I see my mother standing in the door Of my lov'd home, as in the evening breeze The curtains wave, and the gigantic trees, Stretching their arms to welcome me again, Cast dark'ning shadows on the bare bright floor-- Mother, dear mother! you will watch in vain. [Illustration: "Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom."] Watch for the coming of my eager feet, My warm embraces and tender, loving kisses-- They will not come! dear mother, you will miss Your boy's lov'd presence, and in vain will seek, The well known form that you were wont to greet With tender kisses upon brow and cheek. The tall, green trees will cast their lengthen'd shade Across the prairie, and the shadows pale Will fill your home, and the wild winds will wail With frantic madness, as they swiftly sweep Thro' the dark forests where your children play'd-- Where all save one in death's embraces sleep. And he will fill an unhonor'd far-off grave, Unmark'd and lone! The hated foeman's scorn, Will soon be o'er. This glorious, golden morn I leave my life, my honor and my fame, To nobly die as fits a soldier brave-- Who asks of Southrons but an honor'd name? The hour is gone! and I must meet my doom, And die, as should a soldier always die, With unblanch'd cheek, and proudly scornful eye, While stern defiance doth my bosom swell-- Farewell to earth and all its beauteous bloom-- My country! mother! one long, last farewell! THE BLACK FLAG. By PAUL H. HAYNE. Like the roar of the wintry surges on a wild tempestuous strand, The voice of the madden'd millions comes up from an outraged land; For the cup of our woe runs over, and the day of our grace is past, And Mercy has fled to the Angels, and Hatred is King at last! CHORUS.--Then up with the Sable Banner! Let it thrill to the War God's breath, For we march to the watchword--Vengeance! And we follow the Captain--Death! In the gloom of the gory breaches, on the ramparts wrapt in flame, 'Mid the ruin'd homesteads, blacken'd by a hundred deeds of shame; Wheresoever the vandals rally, and the bands of the alien meet, We will crush the heads of the hydra with the stamp of our armed feet. They have taught us a fearful lesson! 'tis burn'd on our hearts in fire, And the souls of a host of heroes leap with a fierce desire; And we swear by all that is sacred, and we swear by all that is pure, That the crafty and cruel dastards shall ravage our homes no more. We will roll the billows of battle back, back on the braggart foe, 'Till his leaguer'd and stricken cities shall quake with a coward's throe; They shall compass the awful meaning of the conflict their lust begun, When the Northland rings with wailing, and the grand old cause hath won.[8] BANKS' SKEDADDLE.