Somebody’s watching and waiting for him,
    Yearning to hold him again to her heart;
  And there he lies with his blue eyes dim,
    And the smiling, childlike lips apart. 
  Tenderly bury the fair young dead—­
    Pausing to drop on his grave a tear. 
  Carve on the wooden slab o’er his head: 
    “Somebody’s darling slumbers here.”

MARIA LA CONTE.

* * * * *

TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP.

  In the prison cell I sit,
    Thinking, mother dear, of you,
  And our bright and happy home so far away,
    And the tears they fill my eyes,
  Spite of all that I can do,
    Tho’ I try to cheer my comrades and be gay.

  Trump, tramp, tramp, the ’boys are marching,
    Oh, cheer up, comrades, they will come,
  And beneath the starry flag we shall breathe the air again,
    Of freedom in our own beloved home.

  In the battle front we stood
    When the fiercest charge they made,
  And they swept us off a hundred men or more,
    But before we reached their lines
  They were beaten back dismayed,
    And we heard the cry of vict’ry o’er and o’er,—­

  Chorus.

  So within the prison cell
    We are waiting for the day
  That shall come to open wide the iron door,
    And the hollow eye grows bright,
  And the poor heart almost gay,
    As we think of seeing friends and home once more.

  Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching,
    Oh, cheer up, comrades, they ’will come,
  And beneath the starry flag we shall breathe the air again,
  Of freedom in our own beloved home.

ANONYMOUS.

* * * * *

OUR ORDERS.

  Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms,
    To deck our girls for gay delights! 
  The crimson flower of battle blooms,
    And solemn marches fill the night.

  Weave but the flag whose bars to-day
    Drooped heavy o’er our early dead,
  And homely garments, coarse and gray,
    For orphans that must earn their bread!

  Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet,
    That poured delight from other lands! 
  Rouse there the dancer’s restless feet: 
    The trumpet leads our warrior bands.

  And ye that wage the war of words
    With mystic fame and subtle power,
  Go, chatter to the idle birds,
    Or teach the lesson of the hour!

  Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knot
    Be all your offices combined! 
  Stand close, while Courage draws the lot,
    The destiny of human kind.

  And if that destiny could fail,
    The sun should darken in the sky,
  The eternal bloom of Nature pale,
    And God, and Truth, and Freedom die!