es of Blue refused to give the way;
And bloody scenes crowd thick and fast upon the memory here
To fill the heart with grief and dim the eye with misty tear;
And spanning Time's chasm with the imagination's bridge,
They hear the thunder of the guns from Missionary Ridge!

And there the pyramid of balls is reared to tell
And mark the hallowed spot where tuneful genius fell;
The vagrant winds around it now seem sighing
The requiem sad of "I am dying, Egypt, dying!"
Prophetic words by gallant LYTLE penned--
A laurel wreath with immortelles to blend!
A halo hovers round about this gifted son,
Whose deathless name with pen and sword was nobly won!

They come to mark with tokens of their love and pride
Each consecrated spot where bleeding heroes fell and died,
And gaze with reverence on some gently swelling mound
Which hides the dust of comrade in his sleep profound;
To picture to the mind--with melancholy pleasure trace
The unforgotten outlines of a dear, remembered face,
Which passed from loved ones and from life away,
A victim on the bloody field of fratricidal fray!

GENERAL JOHN B. GORDON.

_Facile Princeps._

I.

O gifted one of the Sunny South, with lips so eloquent,
In whose great heart no malice e'er was found!
And now thou art a messenger of Peace, by heaven sent
On mission of fraternity, to heal the cankering wound!

II.

In that dread day when fratricidal strife
Convulsed with passion--crimsoned with its blood--
No nobler son than thou who staked his life
With veterans Gray withstood the overwhelming flood!

III.

No sweeter tribute could be paid by mortal tongue--
No nobler sentiment the human heart could fill--
In grander strains no poet's praises e'er were sung
Of private soldier--than thy words that burn and thrill!

IV.

No treasured wrong within thy noble soul
Has tainted with its slimy trail of hate--
No broader love of country could embrace the whole,
Or bow more gracefully to iron hand of fate!

V.

Speak on! And scatter broadcast healing seed
That shall a harvest of good feeling yield--
And Peace, no less than War, shall lend her meed
And crown anew this hero of the bloody field!

UP AND DOWN OLD CLARK'S RUN.

Bright visions of childhood! How dear to the heart
Are the scenes which from memory can never depart!
Undimmed by the sorrows, the grief and the tears
Which have shadowed the pathway of life's later years,
They come like th