The weekly Butte record., 1862-02-01
The Dying Volunteer.
BY JEAN L. BRUCE.

have loved thee, oh my country, have given thet
my son
have given the widows hope-my boy, my only
one;
When Sumter's heroes fought through FIRE, twas
then my spirit rose.
I bade him take his rife and go meet our rebel
foes;
gave the parting kiss with pride, with no tremor
and no fear.
And gloried as saw him march-my brave young
volunteer.
I followed on the regiment, could not stay be-
hind.
I waited then in anxious dread the soldiers wounds
to bind.
And mid the first that met my gaze, was he, my
PRIDE my boy
He cried, as pointing to his wounds with radiant
look of JOY,
Mother, firmly kept the ranks till the sun went
spinning round
And my life blood, like storm of rain, was wetting
all the ground.
" o mother? have bravely fought, tho none may
know my name,
But have ward for Freedom-I did not fight for
Fame;
The hot balls flew around me, with an angry ser
pent hiss,
Yet had still thousand lives I'd give them all
for this:
To above the carnage smoke, our banner wav-
ing high,
God bless it could kiss it could kiss it as
die.
That starry fag-so dear to mc-the glory of the
That DER red Saratoga's field its beamy splendor
cast;
Ger Trenton and DER Monmouth too-dear mother,
thou dost know,
1t neer has yet been traled in dust by any foreign
foe.
The men It's stripes protected once, they have dis
graced its fold;
Oh! mother, let it be my shroud, when am stark
and cold'
The widows cheek was whittier than the one she
fondly press'd
As she held the tender, wrthing form against her
throbbng breast:
God gave thee like a brilliant orb = she sad to
bless my life,
But could see our lovely land torn by disunions
strife?
All no, give thee back to Him with all a moth
ers pride,
For in the cause of Freedom-for Liberty thou's
died.
saw the cannons smoke arise-I heard the victors
shout
saw the rebels fly like sheep-they put them to
the rout;
clapped my hands, and cheered with joy-I cheer
ed them from afar;
did not think of Deaths wild work upon that field
of war;
thought not of the price we paid-for liberty is
Oh, God feel it as | clasp my dying volunteer.
Ny household joys arc scattered, thourt passing
from my sight,
Yet would give thee up again to quell this H.
dras might;
Though my soul is rent with anguish, thou Father
of all Love,
Take-take him to thy bosom-to the better home
above.
My heart might ache, my heart might break,
knew it must be done
h
my SOM"
No! no, It's well, sweet mother, but hark? hear
the drum,
Gird my sword the strife begins-the traitors
swarming come;
On to the battle help me rise!-a mist is DER
mine eyes;
But look 10! yonder is fag-it shines DER
deaths despair;
And with little, feeble shout, he waved his hand
in air.
She knew his eyes no more would glow, his lips
ne'er move again;
And from her broken, widow heart, shot forth a
cry of pain.
She kissed his cheek she laid his brow, and clasped
him in her grief,
While shook her figure in its woe, as shakes the
aspen leaf:
Dear Freedom-our Republics pride-thou blessed
boon of heaven,
She sobbed had a hundred sons, their lives should
all be given
stand bereft like some weak vine, rent by a sud
den storm,
Yet as kiss this dear dead face, my patriot heart
1t beats for thee, my native land, with love un-
dimm'd and true,
I've sacrificed my all an earth, what more could
mother do.''
Then resting his beauteus head, she brushed away
the tear,
And cried, my God my country, have given
my volunteer.
MARIPosA, CAL, October 1851.
TO BOTTLE.
'Tis very strange that you and
Together cannot pull;
For you are full when am dry,
And dry when am fall.
DoN'r let your children learn good and bad
thinrrs indiscriminately To be sure the bad