Traitors, spare that flag! You’ve done mischief enough: You’ve stolen our gold and guns, And talked vain boasting stuff; Then, touch not that proud flag, That banner of the free, Lest vengeance dire and deep May engulf you in misery. 63 A Life in the Soldier’s Camp. BY JAS. O’C., COMPANY D, ANDERSON ZOUAVES. AIR--_Life on the Ocean Wave._ A life in the soldier’s camp, A home in the snow-white tent, Where we hear the sentry tramp, And merry hours are spent; Where glory waits the brave, On the bloody battle-field, And the Stars and Stripes shall wave, O’er Zouaves that never yield. Come, shoulder your musket, boys, And off to the field of strife; Leave home, and all its joys, And fly to a soldier’s life-- With knapsack on your back, And canteen by your side-- To follow the foeman’s track, Is the brave young Zouave’s pride. The camp is the place for me, When my country calls me there, To fight for the Flag of the Free, I’d live on homeliest fare; When the tattoo beats at night, And the reveille in the morn, And the Zouave’s heart is light As soon as the day is born. Then farewell, home and friends, For I’ve joined the volunteers; I’ll be with him who defends Our Flag, and never fears. I’m off for the Zouaves’ camp, I’m bound for Freedom’s Wars; On the rebel flag I’ll tramp, And fight for the Stripes and Stars. 64 A Soldier’s Dream of Home. BY WILLIAM ADAMS. Inscribed to Lieut. A. C. CALKINS, 21st (Buffalo) Reg’t, N. Y. S. V. AIR--_America._ Still is the mighty host, Each sentry at his post, ’Tis midnight’s hour: There on my pallet low, My brain on fire--aglow With scenes of long-ago-- Entrancing power! Home of my boyhood’s hours, Nestled ’mid shady bowers, How dear thou art! I’m with you once again, Freed from the poignant pain Of seeing brothers slain-- Never to part. Kind friends and parents dear, Brushing the silent tear, Utter, “Welcome! Let glee and joy abound, Let songs and jokes go round, A warrior’s here--we’ve found Our only son!” A ramble now I take O’er glen and silvery lake, Now doubly dear! Slowly I tread South Hill, Thro’ wood and over rill, The buzz of yon old mill Reaching my ear. Alas! how brief the stay! A twinkling--then away From scenes I love! Back to the battle-field, Where wounded patriots bleed, From harm, be Thou my shield, Oh God! above. 65 A Yankee Volunteer.