[A] In the month of June the singular spectacle was presented at Lexington, Va., of two hostile armies, in turn, reverently visiting Jackson’s grave.

WHEN THE WAR IS OVER.

A CHRISTMAS LAY.

I.

    Ah! the happy Christmas times! 
      Times we all remember;—­
    Times that flung a ruddy glow
      O’er the gray December;—­
    Will they never come again,
      With their song and story? 
    Never wear a remnant more
      Of their olden glory? 
    Must the little children miss
      Still the festal token? 
    Must their realm of young romance
      All be marred and broken? 
    Must the mother promise on,
      While her smiles dissemble,
    And she speaks right quietly,
      Lest her voice should tremble:—­

    “Darlings! wait till father comes—­
      Wait—­and we’ll discover
    Never were such Christmas times,
      When the war is over!”

II.

    Underneath the midnight sky,
      Bright with starry beauty,
    Sad, the shivering sentinel
      Treads his round of duty: 
    For his thoughts are far away,
      Far from strife and battle,
    As he listens dreamingly,
      To his baby’s prattle;—­
    As he clasps his sobbing wife,
      Wild with sudden gladness,
    Kisses all her tears away—­
      Chides her looks of sadness—­
    Talks of Christmas nights to come,—­
      And his step grows lighter,
    Whispering, while his stiffening hand
      Grasps his musket tighter:—­

    “Patience, love!—­keep heart! keep hope! 
      To your weary rover,
    What a home our home will be,
      When the war is over!”

III.

    By the twilight Christmas fire,
      All her senses laden
    With a weight of tenderness,
      Sits the musing maiden: 
    From the parlor’s cheerful blaze,
      Far her visions wander,
    To the white tent gleaming bright,
      On the hill-side yonder. 
    Buoyant in her brave, young love,
      Flushed with patriot honour,
    No misgiving, no fond fear,
      Flings its shade upon her. 
    Though no mortal soul can know
      Half the love she bears him,
    Proudly, for her country’s sake,
      From her heart she spares him.

    —­God be thanked!—­she does not dream,
      That her gallant lover
    Will be in a soldier’s grave,
      When the war is over!

IV.