Daily State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis, Ind.) 1861-1865, 1862-09-18
When next they blossom on thy banks
Proud stream so wild and clear,
How many a wreath on frecdom's tomb
Will marx the Volunteer.


Who died for our freedom where deep thunders
rolled
When the PATRIOTS purpose and rifle were true
And he died with q smile for the Red White
and Blue."
OH say does there live in Columbias green hills
That word which the soul of each patriot thrills
Or on the dagk bosom of some mighty stream
Does il float to the ocean, unfclt and unseen!
Oh. Liberty how can we bid the Farewell"
/ feel thou art passing, hear thy death knell,'
For traitors and treason have plotted thy doom
Andthe flowers viii bloom Ter thy glorious tomb
But with thee will perish the last of our race,
One more gallant struggle, one last fond embrace,
Then ON TO the field, wlcrc our banner still waves
Not to victory glory, but Patriots graves.
But who are the traitors, not they the field,
With musket for musket, and steel for cold steel,
But they who like Judas amongst Us have stood
In the name of their country they drink her
hearts blood.
Ay, they are the men who on that last dread day
Will meet their accuser in ghaslly arrayl
Their own murdered country in beauty sublime;
The deepest damnation scarce equals their crime.
When the uumpet's deep tone shall awaken the
dead,
And the patriot and traitor who battled and bled
Shall stand side by side. and each hear his last
They will trembe, who smiled at the cannon's
death boom.
No more at the head of squadron of war
Or to sonnet of love will he strike the Guitar,
No more will he start at the trumpets shTill
breath,
Or turn his feet course TO the harvest of death.
"A
dc has fought his last fight, he has reached his
last goal,
In glory or misery forever TO dwell
Friend-patriot and Trai.or, forever Farewell.
Christmas was indeed. the most gloomy
day OF that terrible winter, more terrible than
Valley Forge, the romantic camp of Washing
ton. Few volunteers of the South Western
army will forget the Christmas of sixty-one.
The very name conjured up thousand STIR
ing memories of merry scenes, which had long
since passed into that dark illimitable
ocean"
Now the red flame of war is flashing with
dazzling brlliancy in the may shadows of
futurity, and the lurid CLEAN OF city, town, and
cottage cast their wierd-like rays on the dy-
ing monarch, for this is Freedoms funeral
pyre. Who will sing her proud requiem
when she has passed away? Who but the
free could awake those thrilling strains, and
when this glorious fabric OF liberty crumbles
to the ground, patriotism and patriots will lie
buried beneath the ruins And it is meet
that he should, for he might not live under
the frown of anarchy, nor amid the turmoil of
confusion. But am writing sketch of the
war, and must postpone my philosophical OBJ
servatlons, for the present, and continue my
Il.
has flown, and with it the gloom that hung over
the spirits OF the volunteer. 1t is New ears,
and the orders of the day are to be happy.
Some are writing to their friends in old In
diana; others are discussing the vivifying
qualities of the contents OF certain black bot
ties which the Suffers hand over to the tune
of "two and half.
DEATH OF sINTY-ONE.
Here's TO the death of Sixty-one,
We'll give it with a cheer
Pass gaily round the flowing bowl
What cares the Volunteer!
The wind blows cold, our tents arc thin,
But sill our hearts are light,
We came not here to die with grief,
All, no. we came 10 fight
We've marched o'cr many barren plain
And rugged mountain side
Some left home and parents dear,
Some left bonnie bride
Some sleep beneath the frozen sod,
Some mourn their comrades gone
But none are hear TO drop atear
On the grave of Sixty-One.
One year ago tonight, my lads,
heard mOurnful strain;
Twas passing wild, and told ofjoys
Gone, neer TO come again
The singer was an aged tar
Who long had braved the storm,
He spoke of strife, and coming war
In accents of alarm.
For then disunion's wings were spread,
And as he madly few
We dropped a tear TO freedoms fate
And then the falchion drew.
To peace, to plenty, home, and friends
Farewell, we meet no more.
Then grasped the profered hand of strife
Though red with brothers gore.
One last, long look, and then Farewell"
Forever, peace to thee.
We grasped the sword, and flung aloft
The banner Of the free
Down with the mast, let go the stays"
For hark the storm has broke
1t shook each plank from stem to stern,"
Though made offreedom's oak.
And then the sable shades of night
Wrapt ell IN one dark fold,
And friend and foe Law down to rest
And dream Of days of old
When next the sun crept DER the hill
II shone on glittering spears,
And drum and trumpet sounded shrill
The call for " Volunteers +"
And then the clash, and clang of steel,
And banners waving high;
The laundering cannon's deadly peel
Which shook the very sky
And charging squadron's from afar
Had heard the signal gun
They gaily come, their trade IS war
And they cheer old Sixty-One.
The plowman leaves the sod unturned,
The bridegroom leaves his bride,
They 60 again 10 raise that Flag
For which their sires died;
The lawyer leaves his musiy brooks
Aud buckles on his sword,
And the merchant closes up his store,
And the miser leaves his hoard.
The blacksmith leaves his cheerful forge,
The miller leaves his mill,
And the loafer goes and takes the oath
lnmindful OF his biAi