On! the sheen of their swords! the fierce gleam of their eyes, It seemed as on earth a new sunlight would rise, And, king-like, flash up to the sun in the skies, O'er the path to the River. But their banners, shot-scarred, and all darkened with gore, On a strong wind of morning streamed wildly before, Like the wings of Death-angels swept fast to the shore, The green shore of the River. As they march--from the hill-side, the hamlet, the stream-- Gaunt throngs, whom the Foeman had manacled, teem, Like men just roused from some terrible dream, To pass o'er the River. They behold the broad banners, blood-darkened, yet fair, And a moment dissolves the last spell of despair, While a peal as of victory swells on the air, Rolling out to the River. And that cry, with a thousand strange echoings spread, Till the ashes of heroes seemed stirred in their bed, And the deep voice of passion surged up from the dead-- Ay! press on to the River. On! on! like the rushing of storms through the hills, On! on! with a tramp that is firm as their wills, And the one heart of thousands grows buoyant, and thrills, As they pause by the River. Then the wan face of Maryland, haggard and worn, At that sight, lost the touch of its aspect forlorn, And she turned on the Foeman full statured in scorn, Pointing stern to the River. And Potomac flowed calm, scarcely heaving her breast, With her low-lying billows all bright in the west, For the hand of the Lord lulled the waters to rest Of the fair rolling River. Passed! passed! the glad thousands march safe through the tide. (Hark, Despot! and hear the wild knell of your pride, Ringing weird-like and wild, pealing up from the side Of the calm flowing River.) 'Neath a blow swift and mighty the Tyrant shall fall, Vain! vain! to his God swells a desolate call, For his grave has been hollowed, and woven his pall, Since they passed o'er the River. TRUE TO THE GRAY. BY PEARL RIVERS. I can not listen to your words, the land is long and wide; Go seek some happy Northern girl to be your loving bride; My brothers they were soldiers--the youngest of the three Was slain while fighting by the side of gallant FITZHUGH LEE! They left his body on the field (your side the day had won), A soldier spurn'd him with his foot--_you_ might have been the one; My lover was a soldier--he belonged to GORDON'S band; A saber pierced his gallant heart--_yours_ might have been the hand. He reel'd and fell, but was not dead, a horseman spurred his steed, And trampled on the dying brain--_you_ may have done the deed: I hold no hatred in my heart, no cold, unrighteous pride, For many a gallant soldier fought upon the other side: