His laurels were pure, and his honor unstained, He lov'd not war's crimson-dyed pall, His nature was peace while the olive remained-- Refus'd then the long-baited lion unchain'd-- Tom Green was then greater than all. Affection and love was the pulse of his breast, Ever quick at humanity's call-- The widow and orphan his charities bless'd, The friend of the homeless, the poor and distress'd, Tom Green was the idol of all. GALVESTON, TEXAS, May 28, 1864. HOOD'S OLD BRIGADE. "_On the March._" By MISS MOLLIE E. MOORE. 'Twas midnight when we built our fires-- We march'd at half-past three! We know not when our march shall end, Nor care--we follow Lee! The starlight gleams on many a crest, And many a well-tried blade-- This handful marching on the left-- _This_ line is _our_ Brigade! Our line is short because its veins So lavishly have bled; The missing! Search the countless plains Whose battles it has led; There are those Georgians on our right, Their ranks are thinning, too-- How in one company, they say, They now can count but two! There's not much talking down the lines, Nor shouting down the gloam; For when the night is 'round us, then We're thinking most of home! I saw yon soldier startle, when We passed an open glade, Where the low starlight, leaf and bough A fairy picture made; Nor has he uttered word since then-- _My_ heart can whisper why-- 'Twas like the spot in Texas where He bade his love good-by! And when, beyond us, carelessly, Some soldier sang adieu! My comrade here across his eyes His coarse sleeve roughly drew; So, scarcely sound, save trampling feet, Is echoed through the gloom-- Because when stars are brightest, then We're thinking most of home! Hush! what an echo startles up Around this rocky hill! Was't shell, half-buried, struck my foot? Or, stay--'tis a human skull! This ridge I surely seem to know By light of yon rising moon; Ha! we battled here three mortal hours One Sunday afternoon. Last spring! See where our Captain stands, His head drooped on his breast-- At his feet that heap of bones and earth-- You know _now_ why his rest Is broke off, and why his sword was So bitter in the fray! 'Tis the grave of his only brother, who Was killed that awful day! Hush! for in front I heard a shot, And then a well-known cry-- "It is the foe!" See where the flames Mount upward to the sky! It is the foe! Halt! Rest we here! We wait the coming sun, And ere these stars may shine again A field is _lost or won_! Is _won_! It is the "Old Brigade," This line of stalwart men! The "long roll!" how it thrills my heart To hear that sound again! God shield us, boys! here breaks the day, The stars begin to fade! "Now steady here! fall in! fall in! Forward! the 'Old Brigade!'"