoed along the shore,
For death or victory was nigh
Amid the battle’s roar.

The Yanks appeared to gain the ground,
Their hopes were sure and high,
Our little boats then hove in sight,
Which caused their men to cry.
Magruder, for example sake,
The cannon first did fire,
When soon their boats were made to quake—
When one embrac’d his sire.
But death hath taken for his own
Their Captain, Lee, Monroe—
And many more they lost that day,
Whose death they’ll long deplore.
But were we favored? Sure we were,
For victory was ours!
But death had stolen our gallant Wier;
Our tears did fall in showers.
Another one, deserving most,
The brave and noble son!
Sherman! thy country’s pride! is lost—
A death most nobly won.
Come, all ye people, far and near,
Example you must take,
For Texas men and women are
Heroes for country’s sake!